silly supi

just a lil silly

[supi-wupi]

Supi [Sup-e] (noun) -- a human that has way too many interests and hobbies

22 | ISFP | avid kpop fan | carrd

status: semi-hiatus || requests: closed

networks: @svthub & @k-fic-collection

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supi tags:

₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ supi ₊˚੭ | all posts

₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ supi smau ₊˚੭ | smaus

₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ supi writes ₊˚੭ | long writes

₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ supi talks ₊˚੭ | replies/asks

[dividers by @cafekitsune]

[all banners are made by me, @supi-wupi, unless otherwise stated]

[supi-wupi]

Dandelion Wishes - Seungcheol

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.

Everyone probably did. Everyone except Seungcheol.

—

"You know most people hate these things."

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.

[supi-wupi]

Kiss Me, It’s for Laughs - Seokmin

pairing: seokmin x reader synopsis: A social psych class challenges you to test how humor affects attraction. DK’s in charge of stand-up sets. You’re in charge of audience reactions. You’re both in way too deep. wc: 4.6 genre: Fluff, Comedy, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Friends warnings: a/n: happy birthday to dk and vernon!! two cuties hehe. My apologies if this lowkey doesn’t make sense, because reading through it lowkey made me a little confused… but i was a little tad bit a lazy to fix it…. This is apart of the Kiss Me, It’s for Academia Series!! All other parts of the series will come out on each respective members birthdays!!

The fluorescent lights hum over Lecture Hall 3B as you slide into your seat. Social Psychology 312 is supposed to be fun—at least in theory—but today feels like the start of something both scientifically important and personally dangerous.

Professor Kim clears her throat at the front, a tablet in one hand, pointer in the other.

“Good morning, everyone! Welcome to the Social Psychology of Humor module. This semester, you’ll be participating in a hands-on experiment: testing how humor affects attraction and social bonding. And yes, you will be graded.”

You take out your notebook, ready for the usual dry lecture, when Professor Kim continues.

“Here’s how it works. Each of you will be paired up. One student is the ‘Performer’—you’ll deliver a brief stand-up set. The other student is the ‘Observer’—you’ll record audience reactions, laughter levels, engagement, and anything you think might influence attraction. Every laugh, every smile, every eyebrow raise is data. Keep it objective… as much as possible.”

Your stomach twists when you hear the next part:

“Now, your pairs. Let’s see… Ah! Y/N, you’ll be paired with Seokmin.”

Your head snaps up. Seokmin? DK? The same Seokmin whose reputation precedes him—effortlessly charming, funny, and borderline infuriating in his energy.

Vernon, seated a few rows back, grins at you knowingly. He’s your friend—and DK’s friend too, the kind of person who exists to mediate chaos and tease mercilessly.

VERNON: Well… this is going to be fun.

YOU: Fun, yes. But also extremely scientific.

VERNON: Uh huh. Sure. That’s what they all say.

—

Professor Kim continues, writing the assignment expectations on the board:

Performer: 3–5 minute stand-up set, must include at least three self-deprecating jokes.

Observer: Record objective measures: laughter duration, smile intensity, eye contact, and general engagement.

Submission: Post-experiment report including transcripts, observations, and personal reflections (optional—but recommended).

“Remember, the point isn’t just who’s funny—it’s how humor influences attraction. Take notes carefully.”

You glance at Seokmin, who’s casually leaning against the side wall, hoodie oversized, grin teasing. He catches your gaze and winks, as if he already knows this is going to be… complicated.

Vernon messages you, again.

VERNON: “See? Already flirting. And it hasn’t even started.”

YOU: “It’s called observational bias.”

—

[Video Transcript – Lecture Hall 3B, 09:03 AM]

Observer: Y/N | Performer: Seokmin (DK) – Stand-up Subject

[0:00] DK walks on stage, sneakers squeaking, oversized hoodie flopping with every step. Audience murmurs. [0:05] DK: “Good morning, class! Or as I like to call it… socially awkward humans in their natural habitat.” [0:08] Y/N: laughs into notebook, scribbles “note: excessive charm detected” [0:12] DK glances at you mid-joke. Eyebrow raise. Smirk.

You freeze mid-scribble, too aware of the way he’s watching you. It’s supposed to be objective observation—reaction levels, eye contact, mirroring—but all your carefully honed professionalism collapses when DK winks at you like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

Vernon, now seated a next to you, nudges your shoulder.

“You’re writing more about him than the experiment.” He whispers with a grin you could see with your eyes closed. You still however, give a mortified half-smile. 

“It’s called qualitative data analysis.”

“Sure. If by ‘qualitative’ you mean swooning.”

DK continues.

[0:20] DK: “So, I was thinking—why did the social psychologist cross the road? To measure the chicken’s attraction to humor, obviously.” [0:24] Y/N: snorts laughter into notebook

You immediately scribble a footnote: “Note: uncontrollable laughter – possible variable: personal bias toward humor source.”

DK pauses mid-joke and tilts his head toward you.

“Y/N, you’re laughing way too early. Is this… part of your scientific protocol?”

You flush. You weren’t expecting to be named. You clear your throat. “Uh, yes, very professional.”

Vernon groans loudly next you. “Oh my god, she’s officially doomed.”

—

[Case File – DK’s Observational Notes]

Subject: Y/N Observations:

Laughter onset occurs ~3 seconds before joke punchline.

Eye contact is unusually prolonged; subject appears flustered when caught.

Scribbles notes obsessively; suspect personal bias.

Hypothesis: Subject may be more interested in performer than performance. Recommended action: Increase joke directivity to target subject.

—

After class, you retreat to the corner of the lab, balancing your clipboard and laptop. Vernon plops next to you, dramatically sighing.

“So… how does it feel to be scientifically ruined by Seokmin?”

“Vernon, I am not ruined.”

“Sure. Your notebook is literally filled with hearts and doodles disguised as ‘reaction codes.’”

You glare at him, but secretly, you’re grateful. Having someone else make jokes about your predicament is easier than confronting how DK makes you feel.

—

[Video Transcript – Lab Cleanup]

Observer: Y/N | Performer: Seokmin (DK)

[0:00] DK lingers near the lab projector. Hands on hips, grin wide. [0:02] DK: “Y/N, I noticed your laughter metric was… particularly generous today.” [0:04] Y/N: “Professional observation. Strictly objective.” [0:06] DK leans over the projector, close enough to smell the coffee on your desk. “Hmm. Objective, sure… but your cheeks are suspiciously red.” [0:09] Y/N: makes note: cheek redness – independent variable: DK proximity.

Vernon snorts from the doorway. “Do you two need a warning sign or something?”

DK smirks, ignoring Vernon. He nudges your notebook with his finger.

“You’re supposed to be grading audience reactions, not mine.”

You scribble furiously, pretending to record “objective laughter metrics” while your brain screams: He’s right here. Why am I laughing this hard?

—

[Email Case File – Professor]

Subject: Stand-up Set Analysis Dear DK and Y/N, Today’s experiment confirmed a very important principle: humor is amplified when someone you find… interesting is watching. The data is impeccable—but I will be monitoring further to ensure it’s not contaminated by personal interest. Regards,Professor Kim

—

You reread the email, cheeks heating, then glance at Vernon, who grins.

“Yep. You’re doomed. And officially declared the variable of interest.”

You groan, but inside, there’s a little thrill. DK is too much, and somehow, it’s the beginning of something dangerously fun.

—

The lab is buzzing with anticipation. Today’s the first real experiment: Seokmin’s full stand-up set, and you are the official observer. You clutch your notebook like a lifeline, silently promising yourself that professional composure will hold… even though your heart is already doing somersaults.

Vernon leans against the doorway, arms crossed, grinning. “Reminder: you’re not allowed to fall in love on the clock,” he murmurs.

You huff a laugh. “Very funny.”

“He’s wearing that hoodie like it’s a weapon,” Vernon adds, smirking. “You’re doomed.”

Seokmin steps to the front, stretching exaggeratedly, sneakers squeaking across the floor. He scans the room dramatically before locking eyes on you. “Ah, my favorite observer. Ready to judge my impeccable comedic genius?”

Your cheeks heat, and you make a mental note to hide your reaction behind the notebook.

He cues the projector, and the slides illuminate his stage. “Welcome, humans of varying social competency levels. I, DK, shall attempt to make you laugh… scientifically.”

You scribble frantically, trying to record audience reactions. The numbers blur as you catch yourself laughing before the punchlines even land. He pauses mid-joke and cocks his head at you. “Y/N, are you measuring my comedy… or my effect on you?”

You cough, smothering a laugh behind your notebook. The class erupts around you, but your attention is entirely on him. Your pen dances across the page, attempting to remain professional, while your heart betrays every objective measure you’re supposed to be collecting.

Across the room, Vernon shakes his head with an exaggerated groan.

“Just try to stay alive through this,” he mutters.

Seokmin’s grin widens. He gestures pointedly at you, as if turning you into a living experiment. “Ah! A data point has come alive. Reaction: instant blushing.”

You immediately scribble a note: Variable compromised: observer interest is off the charts.

He keeps shifting the jokes subtly, weaving them around your reactions. Things that shouldn’t be funny make you laugh. Things that are genuinely funny make you laugh too much. He knows exactly how to push buttons, and you are powerless to resist.

Later, during a break, you notice your notes are almost unreadable—sketches of smiling faces, hearts disguised as data charts, scribbles where numbers should be. And yet, you can’t stop. You’ve become part of his experiment without meaning to.

Seokmin walks over to you, hands casually tucked in his hoodie pockets. “Careful with those notes,” he murmurs, leaning close enough that you can smell the faint scent of coffee and mint. “I might steal them for… scientific purposes.”

You frown, trying to hide the smile tugging at your lips. Behind you, Vernon bursts into laughter, unable to keep quiet.

“She’s officially your human lab rat now,” he says, shaking his head.

Seokmin crouches slightly, lowering his voice so only you can hear. “Or maybe I’m yours. Depends on which data set you’re analyzing.”

You nearly drop your notebook, your cheeks heating further, while Vernon snorts loudly, drawing attention. Seokmin smirks triumphantly and waves a hand dismissively. “Ignore him. He’s irrelevant to the experiment.”

—

[Email Case File – DK to Y/N]

Subject: Data Contamination? Y/N, I noticed today’s observations might be slightly biased… in my favor. Just a hypothesis. Best, DK

—

You reread the email, cheeks flaming, then glance at Vernon, who shrugs with a teasing grin. “Yep. There it is. He’s flirting with your experimental integrity.”

You groan, but secretly, the thrill makes you doodle another heart disguised as a bar graph.

By the end of the day, the first set is complete, and your notebook is a chaotic blend of scientific notes and personal fascination. You’re supposed to be objective. But you know, already, that objectivity has left the room entirely—and that’s the beginning of something dangerously fun.

—

The lab feels smaller after everyone has left. The fluorescent lights hum quietly, and only the projector glows faintly, looping the footage from Seokmin’s first full set. You’re sitting cross-legged on a chair, laptop balanced precariously on your knees, notebook open and half-doodled. Vernon leans casually against the doorframe, watching you with that knowing smirk that never fails to make you tense.

“Still measuring your heart rate?” he asks.

You huff a laugh. “I’m observing professional data. Obviously.”

He raises an eyebrow, unconvinced, and leans a little closer. “Uh-huh. Professional. Sure.”

At the front of the room, Seokmin crouches down, fiddling with the projector. His hoodie sways as he bends, and you can’t help noticing how… effortlessly he dominates the space. Every movement seems deliberate, almost performative, even when he isn’t on stage.

“Y/N,” he says suddenly, voice low and teasing. “You’re supposed to be grading audience reactions, not mine.”

You blink. “I—Of course. Strictly objective.”

“Mm-hmm,” he hums, smirking. He gestures at your notebook, tilting his head. “But you laughed at my jokes before the punchlines. That’s… concerning.”

You flush, flipping a page quickly to cover the notes you’ve scribbled—half observational, half doodles of him. “It’s just… anticipation.”

“Anticipation,” he repeats, clearly unconvinced. He leans over the projector, close enough that your shoulders brush. You try not to notice.

Vernon snorts from behind, arms crossed. “Careful. At this rate, she’ll start measuring flirtation intensity as a legitimate variable.”

You groan. “I am not doing that.”

Seokmin tilts his head toward you, one brow raised. “Are you sure? Because your pen keeps drifting, and your cheeks are… red.”

You nearly drop your pen. “I—I was just…”

He laughs softly, a sound that makes your stomach flip, and moves back slightly, giving you just enough space to breathe but not enough to escape the tension. “Keep recording,” he says, half teasing, half commanding.

You scribble furiously, trying to maintain focus. But your notes are compromised: your charts are chaotic, your lines blurred by laughter, hearts sneaking into bar graphs, and illegible arrows pointing toward him.

“Why are your notes so messy?” Seokmin asks innocently.

“Because they’re scientific,” you snap, then immediately cover your mouth.

“Scientific,” he echoes, smirking, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

The projector loops a clip of his set, and you can’t stop watching. Even the smallest gestures—the way he pauses mid-punchline, the tilt of his head, the glint in his eyes when he catches yours—feel like they’re aimed directly at you. Your fingers twitch toward the keyboard, typing notes that are no longer about audience reactions but about him.

Vernon sighs dramatically from the corner. “You’re screwed. Do you realize that? Completely compromised as a professional observer.”

“I am not,” you insist, though your voice is weaker than usual.

Seokmin crouches again to adjust the projector, then glances back at you. “You know, if this experiment is about how humor affects attraction… I think we might already have some data.”

You blink, heart racing. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” he says, smirk widening, “the observer seems… affected. It’s scientifically interesting.”

You groan, burying your face in your notebook. Vernon laughs so loudly that you’re sure the neighbors can hear.

Seokmin crouches lower, lowering his voice so only you can hear. “Or maybe,” he murmurs, “I’m affected too. Depends on how you measure it.”

Your chest tightens, and you feel the notebook trembling in your hands. Vernon clears his throat, oblivious to the chemistry crackling between you two. “Yep. Definitely doomed. All lab rats accounted for.”

—

[Video Transcript – Lab Review, 10:15 AM]

[0:00] Seokmin rewinds a joke clip. Pauses dramatically. [0:03] DK: “Notice here, the observer’s laugh—three seconds too early. Suggests either anticipation or… something more personal.” [0:06] Y/N: scribbles frantic notes, tries to remain objective [0:08] DK leans closer to the screen, hand brushing yours accidentally. [0:09] Y/N: notices heart rate spike, scribbles illegible data

—

The clip loops again, this time showing the part where you actually trip over your pen and laugh mid-punchline. He grins at you, clearly pleased.

“You’re cute when you’re taking notes,” he says softly, almost offhand.

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. Vernon whistles from the doorway. “Ohhh, there it is. Direct observation confirmed.”

Seokmin shrugs innocently, but the teasing glint in his eyes betrays him.

You can’t help but laugh, despite yourself. The lab feels like a stage, and the two of you are performing a comedy that only you can understand. Every glance, every brush of his hand, every smirk directed at you is another data point you never expected to measure.

And somehow, in the middle of all this chaos, you realize that the experiment is no longer about the audience.

It’s about him.

—

The day of the midterm set arrives faster than you expected. The lab is packed with students, some eager, some skeptical, but none of them matter because all your attention is on Seokmin. He’s pacing in the back, hoodie swaying, sneakers squeaking in perfect rhythm with his dramatic stretches. There’s a glint in his eyes that makes your stomach knot—like he knows this experiment isn’t going to go according to protocol.

You clutch your notebook as if it could protect you from the chaos that is about to unfold. Vernon leans against the wall, arms crossed, smirking. “Just remember,” he says, “professionalism is optional when DK’s in the room.”

You ignore him, but you can’t help stealing a glance at Seokmin. He’s grinning, clearly aware that you’re doing it.

—

[Video Transcript – Midterm Set, 09:58 AM]

Observer: Y/N | Performer: Seokmin (DK)

[0:00] DK steps onto the stage, the projector glowing behind him. [0:02] DK: “Welcome to the midterm experiment. Today, I will attempt humor on a larger scale, scientifically measuring every laugh and blush.” [0:05] Y/N: scribbles notes frantically, already feeling flustered [0:08] DK pauses mid-sentence, eyes locking with yours. “Ah, my favorite data point. Still blushing, I see.” [0:11] Y/N: pen slips, almost drops notebook, laughs into sleeve

Your notes are hopeless. Columns meant for audience reactions are now filled with hearts, arrows pointing toward Seokmin, and illegible scribbles marked “variable: DK effect.” He notices immediately, and a triumphant smirk crosses his face.

[0:15] DK: “Observation compromised, huh? Interesting. I think the observer might be the dependent variable here.”

The class laughs, but you barely notice because every word is aimed directly at you. Vernon’s face in the back of the room is a mixture of amusement and helplessness. He starts tapping notes into his phone, likely documenting your complete loss of composure.

VERNON: She’s completely doomed. 10/10 compromised. Send help.

—

DK’s midterm set is longer than the first, and he’s clearly escalating for your attention. Inside jokes, subtle gestures, even puns that only you understand—every joke lands harder than it should. You try to measure audience engagement, but your hands shake, your pen stutters, and every laugh feels louder than it should.

When he leans slightly closer to the projector, gesturing dramatically with his hands, your heart stutters. You scribble: Independent variable: DK leaning. Heart rate: off the charts.

The worst—and best—moment comes when DK improvises a joke that hits you directly:

DK: “Ever notice how some observers take notes so seriously… they forget to breathe? Someone here might be guilty…”

You freeze. The room goes quiet for a split second. Then, without thinking, you laugh. Loudly. Heart-racing, unable to stop. He grins, satisfied. Vernon groans audibly.

VERNON: She’s laughing again. I’ve lost count. SOS.

—

After the set, the class claps, but you barely hear it. Seokmin walks over to you, brushing past your chair, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his hoodie.

“Careful,” he murmurs, almost conspiratorially. “Your notes are… very revealing.”

You bite your lip and look down at the chaotic page: arrows, hearts, illegible numbers. “It’s still objective,” you lie, though the blush creeping up your neck says otherwise.

He crouches slightly to meet your eye level. “Objective, huh? Because it looks more like… affection metrics to me.”

Your notebook slips again, and he catches it with a wink. “We’ll call this a collaborative experiment.”

Vernon, from across the room, laughs so loudly that half the lab turns around. “Yep. Definitely doomed. All lab rats accounted for.”

Seokmin grins at you, clearly ignoring Vernon, and your heart beats faster. He leans just enough closer that your shoulder brushes his. “Next set,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing, “I might need more precise data… directly from the observer.”

You can barely form a coherent response. “I… I’ll try to remain professional,” you manage.

“Good,” he says, smirking. “Try.”

And just like that, you know professional composure has left the room entirely.

—

[Case File – DK’s Private Notes, Midterm]

Subject: Y/N Observations:

Observer completely compromised. Laughter occurs before, during, and after jokes.

Cheeks red for the majority of set.

Physical proximity correlates directly with blush intensity.

Recommendation: Targeted humor and personal attention recommended for further data collection.

—

By the end of the day, your notebook is a disaster zone: numbers, graphs, doodles, hearts, and illegible notes about DK’s every glance. The experiment is supposed to measure humor and attraction, but in reality, it’s measuring you—your reaction, your flustered fascination, your unwillingness to stay objective.

Vernon watches with a smirk, and Seokmin… well, he’s clearly enjoying every second.

And somehow, despite all the chaos, you’re already looking forward to the next set.

—

The lab is quiet, the hum of the fluorescent lights the only sound as you settle at your desk, laptop open, notebook at the ready. You’ve been reviewing the footage of Seokmin’s midterm set for what feels like the hundredth time, pretending it’s strictly for analysis, but every laugh, every glance, every subtle gesture makes your chest tighten in ways your scientific notes aren’t supposed to record.

Your inbox pings. You glance down to see a new email from Seokmin. You bite back a groan—your heart races before you even open it.

—

[Email Case File – DK to Y/N]

Subject: Confidential Observations Y/N, Today’s data suggests your responses are… fascinating. Your laughter occurs consistently before punchlines, which may indicate anticipation… or personal interest. I’ve included a timestamped video clip for further analysis. Consider this strictly professional… unless you’d like to discuss findings privately. DK

—

You reread it, your cheeks heating, and type a reply almost reflexively:

Y/N (reply): DK, I assure you, any bias is strictly objective. Though I will admit, your timing may be influencing my measurements… purely as a variable. Y/N

Seconds later, your laptop pings again. Another email.

DK: Acknowledged. Noted. But I might need to repeat the experiment… under controlled, more direct conditions. DK

You groan, leaning back in your chair, notebook sliding to the floor. Vernon, who has been hovering somewhere near the lab door, snorts.

“Ohhhhhh. That escalated quickly. You’re officially his lab rat. Good luck.”

You groan again, but secretly, there’s a thrill in knowing this is only between you and him. The rest of the class is irrelevant; the experiment is just the two of you now.

—

Later, you meet him by the projector to review clips. He rewinds the video to a joke you laughed at far too hard.

“Notice here,” he murmurs, pointing at the screen, “the observer laughs three seconds too early. Suggests anticipation, maybe… personal interest.”

You glance at him sharply. “I’m recording objective data, not… interest metrics.”

“Objective,” he repeats, smirking. “That’s convenient, because it looks like… something else entirely.”

You groan, burying your face in your notebook. Your notes are hopeless: arrows pointing to him, illegible charts, tiny hearts disguised as statistical markers.

Seokmin crouches slightly, lowering his voice so only you can hear. “Honestly… your reactions are the best part of this experiment.”

You lift your head, eyes wide. “I—That’s… you can’t write that in the report.”

“I didn’t,” he says softly, but his grin betrays him. “Just… observational commentary for my own records.”

—

[Video Transcript – Private Lab Review, 2:03 PM]

[0:00] DK rewinds a joke clip. Pauses dramatically. [0:03] DK: “Here. Observer smiles before punchline. Reaction recorded. Data looks… revealing.” [0:06] Y/N: scribbles frantic notes, tries to remain objective [0:08] DK leans closer, hand brushing yours accidentally. [0:09] Y/N: heart rate spikes, pen trembles on page

The brush of his hand feels like an electric shock, and you’re suddenly acutely aware of every tiny movement between the two of you. Vernon’s soft whistle from the doorway nearly makes you drop your notebook.

“Direct observation confirmed,” he says with a grin.

Seokmin ignores him, crouching closer. “Or maybe I’m just… as affected as you are. Depends on the metric.”

—

The next email from him arrives while you’re scribbling your “official notes”:

DK: Subject: Follow-Up Y/N, If you want to maintain scientific rigor, please consider this a reminder: continued exposure to me may further compromise your observations. Optional: coffee meeting for “field note review.” DK

You blink at the screen. Your cheeks burn, and Vernon, leaning over your shoulder, nudges you.

“Field note review? Uh… yeah. That’s not professional anymore.”

You groan, knowing Vernon is right, but also knowing there’s no way you’re going to say no.

—

That evening, as you leave the lab, Seokmin calls softly from behind you: “Don’t forget to bring your notes tomorrow. I might have… further observations to discuss.”

You freeze, then manage a weak smile. “I’ll bring them… for science.”

He grins, walking a step closer. “Good. I think the experiment is getting… interesting.”

And somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize that “interesting” is the understatement of the semester.

—

The lab is packed tighter than ever. Every chair is taken, every laptop open, and you’re frantically reviewing your notes one last time, trying to prepare for the “final experiment” that Seokmin promised would be the most challenging yet.

He’s standing at the front, hoodie pushed back slightly, projecting confidence with every step. His grin makes your chest tighten. Vernon, leaning against the back wall, gives you a dramatic thumbs-up. “Brace yourself. This is it.”

You swallow, flipping open your notebook to the chaos of doodles, hearts disguised as charts, and scribbled notes about DK’s every glance. This is supposed to be about humor and attraction, but by now, it’s clear the experiment is all about the two of you.

Seokmin cues the projector and steps onto the stage. “Final experiment,” he says loudly. “Humor at maximum exposure. Observer attention required.”

You bite your lip, holding the pen like a lifeline.

—

[Video Transcript – Final Set]

Observer: Y/N | Performer: Seokmin (DK)

[0:00] DK paces the stage, every movement exaggerated. [0:02] DK: “Welcome to the culmination of our semester-long study. Today, we measure humor, attraction, and… observer susceptibility.” [0:05] Y/N: scribbles notes frantically, already flustered [0:08] DK pauses mid-joke, eyes locking on yours. “Ah, my favorite data point… you’re still blushing.” [0:11] Y/N: pen trembles, heart races, illegible notes scatter across page

He launches into a set that’s longer, bolder, and more personal than before. Inside jokes, subtle jabs, puns that only you understand—everything is aimed at making you react. You try to maintain professional distance, but every joke lands like it was written exclusively for you.

At one point, he leans over the projector, brushing your shoulder with his hand. The small contact makes your chest skip a beat. You scribble a frantic note: Independent variable: DK proximity. Heart rate off charts.

Vernon, unable to resist, whispers to someone behind him, “She’s officially lost all objectivity. All systems compromised.”

—

After the set, Seokmin walks over, projecting casual confidence but clearly savoring your flustered state. “So,” he murmurs, voice low, “what do the data say?”

You try to respond, notebook clutched like armor. “Scientific… results… inconclusive,” you manage, voice shaky.

He grins, crouching slightly. “Or maybe,” he murmurs, “they’re conclusive… just not about humor.”

Your pen slips, nearly falling, and he catches it with a wink. “We’ll call this… a joint observation.”

Vernon whistles, shaking his head. “Yep. Complete chaos. Confirmed.”

—

[Email Case File – DK to Y/N, Post-Final Set]

Subject: Experiment Conclusion Y/N, The final data are in. Observer completely compromised.Suggestion: a one-on-one debrief… preferably over coffee. Or something more… experimental. Regards, DK

—

The lab is quiet now, the semester winding down. You sit with your notebook, reviewing the final compiled data—the chaos of doodles, hearts, and arrows pointing at Seokmin. Officially, your report is “complete,” but unofficially, every page screams him.

Vernon pops his head in, grinning. “Well, all experiments are officially over. How’s your… relationship with DK?”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “We’re not—this is professional…”

Vernon snorts. “Professional? Yeah, sure. And the cats will do my taxes.”

Seokmin appears at your side, hands in his hoodie pockets, watching you with that infuriatingly charming grin. “So,” he says softly, “the experiment… did it convince you?”

You blink. “Convince me… of what?”

“Of us,” he says simply, crouching slightly so you meet his eyes. “All the measurements, all the notes… they’ve been leading here. To this moment.”

Your heart races, mind spinning. You open your mouth, then close it, overwhelmed.

He leans in slowly. “So, Y/N… what do you say? Want to see the results… together?”

You can’t stop yourself. You nod, barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

And then it happens. The kiss is soft, tentative at first, but full of all the tension and humor and chaos of the semester. Vernon, from the doorway, pretends to clear his throat.

“Confirmed: experiment successful. Heart rates elevated. Chaos level: max.”

You laugh, blushing, resting your forehead against Seokmin’s. He grins, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “I’d call this… a perfect study outcome.”

“Control group unnecessary. Y/N already convinced.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t stop smiling. The semester may be over, the lab cleared, but somehow… the experiment isn’t done. Not by a long shot.

And for once, that’s exactly how you want it.

[skzhotpot]

Another win for this series!!! I loved how unserious Seokmin was the entire time and she was so enamored. The only thing she didn’t doodle was “Mrs. Lee” 😂😂😂

[supi-wupi]

Dandelion Wishes - Seungcheol

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 was very fun to just make cheollie down baddd. 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.

Everyone probably did. Everyone except Seungcheol.

—

"You know most people hate these things."

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.

[straylightdream]

just an afterthought

❀ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: joshua hong x f.reader

you were each others first for everything, and you became each others first heartbreak. even when he’s broken hearted joshua just wants his wife back.

❀ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): angst, romance, lovers reuniting, smut

❀ 𝐚𝐮(𝐬): nonidol, flower shop

❀ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.5k

❀ 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: lots of angst, talks of heart break, mentions of getting divorced, don’t worry this has a hopeful ending.

❀ 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected p in v, creampie, cum play, oral (both rec), multiple positions, fingering, they’re both kinda desperate, lots of making out, it’s pretty vanilla Nicknames: baby, Goldie (hers)

❀ 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ nsfw

❀ 𝐚𝐧: this is for @svthub first blooms collab. Thank you @aeristudios and @supi-wupi for helping and beta reading for me again 💕

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

WE WERE EACH OTHER’S EVERYTHING

When it comes to firsts, you and Joshua were each others first for practically everything. He was your first kiss, you shared your first time together, you awkwardly lost your virginities to each other. You were each others first loves and your first heartbreaks.

Seven months, and six days have passed since you walked out the door and never came back. In that time you haven't moved on, you haven't tried to date anyone one. In your heart and soul you're still married.

ITS NEVER OVER

Joshua doesn't think he's ever loved, or will love anyone like he loves you. Watching you walk out of your shared home after an argument, was the most heartbreaking moment of his life.

The first three months you were gone, Joshua texted or called you everyday trying to get you to come home. Slowly the communication started to fade, and now Joshua hasn't spoken to you in three months and twenty-two days.

Since you left Joshua had refused to acknowledge you're sperated. He still wears his wedding ring, and anytime a woman tries to flirt with him he always reminds them he's married.

He's not sure if he can save his marriage or if you'll ever comeback home. He holds out hope that one day you'll come back home.

-

It's another day Joshua is working at the flower shop you both own from open to close. He has Jeonghan helping out running out the small coffee shop that's attached to it.

Today isn't an easy day for Joshua by any means. Today should be your eighth anniversary.

He's spent today burying himself in work. Jeonghan is very aware of what today is. He offered to work open to close with his best friend so he can keep an eye on him.

Joshua is putting the finishing touches on a floral arrangement for a regular who always buys flower for his wife. He puts the arrangement in the cooler before fishing his phone out of his pocket.

Opening his text he goes to your pinned contact. He frows seeing his last message from you was three months ago.

Shua [10:32am] Happy Anniversary.

He stares at his phone knowing there probably won't be response. You’ve barely responded to the last few messages he's sent.

Around noon Jeonghan finally convinces him to at least take a short lunch with him. Joshua's finished up all the early pick up orders and Mina has no problem running the flower counter, and taking orders.

Sitting in the back office Joshua leans back in his chair rubbing his eyes. He hates everything about today.

Jeonghan doesn't like seeing his best friend so distraught. For the last few months he's contemplated begging you to come back to your clearly broken estranged husband. This is your first anniversary apart and he knows Joshua is barely hanging on by a thread.

Leaning forwards, Joshua finally takes a bite of his salad that Jeonghan had ordered him. He can feel his best friend's eyes burning into him, with each bite he takes.

"Why are you here today?" Jeonghan thought Joshua would spend the day at home moping around.

"Because if I spend the day trapped in the home I used to share with her, I might actually lose my mind."

"Shua, maybe it's time you ask for her to comeback or give you a divorce?"

Joshua let's out a heavy sigh leaning back again. "I don't want a divorce. I just want my wife back."

"I know you do. It's just— Shua I hate seeing you torn up like this."

"I know. I hate feeling this way. I just don't know what to do."

"You should go out with me and Seungcheol to the bar tonight."

"Is that a good idea?" Joshua sighs.

"Yeah. I'm not asking you to get drunk, but just come out tonight. I don't want you sitting at home moping around."

Joshua's phone vibrates on the table. He picks it up and sees a message from you.

Goldie 12:13pm - Happy Anniversary.

He truly thought he wouldn't hear from you at all today. He doesn't expect you to call or anything, but he's glad you at least sent him a text.

"Whose texting you?"

Joshua sits the phone down on the table. "Goldie."

"You still call your wife her nickname?" For as long as Jeonghan has know Joshua, he's rarely ever heard him call you by your actual name.

"She's bright like a marigold."

"Your favorite flowers are white roses, I'm still shocked you don't call her Rosie."

Joshua grabs his phone and opens his text.

Shua 12:21pm: I miss you.

"Shua, just go to the bar tonight with me and Cheol."

He just stares at his text you. He can't bring himself to sit in the homes shared, during this anniversary you'll be apart.

"I'll go out tonight."

IS THIS AN ILLUSION?

The sight of you standing right outside the entrance of the flower shop doesn't feel real. Joshua rubs his eyes unsure if this is actually real. It's taking everything in him not to rush the few feet towards you. The closer he gets he realizes you're eyes are glossy and that have been crying.

"Goldie?"

You look up at him and give him a sad smile. "Hi, Shua."

He stood in front of you. He just takes a moment to fully look at you. He was starting to think he might not ever see you again.

"Why are you here?" He stops in front of you.

"I realize I'm miserable without you. I thought I needed to try and be independent, but I understand that's foolish."

Joshua glances around the quiet street. The is watercolors of pink and orange as it starts to rise. He doesn't want to have this conversation out on the street.

"Let's go inside and talk over some coffee." He fishes his key out of his pocket. Opening the door, he holds it open for you.

You look around the flower shop and smile at the site of the bundles of marigolds and white roses together.

"The marigolds are always there because of you." Back in the high school Joshua gave you a bouquet of marigolds and told you they remind him of you. He's called you Goldie since you were teens because of the vibrant flower.

"Are the white rose for you?" You pick a single stem white rose up.

"They're still my favorite flower." He says. “You know they represent new beginnings?”

“Yeah. You gave them to me after our first fight in high school.” You hope that the white rose can represent your future now.

He walks over to the small coffee shop. He turns on the espresso machine and gets to work making coffee for both of you.

This flower shop and cafe is something the two of you built together. This place was just as much yours as it was his before you left.

He tries to focus on making coffee, but he can only focus on you. He's watching you make your way around the flower shop, looking at all the flowers.

He brings over a small tray holding both your iced lattes. Walking over you sit down across to him at small table near the window.

You take a sip of the honey flavored latte. He made it exactly how you have always loved it. "I know I have messed up, am I hurt you."

"You were my first love, and you became my first heartbreak." He responds.

"I know. I broke both of our hearts." You'll never point any of the blame on your husband. Joshua has always been perfect to you. "I left because I never knew what it was like to be independent. I went from living under the guidance of my father, to being married. I've always had a man in my life helping me figure out how to live. I needed to try and be independent."

His brows knit together. "Did you think I was controlling?"

"No, not at all. I just needed space to try an discover who I am. I realized the whole time I was away that my life doesn't make sense without you."

Reaching for the glass you take another drink of your coffee. "I'm coming home. If you would like to continue our relationship, I would love that. I understand if you don't want to. I hurt you, and know that. I can stay with Seokmin and rent a room from him."

"You're crazy if you think I'm going to let you live with Seokmin. Since the moment you walked out of our home on that raining day, I have hoped and prayed that I would come home to me."

"Don't you hate me for hurting you?"

He reaches out taking your hand in his. "Goldie, I don't think I will fully ever understand why you left like you did. I always thought you knew you could talk to me and trust me. But I could never hate you. I just hated that you made me feel like I was just an afterthought." It's true, he's been heart broken since you left, but he's never hated you.

"Okay." Tears slowly start sliding down your cheeks. "I'm sorry I made you feel that way."

Reaching across the table he rest his hand on your cheek. He drags his hand across the delicate skin of your cheek, swiping away your tears. "Come home tonight. Let's have dinner and you can stay the night or you can go stay with Seokmin. The guest room is still set up."

"I would like that."

He wants to ask you a million questions. He wants to know what you've been up to, and where you have been living. He's pretty sure when you left you went and stayed with Seungkwan and his wife.

You both finish your lattes. Joshua is lucky you decided to show up after closing. He knows Jeonghan is going to show up soon to drag him to the bar.

"Did you want pasta tonight for dinner?" It's your anniversary and he would like to make your favorite meal.

"That would be nice."

He glances up when he sees Jeonghan unlocking the door and walking in. He didn't know if Jeonghan was coming in or going to call him. As a partial owner of the coffee shop in here, Jeonghan tends to come and go as he pleases here.

"Oh." Jeonghan says at the sight of you sitting with Joshua.

You turn and fully look at your husbands best friend. Joshua isn't aware that Jeonghan has been checking on you once a month since you left.

"Hi, Hannie."

Jeonghan shoves his hands into his jeans pockets. He looks at Joshua raising his brows. He's not fully sure what he just walked into to.

"Jeonghan, um Goldie is back." Joshua stands up.

"Welcome back, Goldie." Jeonghan tilts his head at you.

Jeonghan walks over and hands Joshua a bag. Joshua dismisses him and takes it to the back office. You're left alone with Jeonghan for a moment.

"When I asked you to come back last night. I didn't expect to see you at seven tonight." Jeonghan sits down where Joshua was sitting.

"I knew it was time to come home, your message was the push I needed." You pause staring at the man who had become your best friend as well. "I know you probably hate me, and we probably aren't friends anymore."

He knits his brows together. "I don't hate you, and we can still be friends. I'm just asking that you don't break his heart again."

Joshua walks back out holding the keys to the store. He gives you a gentle smile, before looking towards Jeonghan.

"I'll let Cheol know you can't come out tonight." Jeonghan stands up and grabs your empty coffee cups.

Joshua walks closer to you. Jeonghan walks away disposing of the cups.

"Are you ready to go home?" Joshua asks.

You stand up, glancing over you see Joshua holding out his hand. You don't even hesitate, you reach out lacing your fingers with his.

Walk out of the shop, Jeonghan leads the way. Joshua releases your hand just long enough to lock the door.

Jeonghan says goodbye and heads down the street towards the bar.

ALL THE MEMORIES WE’VE SHARED

Once you're both alone Joshua leads you towards his car. He unlocks it's and opens the passenger door for you.

"I didn't ask how you got here." Joshua pauses.

"Seokmin dropped me off."

You both get into the car. Joshua glances over and gives you a smile before he turns the car on. The drive the flower shop, to your home takes all of five minutes. Joshua parks the car in the driveway and you both get out.

Heading inside your shared home, it still looks like just the day you left. Over by the couch, your engagement and wedding photos are still hung. After you left your thought he would remove those photos.

You follow him as he heads off to the kitchen. He grabs a bottle of wine and pops it open. You stand by the sink watching as he moves around the kitchen. He pours to glasses of red wine. He grabs one, holding it out for you.

Taking the glass you hold it out. He grabs his own and raises it. "Happy anniversary."

You cheers your glasses before taking a sip of rich yet subtle flavor of blackberries in the wine.

"Happy anniversary," you respond.

"Take a seat and I'll make us your favorite pesto."

Walking over you sit down at the kitchen table. You sip on the rich wine, watching him move with ease around the kitchen. Cooking for you has always been apart of Joshua's love language with you.

It takes about thirty minutes before he sets down a delicious looking plate of pesto pasta.

He sits down across from you. There is about two minutes of silence before you both start making small talk.

"Do you remember when we're were home from college celebrating our anniversary and your mom almost walked in on us?" Joshua asks. You remember this night fully. You were both twenty and had been dating for four years at that point. You planned on getting a hotel for your anniversary, but weren't able to. Joshua thought it would be romantic if he snuck into your parents house in the middle of night. It turns out your were being too loud having sex and your mom was concerned you were hurt and came knocking on your luckily locked door.

"Yes. We were being so loud, my mom thought something hurt me and made me cry." If only she knew, your charming boyfriend was fucking you so good you couldn't shut up.

Through out dinner you keep talking about past memories. After another glass of wine you both work on cleaning up the kitchen. Joshua puts the last dish away as you finish your last drink of wine.

Joshua is standing there looking absolutely handsome. This dinner made you feel like everything was back to normal. It's making you realize you didn't destroy everything you built together, like you thought you did.

You've missed your husband desperately, and you never want to leave his side again.

Joshua walks closer to you. He stops right in front of you. He reaches out pushing your hair out of you face. He doesn't anything, he just stares at you for a moment.

Without thinking, you lean in crashing your lips into his. His hand grips your hip, pulling you flush against his body. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you deepen the kiss. The whole time you were gone, you craved this feeling. You told yourself over and over again, that you left to find yourself, but you couldn't push away the aching feeling in your chest. Every single day, you're apart you've missed your husband. Now that you're back you don't ever want to leave his side again.

Pulling back slightly, he rests his nose against yours. "Are you sure you want this?" He whispers.

"I just want to be with my husband again." His brows knit together for a moment. "Joshua, if you'll have me back, I wanna be yours."

Not another word was uttered before he crashes his lips into yours for a searing kiss. He walks you backwards until your back hits the wall with a thud.

He pulls away smiling. His smile sends a fluttering storm of butterflies into your stomach. "Baby, you've alway been mine. Even when you made me feel like an afterthought. You were always mine." He says before kissing you again.

Reaching for his belt, without thinking you start unbuckling it. He stares at you with a look of awe. You fumble, as your work on unbuckling his pants. You push his jeans down below his butt, and pull out his already hardening length. Your eyes lock on his, as your slowly pump his length.

You give him a smile, before dropping to your knees in front of him. You start off by holding, his length while you slowly took his rosy colored tip. He threads his fingers through your hair, holding it away from your face. Hallowing your cheeks you take his length into your mouth. Bobbing your head you slide your tongue against the vein that runs along the underside of his cock.

Joshua's eyes are closed, and his lips are parted. It's taking everything in him not to guide your movements. He's just letting your set your own pace. God he's missed the feeling of your mouth.

"Goldie." He lets out a breathy moan.

Looking up through your lashes, your eyes lock with his. He looks beautiful as he's on the edge of falling apart.

One hand rest on his thigh, while the other reach down to play with his balls.

"Baby, I'm close." You love how desperate he sounds.

Hallowing your cheeks you take him into your throat. He shakes his head and pulls away from you.

Sitting back on your heels you look up at him, confused.

"Baby, our first time together in months I refuse to finish the first time in your mouth." He reaches down, helping you stand up.

He leans down pressing his lips to yours for a quick kiss. "Let's move to our bedroom."

Laying on top of the same comforter you spent hours shopping dragging Joshua around on a sunny June afternoon. Pushing yourself up on your elbows you watch as Joshua starts stripping away this clothes. He's still absolutely beautiful.

It's been so long since you've been intimate. Joshua is the only man you've ever been with, and you never want another man touch you like he does.

He sits his knee on the bed and starts crawling towards you. He sits on his heels between your spread legs. Leaning down he places a kiss on your knee.

"I'm going to eat you out." He lays down on his stomach, with your needy pussy right in front of his face. He starts by kissing the top of your mound. He spreads your lips and with his fat tongue he licks your puffy clit.

"Oh—" you instantly moan.

"You taste just as sweet as I remember."

He dives into your core like a man starved. He practically makes out with your clit, switching between licking and sucking as he pumps two fingers in and out of you.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close to your core. Without thinking your lift your hips pushing your pussy closer to his face.

"Shua—" You moan.

He curves his fingers up, touching that spot inside you, that leaves you seeing stars. He sucks harder on your clit. Your orgasm hits you like a lightening strike. Everything tenses and then your whole body instantly relaxs. Your walls flutter around his fingers. You're body lies limp against the soft bed.

He pulls back smiling. His lips have a shine to them from your release. His tongue slides across his top lip, collecting some of your release.

Your eyes are squeezed shut letting the high wash over you. Joshua takes this time to slowly pull back. He moves back to his position, sitting on his knees between your spread legs. He pumps his painfully hard length, looking down at you.

Your eyes open and you find him staring down at you. He presses another gentle kiss to your knee.

"Do I need to get a condom?" He hasn't worn in a condom with you since you were in college together, but it's been so long since you were intimate he doesn't know if you want him to wear one. His large hand rests on your thigh, and rubs it slowly.

A smile tugs at your lips. "I'm still on birth control, and haven't even looked at another man other than you."

"Goldie—" he pauses and looks at you with his brows knit. "Baby, I've never been with anyone other then you. The whole time you were gone I never planned on moving on. I'm faithful to you."

"I didn't wasn't accusing you of anything. I just wanted you to know I was faithful to you too." You give him a smile. "Joshua I want to feel you fully raw again."

He moves closer to you. He takes his hard length in his hand, running it through your wet folds. A soft gasp passes your lips as the rosy mushroom tip bumps against your sensitive clit. He moves so he's hovering over you, while he rest on his knees. He pushes you inch by inch as painfully slow pace. It's been so long since you've had sex with anything other than your vibrator. It's going to take a moment for you to adjust to the size of your husband. The moment he's fully inside he stills, giving you a moment to adjust. Closing your eyes you tilt your head back. He reaches up resting his hand on your cheek.

"You okay?" Your eyes flutter open, and find him staring down at you.

"Yeah, I just need a minute. It's a been a while."

"Baby it's been seven long months since I have been inside you." He gives you that smile that always makes you feel weak in the knees.

"Shua, can you move?" Your reach up, tangling your fingers in his hair.

Without saying another word, he starts moving at a slow and deep pace. His body is practically plastered against you. One of yours hands is tangled in his hand and the others rest on his lower back. You can't get enough of him. Seven long months left you yearning for him.

His large length is filling you completey. He's so long you feel as if he's kissing your cervix with each deep thrust. The room is filled with echoing sounds of your whimpers and moans, and his deep moans. Resting his face in the crook of your neck, he leaves a wet trail of kisses, most definitely leaving marks in his wake.

"Baby you feel so good," he groans against your skin.

Spreading your legs wider for him, he's able to hit spots even deeper. Closing your eyes you focus on your rapidly approaching high. You let out a high pitched moan that sounds like his name. You're on the verge of falling apart.

"You're clenching." He groans. He knows your body inside and out. He's aware that you're on the brink of falling apart.

"You feel so good. You're so big." You're practically squirming, trying to push your hips up towards him.

"Baby you can come." He pulls his lips away from your skin.

You silently nod your head. Your whole body feels tense. The coiling in your stomach has your wound so tight, you're on the brink of exploding.

Joshua pulls away from your fully. You whine at the loss of him plastered against you. He sits on his knees between your spread legs. This position gives him. The ability to play with your clit. He picks up his pace, still going deep, but smacking his hips into yours hard. His hand rest on your mound, his thumb works on rubbing your sensitive clit. Your lips part, as a silent gasp passes.

Pushing yourself up on your elbows your watch what he's doing. It's absolutely toxicity watching as he plays with you.

"Fuck—" you whine.

"Come for me baby."

Silently you nod.

He pushes his hips into yours at quicker pace. Your orgasm feels like a tidal wave. The coil snaps in your stomach like it never had before. Your walls squeeze his massive length pushing him over the edge right behind you. He fills you to the brim with his milky white release. He's cum harder then he ever has.

He keeps thrusting into you with shallow thrust, helping you both ride out your high. Pulling out he watches as his thick cum slowly starts to leak out. Without thinking he drags two fingers through your folds helping to push his release back inside you.

"God I love you." He says.

"I love you too."

He kisses the top of your knee one last time before running off to the bathroom to get a warm cloth to clean you up.

Laying in bed with your husband feels surreal. There were many nights after you left you thought you lost him forever.

Laying in your side you stare him. He's laying on his side staring back. His hand rest on the bed between you. You're both still fully naked.

"Baby, I want my wife back."

"Why are you so willing to forgive me?" You can't push away the guilty feeling that's eating away at you.

"Because I love you, and I'm willing to understand why you left me." His words make you feel like your chest is being squeezed. "We can go slow. We can act like we're dating again, we have a guest room. One of us can sleep in there."

"Slow would be nice. Maybe we don't always sleep in separate rooms."

He smiles. "I'll do whatever you want. I just want you back."

"I'm back." You can't help but cry.

He reaches out pushing away your tears. "Don't cry, baby."

"I'm just worried. People probably hate me for hurting you."

He shakes his head. "No one can hate you. Sure some people don't understand, but no one hates you. Baby what other people think doesn't matter. All that matters is, I want you back, and I love you."

"I love you too."

Joshua moves closer. He crashes his lips into yours before pulling you into his arms. You know you messed up, but Joshua loves you, and wants to work on building your life together again. You hope one day maybe that guilty feeling will go away. But right now all that matters is that you love your husband, and he loves you.

[quinnhypen]

im scared i'll never sleep again - (c.hs)

Pairing: Vernon x f. Reader :D

You and Vernon have been inseparable since middle school, growing up side by side until the moment everything changes when you leave for college in New York. He stays home, pretending he’s fine with the distance, but the night before you leave, a simple sleepover turns into an emotional argument neither of you were prepared for. Vernon, unable to understand why he’s so affected by your departure, lashes out and says hurtful things about your choice to leave—words rooted in fear rather than truth. After you leave, silence takes over, and Vernon is left behind, quietly falling apart as he spends every day yearning for you, hoping for any sign that you might still come back into his life. And worst of all, he never wanted you to leave, and that was killing him.

Genre: angst,oblivious to love, oblivious to feelings, non-idol au, yearning vernon, like vernon yearning harder than anyone has yearned before Word Count: 16.3k Warnings/Things to make note of!: angst, a lot of angst, like the whole story is angst pretty much up until the end, verbal fighting, no smut!, heavy making out, mention of getting undressed, happy ending, yearning, crazy yearning, sad yearning. I ALSO DID NOT PROOF READ THIS WHOOPS! A/N: hi! Its been a bit! End of semester got busy and crazy so i didn’t have much time to write!! My roommate and I love 5 seconds of summer and she had this idea for a vernon fic based on the 5sos song, im scared ill never sleep again which I immediately was like omg YES LETS DO IT. so we brainstormed the plot together and i got writing!!! I hope you all love it cutie little yearning vernon chwe hansol ugh cutie pie. Enjoy the story!!!

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If anyone asked how you and Vernon became friends, neither of you could ever remember the exact details. 

The official story was that a seventh-grade science teacher had assigned a group project about ecosystems and stuck the two of you together. Vernon had forgotten half the materials, you'd had forgotten the poster board, and somehow the disaster had ended with both of you laughing so hard you got yelled at for disrupting class.

After that, you were just... there.

Lunch periods. Bus rides. Weekend hangouts. Study sessions that turned into movie marathons. 

Vernon loves movies.

Every milestone from awkward middle school years to surviving high school had happened with Vernon standing somewhere nearby.

The friendship became so permanent that nobody questioned it anymore.

Well, almost nobody.

People who didn't know either of you would occasionally glance between the two of you and ask, "Wait, are they dating?" And every single time, someone who knew you both would laugh.

"No." The answer came immediately. Automatically. "No, they're just Vernon and Y/n."

As if that explained everything.

Because it did. Everyone knew you and Vernon would never catch feelings.

Not because there wasn't trust or affection between you. If anything, there was too much of it. You knew how he took his coffee, knew which songs he skipped every time they came on shuffle in the car, knew exactly what expression meant he was trying not to laugh, and knew exactly what jokes would make him laugh his little squeaky noises that makes you laugh even harder.

Vernon knew all your secrets, all your bad habits, all the things you never told anyone else.

You were best friends. The kind of best friends people pointed to when they talked about platonic soulmates. The kind of friendship that seemed untouchable.

Unchangeable.

Then graduation came.

Neither of you cried during the ceremony, but your family definitely did enough for everyone.

Afterward, life suddenly felt too big.

College acceptance letters turned into orientation dates. Texts filled with discussions about dorm assignments and class schedules. Everyone around you seemed to be preparing for some huge new chapter.

At first, neither of you thought much about it.

Of course you would both go to college. Of course you would still be best friends.

That part was obvious.

The less obvious part came when decision day rolled around.

You chose New York. The second you got accepted, you knew.

The city felt loud and exciting and terrifying in all the right ways. It was everything you'd spent years dreaming about whenever you felt trapped in your small hometown. New opportunities. New people. New experiences.

A fresh start.

Vernon chose differently.

While everyone around him stressed over moving across the country, he picked a school in-state less than an hour from home. Close enough to visit home whenever he wanted. Close enough that his parents wouldn't have to help him move his entire life into a dorm room. Close enough that everything familiar would still be there if he needed it.

Neither choice surprised the other.

You had always wanted more, Vernon had always liked what he already had.

Still, for the first time in years, your lives weren't moving in the exact same direction.

You tried not to think about it.

So did he.

Instead, you spent the entire summer together.

Some days were spent driving around town with no destination. Some days were spent lying on your bedroom floor talking about absolutely nothing. Most nights ended with one of you sleeping over at the other's house.

The friendship was so old that neither of your families thought twice about it anymore.

If Vernon stayed over, he took his usual side of the bed.

If you stayed at his house, you took yours.

No awkwardness. No weird tension. No wondering where to put your arms.

Just comfort. Just familiarity.

The two of you had practically grown up side by side.

A shared bed never meant anything more than being too lazy to drag out an air mattress.

The summer before college became a collection of routines.

One of your favorites happened almost every evening.

Music had always been your thing.

You'd spend hours sitting cross-legged on your bed with a guitar in your lap, replaying the same section of a song over and over until your fingers got it right.

Vernon would usually be nearby.

Sometimes stretched out on the floor, sometimes sitting against your headboard, sometimes scrolling through his phone while pretending not to pay attention.

But he always listened.

Every wrong note, every lyric, every song you became obsessed with for two weeks before moving on to another one.

Occasionally he'd join in.

He'd just start singing a line under his breath from wherever he was sitting, making you grin before you inevitably messed up whatever chord you were playing.

And then he'd laugh.

That quiet laugh that always turned into those ridiculous squeaky little noises whenever something genuinely got him.

It was easy, everything with Vernon was easy.

Until suddenly there were only three days left before you moved to New York.

Then two.

Then one.

The night before you left, your phone buzzed while you were sitting on your bedroom floor surrounded by half-packed boxes.

Vernon:Sleep over tonight?

You stared at the message.

You:Vernon, I literally leave for New York tomorrow morning.

The typing bubble appeared immediately.

Vernon:I know that.

Vernon:That's kind of why I'm asking.

You:Wow. Getting sentimental on me?

Vernon:Don't make this weird.

Vernon:So are you coming or not?

You looked around your room, brown boxes lining the walls.

Tomorrow, you'd wake up, get in a car, and leave behind the town you'd spent your entire life in.

Leave behind your family, Leave behind your friends.

Leave behind Vernon.

The thought settled heavily in your chest.

You:Yeah.

You:I'll be there in twenty.

His response came almost instantly.

Vernon:Cool.

The response was dry, more than usual.

You:You okay?

The typing bubble appeared.

Disappeared, appeared again.

Then:

Vernon:Why wouldn't I be?

You:You seem weird.

Vernon:

Text when ur here

You:Okay.

A read receipt appeared almost immediately.

Then nothing.

The conversation ended there.

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Vernon wasn't exactly the world's most expressive texter, but he was usually easier than this. Lighter. He always had some dumb comment to make or some random thought to share.

Lately, though, he'd been different.

You couldn't pinpoint exactly when it started, maybe a few weeks ago?

Maybe when college became real.

Maybe when moving day stopped being some distant date on a calendar and started becoming tomorrow.

He'd just been... off.

A little more irritable.

A little quieter, a little quicker to shut down conversations.

Sometimes you'd catch him staring off into space when you were talking and have to repeat yourself. Other times he'd get oddly annoyed over things that normally wouldn't bother him.

Nothing worth questioning.

You figured he was stressed. Besides, everyone was.

Your hands sat on the top of your steering wheel when everything set in.

Looking at your house.

Tomorrow night, you wouldn't be here. Tomorrow night, you'd be in a dorm room hundreds of miles away in New York. The realization hit harder than it had all summer.

You'd spent months talking about leaving. Planning for it. Getting excited about it.

But somehow none of it had felt real until now.

Until this drive. Your last drive to Vernon's house.

The route was so familiar you could have driven it blindfolded.

Past the gas station where he'd accidentally put diesel into his car during senior year and spent the next month insisting it wasn't his fault.

Past the park where the two of you used to waste entire afternoons doing absolutely nothing.

Past the convenience store where he'd buy the same snacks every single time despite claiming he wanted to try new things.

It wasn't like you'd never come back. It wasn't like Vernon was disappearing.

You'd text. Call. Visit during breaks.

Everything would be fine.

So why did it feel like something was ending? The thought lingered as you drove.

You parked in front of his house and grabbed your overnight bag from the passenger seat.

Then, after a brief hesitation, you pulled out your phone.

You:Here.

The read receipt appeared immediately. A few seconds later, the front door opened.

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You climbed out of the car and headed up the walkway, overnight bag slung over your shoulder. Vernon stood in the doorway waiting.

For a second, neither of you said anything, he just looked at you, then he offered a small smile.

"Hey."

"Hey."

Something tugged at your chest.

Maybe it was the porch light or maybe it was your imagination.

But he looked tired. Not physically tired, just somehow exhausted.

His eyes looked slightly puffy, like he'd been rubbing at them for a while. Like maybe he'd cried an hour ago and had mostly recovered from it.

Mostly.

Not enough that you felt comfortable asking about it, not enough that you were even sure you'd seen it correctly.

So you ignored it. The same way you'd ignored every other strange thing about him lately.

"You gonna let me in?" you asked.

He stepped aside immediately. “Right.”

The familiar smell of his house greeted you as soon as you walked inside. Everything looked exactly the same, which somehow made tomorrow feel even more impossible. You slipped off your shoes while Vernon closed the door behind you.

His parents were already asleep, the house quiet. Without speaking, he grabbed your overnight bag and started up the stairs.

By the time you stepped inside, the weird feeling from the car ride had settled heavily in your stomach.

Vernon's room looked exactly how it always did.

A little messy, movie posters on the walls, a pile of clothes occupying a chair in the corner. So comfortably familiar.

Usually you'd flop onto his bed immediately and start talking but tonight, you both just sort of... sat there.

You settled near the headboard.

Vernon sat beside you, not too close, not too far.

The silence stretched.. and stretched… and stretched. 

It was unbearable.

"So," you finally said.

"So." Vernon repeats, not making direct eye contact with you.

"Did you eat dinner?"

"Yeah."

"What'd you have?"

"Food."

You blinked. "Vernon."

"What?"

You turn your whole body to face him. "You're being weird."

The corner of his mouth twitched in a way you couldn’t really describe. The room fell quiet again. He was holding something back, why wasn’t he telling you?

His leg bounced restlessly, he played with the hem on the sleeve of his hoodie and suddenly, you couldn’t hold the question back anymore.

"Okay."

His eyes flickered toward you.

"Okay what?"

"What's going on?"

His expression immediately changed as he finally looked you in the eyes for the first time since he opened the front door. 

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

He looked away.

"Nothing's going on."

You let out a short laugh. “See, that Vernon. You are being weird and distant and avoidant. Did I do something?”

A pause.

“Nevermind.” You cross your arms over your body beginning to grow annoyed. “You clearly don’t want to tell me.”

"I don't know how to explain it," he finally admitted.

The honesty in his voice immediately took some of the anger out of you.

“Then try, I have one night left Vernon.” A slight nip in the tone of your voice.

Vernon stared down at his hands for a moment, rubbing his thumb against the edge of his blanket. The room felt impossibly quiet.

"It's just..." He sighed. "I don't get it."

You frowned. "Don't get what?"

"The whole thing."

He let out a dry laugh and shook his head. "New York."

You blinked.

"What about New York?"

"What about it?" he shot back. "I don't understand why you want to go so far away."

Your confusion immediately deepened. "What?"

"I'm serious." He finally looked at you. "I don't get it."

You stared at him. "Vernon, we've talked about this for years."

"I know."

"Then why are you acting like this is new information?"

"Because it didn't feel real before." The words slipped out before he could stop them.

For a second, neither of you spoke. 

Vernon looked away first. "I don't know," he muttered. "I just don't get why that's what you want."

You sat up straighter.

"What do you mean that's what I want? It's New York."

"Exactly."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged, but there was frustration behind it. "I just don't see the appeal."

You laughed in disbelief. "Okay, but you don't have to. This is my life Vernon"

"I know."

"So what are we even talking about right now?"

His jaw tightened.

"I'm talking about the fact that you're moving eight hours away."

"Why does it sound like you're judging me for it?"

"I'm not judging you."

"You kind of are."

He ran a hand through his hair and stood up from the bed, pacing a few steps before turning back toward you. "I just think you're chasing this idea of something."

"Excuse me?"

"New York isn't what people think it is."

"You've never even lived there."

"And neither have you."

The comment landed harder than either of you expected. You stared at him. "What exactly are you trying to say?"

He hesitated, and that hesitation told you there was more. A lot more.

Finally, he spoke. "I just don't think it's good enough for you."

"What?"

His eyes dropped to the floor.

"I don't know."

"Vernon."

He laughed once, frustrated with himself. "You've spent years talking about New York like it's gonna solve everything."

"I never said that."

"You act like it."

"No, I don't."

"You do." The argument was building now. You could both feel it.

"It just feels like you're putting all your hopes into this place and—"

"And what?"

"And I don't think it'll be what you expect."

You shook your head.

"That's not your fucking decision to make is it?"

“No but I-” he snaps his neck back up.

"Then why are we even having this conversation?"

A pause

And then finally said the thing he probably hadn't meant to.

"Because apparently what's here isn't enough."

The words seemed to echo off the walls, hanging between you long after he'd said them.

Vernon looked away immediately, like he wished he could take them back.

Like he'd been trying not to say them for weeks and they'd finally slipped out anyway.

You stared at him. "What?"

"Forget it."

"No."

His shoulders tensed.

"Y/n—"

"No, don't do that." You shook your head. "Don't throw something like that out there and then tell me to forget it."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Then how did you mean it?"

He didn't answer. The silence made something ugly twist in your chest.

"You think I'm leaving because this place isn't enough?" you asked quietly.

Vernon rubbed both hands over his face.

"No."

"You literally just said—"

"I know what I said."

"Then what the fuck am I supposed to think?" 

For the first time since you'd known him, he looked genuinely lost.

"I just don't understand it."

Your eyebrows furrowed.

"Understand what?"

"You."

This hit you like a ton of bricks. It sunk into every crack of your heart. 

“You are fucking unbelievable.” Your voice cracked halfway through, tears already burning at your eyes. “What does that even mean, Vernon? ‘You don’t understand me’? I’ve known you since we were twelve. What the fuck is there to not understand?”

He flinched at the volume of your voice, like it physically hit him. “That’s not what I meant—”

“Then what did you mean?” you snapped. Your hands shook as you wiped at your face, only for more tears to come immediately. “Because all I’m hearing is you saying I’m doing something wrong by leaving.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to!” Your voice rose again, sharp and breaking. “You’ve been acting like this for weeks, Vernon. Weeks. Like I’m—like I’m leaving you behind on purpose or something. Like I’m supposed to just stay here and—what—what, just give up my whole life because you’re not ready for me to go?”

His expression tightened, jaw clenching like he was holding something back too hard. “That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?” you shouted, and the sound bounced off the walls of his room. “Because you keep talking in circles and acting like I’m some stranger now and I don’t get it. I don’t fucking get it!” Your voice broke on the last word, and the tears finally spilled over fully. 

You hated how fast it happened, hated that it made you feel even more out of control. You stood up abruptly from the edge of his bed, moving closer until you were right in front of him.

“Look at me,” you demanded, voice shaking. “Say it. Whatever it is, just fucking say it.”

Vernon’s eyes finally met yours, and that was when you saw it clearly. The strain. The exhaustion. The way he looked like he’d been holding himself together by force alone.

“I’m trying,” he said quietly. “I just- I literally don’t know.”

“You’re not trying hard enough,” you shot back.

He took a small step forward like he wanted to calm you down, like he always did when things got too loud between you two. Something in you snapped.

“Don’t,” you warned.

“Y/N, just—”

“Don’t touch me right now,” you said, and when he didn’t stop moving closer, you shoved him lightly in the chest.

It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t meant to hurt. But it stopped him instantly.

His face changed, not anger. Something much worse.

Hurt.

“Okay,” he said quickly, raising his hands slightly like he was grounding himself. “Okay, I’m not—just listen to me for a second.”

“No,” you shook your head, tears still falling, breath uneven. “You listen to me. I’m leaving tomorrow. Tomorrow. And instead of spending tonight like a normal person, you’re standing here making me feel like shit for it.”

His throat moved like he was swallowing something sharp.

“I’m not trying to make you feel like shit,” he said, voice cracking more now. “I’m trying to tell you I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?” you snapped. “Be my friend? Because you’re doing a pretty bad job right now.”

You saw it hit him.

His eyes shone immediately, glassy in a way that made your stomach twist. He blinked fast like he could push it back down, but it didn’t work.

“Stop,” he said, quieter now. “Just stop yelling at me for a second. Please.”

“Then stop saying weird shit Vernon!” you shouted back, voice breaking again. “Stop acting like I’m doing something wrong just because I want to leave!”

“I’m not saying you’re doing something wrong!”

“Then what are you saying?”

His breath shook.

And for a second, he looked like he might actually cry.

“I’m saying I don’t know what I’m supposed to do when you’re not here,” he said finally, voice low and raw.

“I don’t know how to make you understand,” he said, voice breaking fully now, “that you leaving doesn’t just feel like you are going to college. It feels like you’re—like you’re just gone from everything we know.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

“That’s not what this is,” you said, but it came out weaker.

“It is for me,” he snapped back, louder now, finally breaking too. “Because you’re acting like this is just some exciting new chapter and I’m supposed to just be fine with it and I’m not—” He cut off, dragging a hand down his face, tears finally slipping out despite how hard he tried to stop them. “I’m not fine with it. What is there in New York that we don’t have here?”

Both of you were breathing hard now. Both of you were crying, neither of you looking away.

Your hands were shaking at your sides as you stared at him, chest rising unevenly like you couldn’t quite catch your breath.

It wasn’t just the question. It was everything underneath it. The way he said we. Like he didn’t know how to exist without you inside that word.

You laughed once, sharp and wet with tears. “Everything.”

The word landed wrong in the room.

Vernon blinked. “What?”

“Everything,” you repeated, voice shaking harder now. “There’s everything there that isn’t here.”

His face changed instantly, like you’d hit him without touching him.

“That’s not what you mean,” he said, but it sounded less certain now.

“Yes, it is,” you snapped, wiping at your face angrily. “You think I want to stay in this town forever? Doing the same things, seeing the same people, going to the same places where nothing changes?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But that’s what you’re asking!” Your voice cracked again. “You’re asking me to stay like it wouldn’t kill me a little bit. Like I wouldn’t wake up every day wondering what else I could’ve been.”

Vernon shook his head quickly, tears still streaking down his face now, not even bothering to hide it anymore. “I’m not asking you to stay here forever.”

“Yes, you are,” you shot back immediately. “You just don’t want to say it out loud because it sounds pathetic.”

Vernon looked defeated, small.

And that made you angry all over again, because Vernon wasn’t supposed to be small.

So you said it.

The thing you shouldn’t have said.

“The point is, Vernon,” you said, voice shaking but sharp, “I don’t want to stay.”

The words hit him like a physical blow.

He froze, completely.

For a second he just stared at you.

Then, quietly, almost desperate, he stepped forward.

“Just—” His voice cracked. He swallowed hard. “Just stay tonight. Please.”

The shift was instant. From argument to something softer. Something pleading.

You wiped your face again, laughing bitterly through tears. “Why should I?”

You stared at him for a moment longer, the tension still thick between you, the silence heavy and unbearable.

Then, finally, you exhaled.

“Fine,” you said quietly.

His eyes flickered up instantly.

“I’ll stay.”

It wasn’t forgiveness nor a resolution.

It was just exhaustion. Vernon nodded once, like he was afraid to say anything else would ruin it.

You grabbed your bag, setting it down near the bed, then climbed into your usual side without looking at him.

The space between you felt different now.

Vernon stayed standing for a second longer than necessary, then finally moved to the desk, grabbing the remote without speaking.

He hesitated before clicking the TV on.

A movie started playing—something random, something neither of you were really watching.

The sound filled the room just so there wouldn’t be silence.

He climbed into bed on his side, careful not to touch you.

You didn’t look at him.

He didn’t look at you.

There was no apology. No fixing it. Just the faint glow of the screen, the weight of everything unsaid, and the space between you that suddenly felt bigger than it ever had before.

At some point, your breathing evened out anyway. And even though you were still awake for a while longer, pretending not to feel him there beside you, you eventually fell asleep to the sound of a movie neither of you cared about.

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Vernon woke up to silence.

Not the soft, normal kind that came with early morning light filtering through his blinds. Not the kind where you could still feel someone beside you if you closed your eyes.

This was empty.

He blinked slowly, still half stuck in sleep, until it registered that the space next to him was different than the night before.

The blanket on your side of the bed was smoothed out. The pillow was placed back where it usually sat, like it had never been touched at all. Like you had never been there.

His stomach dropped instantly.

You were gone.

He sat up so fast the room tilted. “Y/n?” he called, voice rough and uneven. Nothing answered. He was out of bed before he even realized it, bare feet hitting the floor as he stumbled toward the door.

“Y/n,” he said again, louder now, walking through his room like you might just be hiding somewhere, like this was some stupid joke he hadn’t caught onto yet.

But the house was quiet.

No footsteps downstairs. No bathroom light. No sound of your voice or your bag being zipped shut or anything at all.

Panic started rising fast, sharp and hot in his chest.

He went back into his room, pacing now, hands running through his hair again and again like he could physically reset what was happening. “No, no, no—” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “No, she wouldn’t—”

And then it came back, everything from last night crashing into him all at once.

Your voice breaking. His voice breaking. The argument looping over and over in his head like a broken recording.

I don’t want to stay.

The words punched the air out of him all over again. His breathing stuttered.

“No,” he whispered, quieter this time. “No, she didn’t just—”

His voice cracked completely.

He turned sharply, gripping the edge of his desk for balance, trying to ground himself in something real. Something that wasn’t this.

That’s when he saw it. A purple pen, lying neatly on the corner of his desk like it had been placed there carefully on purpose.

His breath caught.

He knew that pen.

He had bought it months ago without thinking much of it, just because you kept stealing his pens every time you came over to do homework. You always claimed you didn’t have one. And every time you ended up using his anyway, complaining about how boring black ink was.

So he bought a purple one.

Because it was your favorite color.

He stared at it like it might disappear if he looked away, and then he saw the note. Folded once. Resting beside it.

His hands shook as he picked it up.

For a moment, he just held it there, not opening it yet, like he already knew whatever was inside would change something he wasn’t ready to lose.

Then he unfolded it, the handwriting was yours.

He didn’t even realize he was crying until a tear hit the paper.

He read it anyway.

Vernon,

I’m not doing this. We can’t leave it like that and then wake up and pretend everything’s fine and nothing happened.

You don’t get to make me feel bad for leaving my life behind when you knew exactly what I’ve always wanted. I needed you to be my best friend last night, not whatever that was.

I’ll call when I land.

—Y/N

His breath came unevenly as he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed without meaning to. The purple pen sat beside the note, bright and stupid and painfully intentional.

His vision blurred.

“No,” he whispered, barely audible. “No, no—”

His hand pressed hard against his mouth like he could hold everything in. Like he could physically stop what was already happening inside him. But it didn’t work.

He bent forward, elbows on his knees, the note still clutched in his hand.

“You didn’t even wake me up,” he said to no one, voice cracking apart in pieces. “You just… left.”

Another breath hitched.

He sat there for a long time after that, the note still in his hand and the purple pen unmoving beside it, until eventually he picked up his phone and just… waited. Hours passed in fragments of nothing—screen lighting up, going dark, lighting up again—every notification that wasn’t you hitting him in the chest a little harder than the last. He checked the time again and again, counting when your flight should’ve landed, convincing himself you were just busy, just tired, just not there yet. But eventually even that excuse ran out. It got well past the time you would’ve texted, and the silence started to feel deliberate. He laid down again without really deciding to, staring up at the ceiling like if he looked long enough it might give him something back, waiting for the call from the East side that never came.

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Since landing in New York, everything had gone almost exactly the way you'd hoped it would.

Moving into your dorm was surprisingly easy. A few boxes, a couple of awkward elevator trips, and suddenly your entire life fit into one small room overlooking a street that never seemed to quiet down. It felt strange at first, being somewhere so different from home, but exciting too. Like every time you stepped outside, something new was waiting for you.

Classes started a few days later, and somehow the first week flew by.

You found your lecture halls faster than expected, figured out the subway without getting completely lost, and settled into a routine almost immediately. Your professors seemed interesting, the coursework felt manageable, and every day introduced you to someone new.

You were where you'd always wanted to be. You were making friends. You were adjusting. You were happy.

And yet, every once in a while, usually during the quiet moments between classes or when you were walking back to your dorm after sunset, something felt... off.

Not wrong. Just incomplete.

You told yourself it was homesickness. It had to be. You were hundreds of miles away from everything you'd ever known. Anyone would feel strange after a move like this.

Still, some nights when your phone lit up with messages from new friends making plans, your eyes would drift toward the contacts you hadn't opened in days.

Toward the one name you kept avoiding.

And every time, that same uncomfortable feeling settled in your chest before you quickly looked away and convinced yourself it would pass.

It had only been a week. Eventually, you told yourself, everything would feel normal again.

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Vernon had been so sure staying home would be easier. At least that was what he'd told himself.

The first day, he got up before his alarm even went off. He showered, got dressed, grabbed his backpack, and went to class. Everything felt normal on the surface. His professors talked, students introduced themselves, and he nodded through conversations he barely processed.

Then he came home.

And the second his bedroom door closed behind him, the silence hit. He ended up lying on his bed staring at the ceiling until dinner.

The next morning wasn't much different.

Wake up. Go to school. Come home. Wake up. Go to school. Come home.

The routine became mechanical, something he forced himself through because not doing it would require admitting something was wrong. His classes weren't even bad. They were fine. Interesting, sometimes. Easy enough to follow.

But every day felt heavier than the last.

By the middle of the week he wasn't sleeping properly anymore.

He'd lie awake until three or four in the morning, staring at the glow of his ceiling fan as his thoughts raced endlessly in circles. Every conversation replayed. Every mistake replayed. Every word from that night replayed. The worst part was that he couldn't even explain what was happening to him.

He was angry all the time.

Angry at himself, angry at how he'd handled everything, angry that he couldn't stop thinking about you and what happened that night. Every morning he looked in the mirror and barely recognized the person staring back. He hated how exhausted he looked. Hated how miserable he felt.

And people noticed, new people, new faces at school. The ones he'd met in classes. The ones who only knew the version of Vernon that showed up every morning looking exhausted and left every conversation early. At first they just thought he was shy, then they thought maybe he was stressed. Eventually they stopped trying to guess.

He wasn't rude. He wasn't unfriendly. He'd answer questions when people talked to him, laugh occasionally at the right moments, participate in group discussions. But it always felt like half of him was missing.

By the fourth week of school, Vernon barely recognized himself. Every day felt gray and just plain dull. 

His friends would text. He'd ignore them.

People invited him places. He'd make excuses.

Eventually most of them stopped asking. And honestly, he couldn't blame them.

He hated being around himself too.

And the worst part was, he knew he was like this because of you. 

Not that he would ever admit it. At least not out loud.

But every night told the truth for him.

Most mornings, Vernon wasn't waking up at six. He was still awake at six. The darkness outside his window would slowly fade into pale morning light while he remained exactly where he'd been for hours, staring blankly at the ceiling. His body was exhausted, his eyes burned constantly, but his mind refused to shut off. Thinking about you had become second nature.

Sometimes he'd replay old conversations over and over. Other nights he'd unlock his phone and scroll through old pictures of the two of you together. Photos from random afternoons, blurry pictures from late-night drives, screenshots of stupid things you'd sent him. He knew every picture by heart at this point, but he looked at them anyway.

It wasn't as simple as missing his best friend. It wasn't as simple as missing having someone around. It felt bigger than that, but every time he got close to figuring it out, he stopped himself. He just knew that life felt wrong without you in it. Like someone had quietly removed something important and expected him not to notice.

And maybe the saddest thing of all was the note.

The stupid note you'd left on his desk beside the purple pen.

A month later, the paper was worn soft from being unfolded and folded back together so many times. Every night before bed he'd take it out. Every morning before class he'd read it again. Eventually it found a permanent home underneath his pillow because he couldn't bear to put it anywhere else.

It was ridiculous, honestly. A part of him knew that.

But another part of him kept hoping that maybe if he read it one more time, maybe if he stared at your handwriting a little longer, maybe somehow his phone would light up with your name. Maybe there'd be a text waiting for him. Maybe you'd finally call.

You never did.

Still, he kept reading it.

His mom noticed before anyone else. Of course she did.

She noticed the dark circles under his eyes. She noticed how quickly he disappeared into his room after classes. She noticed the untouched dinners, the way he barely spoke anymore, the way he looked like he was carrying something heavy that nobody else could see.

For weeks she never said anything. She never pushed. Never cornered him. Never demanded answers.

Then one evening she found him sitting alone at the kitchen table.

The house was quiet. The television wasn't on. The clock ticked softly from somewhere in the living room.

Vernon was staring down at his phone, not even really looking at it.

His mom stood in the doorway for a moment before speaking.

"Vernon."

He looked up.

Her expression softened immediately. "What's wrong?"

That was it. Just three words. And somehow they shattered whatever strength he had left.

His face crumpled before he could stop it. His breathing hitched violently and suddenly he was crying.

Not the quiet tears he'd gotten used to hiding at night. Not the controlled kind.

Full sobs.

The kind that made his chest hurt. The kind that made it impossible to breathe.  Weeks of exhaustion, loneliness, guilt, confusion, and heartbreak came crashing out of him all at once. He buried his face in his hands as sob after sob tore through him, his shoulders shaking so hard he could barely stay upright.

And through all of it, his mom never asked who.

She never asked why. She never asked him to explain. Because she already knew.

She knew whose name he kept checking his phone for. She knew who he was thinking about when he stared off into space. She knew why he suddenly hated being home. She knew who was missing.

So instead she sat beside him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

And she let him cry. She let him cry until his face hurt.

Until his eyes were swollen. Until there was nothing left inside him to hold back.

Not once did she push for answers. She simply sat there beside her son while he mourned something he couldn't fully understand himself, because she had watched it happen long before he did.

She had watched you become the first person he looked for when he walked into a room. The first person he texted when something funny happened. The first person he wanted to tell everything to.

And now she was watching him try to figure out how to live without that. 

And he was so fucking sad.

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A month had gone by for you as well. At least that's what the calendar showed. For you, the days had blurred together so quickly that it was hard to believe you'd already been in New York for four weeks. And honestly? You thought you were doing pretty well.

You had friends now, too. Real friends. The kind that texted you at midnight asking if you wanted food, the kind that dragged you out on Thursday nights and convinced you one drink wouldn't hurt.

Most weekends, you found yourself somewhere loud. House parties. Tiny apartments overflowing with people. Music shaking the walls and red cups constantly finding their way into your hands. You told yourself it was fun, and it was, mostly. The alcohol helped too. Not because things were spiraling, but because it made everything quieter. The lingering thoughts from home. The memories you didn't want to unpack. The feeling that something had been left unfinished. You never let yourself sit with those thoughts for long.

You were here for a reason. This was your chance.

You wanted to reinvent yourself. You wanted people to meet you without already knowing every embarrassing story from your childhood. You wanted to become someone new. Someone exciting. Someone who wasn't constantly looking backward.

For the most part, it was working.

Then one Tuesday afternoon, you met Minghao.

You were sitting in class waiting for the professor to arrive when the guy beside you leaned over and pointed at one of the stickers covering your laptop.

"You have good taste."

You looked up and immediately forgot what you were about to say.

Minghao was ridiculously pretty. Long blonde hair that just touched his shoulders in a messy mullet-like style, silver rings on nearly every finger, light tattoos scattered on his arms. 

You laughed. "Thanks. You too?"

He pointed toward the headphones hanging around his neck.

"What gave it away?"

The conversation started there and somehow never stopped. By the time class began, you'd spent fifteen minutes talking about music. By the time class ended, you'd spent another ten. Favorite artists. Favorite albums. Concerts. Songs that changed your life. It flowed so naturally that it felt like you'd known him for months instead of an hour.

At one point you laughed and shook your head. "You know, I came here fully convinced I was gonna start a band."

Minghao's eyes widened immediately.

"A band?"

"Yeah."

"You weren't joking?"

"Mostly joking."

"No way."

The excitement in his voice made you laugh.

"I'm serious," he said. "I have two friends who would absolutely lose their minds over this."

"What?"

"Joshua and Seungcheol."

He sat up straighter as he spoke.

"Josh can play basically anything with strings. Guitar, bass, piano, whatever. And Seungcheol somehow knows every instrument under the sun."

"You're exaggerating."

"I'm really not."

You couldn't stop smiling.

"And I play bass," he added.

"You do?"

"Yeah."

Suddenly he looked like he was already planning rehearsals.

Minghao gathered his things before casually clearing his throat.

"So..."

You looked up.

"So?"

"If we're gonna start this world-famous band, we're gonna need to communicate somehow."

You laughed. "Oh, obviously."

"Obviously."

His grin widened.

"So maybe I should get your number."

You narrowed your eyes immediately. "For band business?"

"Entirely professional."

"Professional."

"Extremely."

You handed him your phone, laughing as he typed his contact information in.

The truth was, Minghao would've asked for your number anyway. Band or no band.

The second you'd started talking, he'd been interested. Not enough to make it obvious. Not enough to openly flirt. But enough that he caught himself looking forward to hearing your laugh again. Enough that he'd already decided he wanted an excuse to see you outside of class.

Of course, he wasn't about to admit any of that.

Instead, he handed your phone back and shrugged.

"You know. For band stuff."

You rolled your eyes.

"Right. Band stuff."

"Exactly."

And neither of you mentioned how excited you both looked.

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Another month passed before you even realized it. Time was really flying. The leaves had started changing color, the air had gotten colder, and suddenly it was mid October.

And still, you hadn't heard a single thing from Vernon.

No text. No call. No apology. Nothing.

At first, you'd expected some kind of conversation eventually. Maybe not immediately. Maybe not even after a few weeks. But eventually.

You'd left him a note. You'd given him space. And somehow that space had stretched into complete silence. You checked less and less as the weeks went on, but every once in a while you'd still find yourself opening your messages and staring at his contact.

At first it hurt. Then it confused you. Eventually it started making you angry.

Because what exactly had happened that night?

You'd replayed the argument so many times that parts of it felt scripted. Back then, you'd been convinced he was wrong, convinced he was being unfair, convinced he didn't understand you.

Now, months later, you weren't even sure he had understood himself.

Because if he had, surely he would've said something by now. Surely he would've explained. Surely he would've reached out.

Instead, he'd disappeared.

And somehow that felt worse.

The anger settled somewhere permanent inside you. Not enough to ruin your days, but enough to linger. Enough that every time something reminded you of him, irritation immediately followed.

Meanwhile, your life kept moving.

The band idea had somehow become real. You, Minghao, Joshua, and Seungcheol had become inseparable. Most days, if one of you was somewhere, the other three weren't far behind. You spent hours together in practice rooms, crowded into dorms, wandering through the city after classes, talking about music until two in the morning.

For the first time since arriving in New York, you genuinely felt like you belonged.

Naturally, your social media started filling up with them.

One post was a group picture from a night out. The four of you packed together on a sidewalk downtown, everyone's arms around each other, the photo slightly blurry because nobody could stop laughing long enough to stay still.

Another was a candid someone had snapped during practice. You and Joshua sitting across from each other with guitars in your laps, both laughing over a mistake you'd made halfway through a song.

Then there was the selfie Minghao took one afternoon.

Your arm was thrown over his shoulder while he shoved his face against yours at the last second, both of you smiling directly into the camera. Looking at it objectively, you had to admit it looked suspicious. Not intentionally. But if someone didn't know either of you, they could easily assume something was going on. They might even think you were dating.

The funny thing was that every single time you posted one of those pictures, the exact same thought crossed your mind.

Vernon is going to see this.

A small, petty part of you wanted him to see them.

Wanted him to wonder. Wanted him to look at the photo of you and Minghao and feel confused. Maybe jealous.

You hated admitting that to yourself, but why did you feel that way?

But after months of silence? After months of him acting like you didn't exist? Part of you wanted him to feel something. The same way you'd spent weeks feeling abandoned. So sometimes you'd hit post with that thought sitting quietly in the back of your mind.

But every single time, the feeling disappeared the second the post went live.

Because underneath the anger was something else.

Guilt.

You'd stare at the pictures afterward and feel it settle heavily in your chest.

The photos weren't fake. That was the problem.

The smiles were real. The laughs were real. The friendships were real. You genuinely cared about these people, and they cared about you. 

Yet somehow it felt wrong that a small part of your motivation had been tied to someone hundreds of miles away who wasn't even speaking to you.

Someone who might not even see the post, someone who might not care.

And somehow that possibility bothered you more than anything else.

Because if Vernon really didn't care...

Then why were you still thinking about him every time your finger hovered over the post button? You didn’t have an answer for that.

So instead, you'd lock your phone, shove the feeling aside, and let Joshua drag you back into another conversation, let Seungcheol talk your ear off about music theory, let Minghao throw an arm around your shoulders while making you laugh.

While pretending it wasn’t eating you alive.

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Vernon saw every post. Every single one. Even though he never liked them, never commented, never reached out, he saw all of them. The group photos, the late-night outings, the practice sessions, the blurry snapshots of a life that seemed to be moving forward without him.

At first he told himself he was just curious. Just checking in. Just making sure you were okay. But curiosity quickly turned into something else entirely. Something he didn’t want to admit he was doing every night. Long after everyone else in his house was asleep, he’d lie in bed with his phone inches from his face, scrolling through your profile, looking for something that would make it feel less like he was being left behind.

And every picture only made it worse.

You looked happy. Genuinely happy. That should’ve comforted him, but it didn’t. Because it wasn’t a new smile. It was the same one. The exact same one from every memory he kept replaying in his head. The same smile from random afternoons, from old photos still saved in his camera roll, from moments where everything had felt easy.

Then there was Minghao. He didn’t know who Minghao was.

That selfie destroyed him.

He stared at it for so long the screen dimmed. Your arm was around Minghao’s shoulder, your faces pressed together, both of you smiling like it was effortless, like you belonged in that frame together. Vernon zoomed in, then out, then in again, analyzing it like it might give him an answer that made it hurt less. The way Minghao leaned in, the way you didn’t pull away, the comfort between you that looked so natural it made his chest feel tight.

Hours passed like that. Just staring. Thinking. Spiraling.

Until something inside him snapped.

He shot up from his bed so fast the blankets slid off, his phone dropping onto the mattress as he started pacing. “No,” he muttered under his breath, more panicked than angry, running his hands through his hair like he could physically reset his thoughts. Because for months he’d been avoiding the truth, pretending he didn’t understand what this feeling was, but now he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

It was jealousy.

Real, consuming jealousy.

Not of Minghao himself, not really, but of what Minghao had. Of the space he took in your life. By the way, he could make you laugh in real time. Of how easily he existed beside you while Vernon was stuck watching from a distance.

And once he admitted that, everything else followed too.

He wasn’t just jealous. 

He was in love with you.

And it took him this long to realize that is what it was.

It hit him like something physical, knocking the air out of him as he stood there frozen in his room. Months of confusion suddenly made sense in the worst possible way. The constant thoughts. The inability to move on. The way everything felt wrong since you left. It all traced back to the same place.

He loved you.

Not as a friend. Not as something vague and safe he could tuck away and ignore.

He loved you in a way that made everything else feel like it had been a lie.

And now you were gone.

New York. New life. New people. A version of you he wasn’t part of anymore.

That realization sat on his chest like a weight he couldn’t lift. Because while you were building something new, he was still stuck in the same room, replaying the same memories, realizing too late what he had actually lost.

Sleep stopped coming after that.

He’d lie awake until morning, staring at the ceiling, your posts still open on his phone beside him. His body exhausted, his mind refusing to shut off. Every night felt longer than the last, like time itself was stretching just to keep him in this state.

And somewhere between the jealousy and the regret and the love he should’ve admitted months ago, a quieter fear started settling in.

What if this never goes away?

What if he spends the rest of his life like this?

Lying awake. Thinking about you.

He was scared he would never sleep again.

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October flew by in a flash.

One moment it was still early fall, the city just starting to cool down, and the next it was already late in the month with winter quietly pressing in at the edges. The band had become real in a way you still sometimes couldn’t believe. You were writing music now, actually writing it, not just talking about it in class. You were playing gigs in small, crowded bars scattered around the city, places with sticky floors and flickering neon signs and audiences that didn’t always listen at first but eventually did.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, you started finding yourself on stage.

There were moments during sets where everything else disappeared. Just you, the music, the lights, the sound of the band behind you holding everything together. You’d step off stage afterward slightly out of breath, slightly shaking, adrenaline still buzzing through you, trying to convince yourself you looked as confident as people said you did in the photos.

Because you did post them.

Photos from gigs where you leaned into the mic like you knew exactly what you were doing. Photos where you laughed with Joshua between songs. Photos where Minghao stood beside you with his bass slung low, looking like he belonged there more than anyone else. Photos that made you look miles cooler than you actually felt.

From the outside, it looked like you were settling in perfectly.

But as October bled into early November, something started to shift.

You started feeling sick.

Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just quietly, constantly. A low heaviness in your body that didn’t go away. Homesickness that didn’t feel like nostalgia anymore but something sharper, more physical. You’d wake up tired even after sleeping. You’d sit in class and realize you hadn’t absorbed a single word. You’d walk through the city feeling like you were slightly behind yourself, like your body was moving but your mind wasn’t fully inside it.

It started to feel like you were watching your life from the outside instead of living it.

You tried to ignore it. You told yourself you were just adjusting, that this was normal, that it would pass. But the feeling stayed.

You tried talking to Minghao about it one night after practice. You didn’t even really know how to explain it, just that you felt off, like you weren’t fully present in your own life anymore. He listened, like he always did, and he helped in the moment. He made you laugh. He distracted you. He stayed with you until you felt a little more like yourself again.

But the moment he left your place that night, the emptiness came back.

That was the part you didn’t understand.

Because with Minghao, Joshua, and Seungcheol, you could feel better temporarily. You could feel lighter, distracted, almost normal. But it never stayed.

And you started noticing something you couldn’t un-notice.

That hadn’t happened with Vernon.

With Vernon, things didn’t just feel better for a moment. They felt fixed. Like whatever was wrong in your head would quiet completely when he was around. Like your thoughts didn’t just get lighter, they disappeared entirely. Like being with him made it feel like nothing was wrong in the first place.

Now, there was no silence like that anymore.

Because part of you started realizing how much of your life in New York didn’t include anything from home. Not mentally. Not emotionally. You were building something completely new, and on paper that was what you wanted, but in reality it left you feeling disconnected from everything you used to be.

You weren’t fully here.

But you also weren’t fully there anymore.

And that in-between space started to feel like the only place you existed.

You’d sit in your room at night after rehearsals, staring at nothing, feeling floaty in a way that made it hard to ground yourself. Like your thoughts were slightly delayed behind your actions. Like your life was happening a step ahead of you and you were constantly trying to catch up.

And the worst part was the guilt.

Because you were supposed to be thriving.

You were supposed to be happy.

You were supposed to have left everything behind cleanly, fully, without looking back.

Instead, you felt like you were slowly losing pieces of yourself in places you couldn’t name, surrounded by people you cared about, doing things you loved, and still somehow feeling like you were slipping out of your own life without knowing how to stop it.

Minghao noticed it too.

At first, he thought it was just stress. Mid-semester exhaustion, maybe. New city fatigue. Something that would pass once things settled. But it didn’t pass. It just… shifted.

You were still there, physically, still showing up to rehearsals and gigs, still laughing at the right moments, still performing like you were supposed to. But between those moments, you were somewhere else entirely. Spaced out mid-conversation. Slow to respond. Quiet in a way that didn’t feel like comfort anymore, just absence.

And the worst part for him was that he remembered who you used to be.

The version of you from the beginning of the semester, when everything felt exciting and sharp and full of possibility. When you talked too fast about music ideas, when you lit up mid-sentence about starting a band, when you couldn’t sit still because your mind was always already three steps ahead of your life.

That version of you had felt alive in a way that was impossible to ignore.

And if he was being honest with himself, that version of you was the one he’d been drawn to in the first place.

The one he’d had a little thing for, even if he never fully admitted it.

Now, though, that spark only showed up in fragments. On stage. Under lights. When the music was loud enough to pull something back out of you for a few minutes at a time. The second the set ended, it dimmed again.

Outside of that, you were drifting.

Minghao tried not to take it personally. He really did. He knew people got overwhelmed, especially in a place like New York. But over time, it started to wear on him. He’d talk to you after rehearsals and feel like he was talking through glass. You’d nod, respond, even smile, but it didn’t feel like you were actually there.

You also weren’t spending as much time with him anymore. Not intentionally, not in a dramatic way, just slowly, naturally. Plans got shorter. Conversations got lighter. You started leaving earlier, saying you were tired, and he stopped pushing because every time he looked at you too closely, he could tell you were already running on empty. And he cared about you so fucking much.

So he swallowed it, all of it.

Until the night you were supposed to write together.

It was meant to be simple. Just the two of you working on a track for the band, something you’d talked about earlier in the week. You’d agreed on it casually, but even then, he could tell your enthusiasm hadn’t been there the same way it used to be.

He had a long day, he was tired, he was worried of the mood you would be in if you decided to write with him as planned.

Your phone screen lit up:

Hao: Hey I’m not feelin too great, can we postpone our writing sesh?

Y/n: Okay just let me know.

You stared at your phone for a long moment after reading his message. Not feeling too great. Can we postpone. It didn’t sound like an excuse. It sounded real. But still, your chest tightened in a way you didn’t immediately understand.

He’d never really cancelled on you like that before.

Not like this.

You sat there in your room, phone still in your hand, staring at the dim reflection of yourself on the screen. Outside, the rain had started again, tapping softly against the window, filling the silence in a way that made everything feel heavier.

Slowly, uncomfortably, a thought crept in. Maybe he didn’t want to deal with you like this. Not angry, not dramatic, just tired. Tired of your silence mid-conversation, tired of your spaced-out answers, tired of you showing up but not really being there. The realization didn’t come all at once, it came in pieces, each one quieter than the last until it settled in your chest.

You were exhausting to be around.

And you already knew you were exhausting to yourself.

You got up without really deciding to, pacing your room once before stopping at your desk. Everything felt slightly out of focus, like you were watching yourself from a distance. You didn’t even realize you were crying until your vision blurred. You hated it, hated how easily it came now, hated how often it happened, hated that you couldn’t even explain what exactly hurt anymore, just that everything did. Dull. Lost. Scared. Sad. It all blurred together into something you couldn’t shake.

And then it clicked.

Vernon.

Not suddenly, not cleanly, but like something you’d been avoiding finally pushing through. Your breath caught as you reached behind your phone case and pulled out a Polaroid you hadn’t looked at in weeks.

Last summer. The beach with both your families.

Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, face split into the brightest smile, wet salty hair everywhere, his hands locked around your waist pulling you in like he didn’t want any space between you at all. He looked happy. You looked happier.

You stared at it for too long.

Then something broke.

The first sob came out sharp, like it surprised even you. Then another. Then another. Your hands shook so badly you could barely hold the photo as your breathing turned uneven and panicked, collapsing in on itself. It wasn’t just sadness anymore, it was realization, all at once, too loud, too clear.

You weren’t just homesick. You weren’t just overwhelmed. You weren’t just adjusting. You had been falling apart slowly for months without understanding why.

And now you did.

It was because of him.

Because of Vernon.

Because you loved him.

The thought hit you like something physical, stealing the air from your lungs. You sank onto your bed still clutching the Polaroid, crying harder now, unable to breathe properly through it, the rain outside louder than before, like it was the only thing steady in the room.

You shouldn’t have left. You shouldn’t have told yourself distance would make it easier.

Because all it had done was make everything clearer.

And in a shaking, rain-soaked room in New York, holding onto a summer you couldn’t get back to, you finally understood you hadn’t just missed him.

You had been in love with him the entire time.

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You sat there staring at your phone for a long time, the Polaroid still trembling slightly in your hand. Your brain wouldn’t stop moving in circles. Message him. Don’t message him. You already left. He already left you. But he didn’t really leave you, did he? He just stopped talking. And maybe you deserved that. Maybe you didn’t. The thoughts overlapped until you couldn’t tell which ones were yours anymore.

What would you even say?

Hey, I’m sorry. Hey, I miss you. Hey, I think I ruined everything. Hey, I think I love you.

Your chest tightened harder at that last one.

You stood up, paced once, sat back down. Your phone screen lit up again in your hand like it was waiting for you to make a mistake or finally make sense of something. Your breathing was uneven now, thoughts speeding up instead of slowing down.

Fuck it.

The words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them.

Your fingers moved before your brain could catch up.

You opened the chat.

Y/n: Hey I was thinking about you, I hope you are doing well.

You stared at it for half a second.

Then sent it. No edits. No second guessing. Just gone.

States away, Vernon was asleep for the first time in what felt like weeks. Not deep, perfect sleep, but the kind his body finally forced him into after days of exhaustion piling on top of each other. He’d collapsed into it without realizing, like his system had simply given up resisting.

His phone lit up in the dark.

He groaned slightly, rolling over, dragging himself back into awareness. The room was still dim when he finally grabbed his phone, squinting at the screen through sleep-heavy eyes.

Your name.

Right there.

With the same little emoji you had put next to your contact in middle school that he never let you change.

His throat tightened immediately as he sat up too fast.

Then again, slower this time, like his brain was refusing to process the words properly.

“Hey I was thinking about you, I hope you are doing well.”

He said it out loud without realizing.

And then he broke.

It wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t controlled. It hit him all at once, his breath catching so hard it hurt as tears flooded his face immediately. His hands started shaking violently, phone slipping slightly in his grip as he pressed it against his chest like that would somehow make it real.

Because it was real.

You texted him.

After months.

After silence.

After everything.

And suddenly all the sleep he’d finally managed to get felt like it shattered instantly.

What he didn’t know was that you were sitting in your room at the exact same time, staring at your own phone, waiting for something that didn’t come yet, your heart racing so hard you could barely sit still.

For the next week, Vernon barely functioned.

He went through the motions like a ghost. School. Home. Bed. Repeat. He didn’t meet friends. He barely spoke to his family. He didn’t open the message again after the first time because it hurt too much to read it without breaking all over again.

He didn’t respond either.

Not because he didn’t want to.

Because he did.

Too much.

Every time he even thought about typing, his mind short-circuited. Because what was he supposed to say after months of silence? How do you respond to the person you’ve been in love with for months without admitting everything all at once?

And that was the problem.

Because now he knew.

He didn’t just miss you.

He missed your presence in the smallest ways that had somehow become everything.

The way you existed beside him without needing words. The way your body would naturally settle next to his when you shared a bed, like it belonged there. The way he would wake up before you sometimes and just lie there watching the sunlight hit your hair, smiling to himself without even thinking about it.

The way your breathing would be soft and steady beside him when the world felt too loud.

He missed that. He missed all of it.

And somewhere in the middle of the exhaustion and panic and silence, it hit him so clearly it almost made him sick.

He hadn’t just been attached to you.

He had been in love with you the entire time.

He just hadn’t known how to say it until you were already gone. And that's what he wasn’t understanding the night you both had fought. 

You waited.

At first it was calm. You told yourself he was probably asleep, that he’d respond when he woke up, that maybe he just didn’t know what to say yet. Then hours passed, then a day, then two. Still nothing. No reply, no acknowledgment, no sign that your message had even landed the way you’d hoped. Just silence.

And the silence started to feel familiar in the worst way.

You tried to rationalize it at first, sitting there on your bed with your phone in your hand, replaying the moment you sent the text over and over. Maybe he needed time. Maybe he was overwhelmed. Maybe he just didn’t know how to respond. But each excuse felt thinner than the last, until there was nothing comforting left in them.

Eventually it settled into something heavier.

He didn’t respond.

The realization didn’t come as shock anymore, it came as collapse. Like your body already knew before your mind caught up. Your chest tightened so hard you had to bend forward slightly, your breathing turning uneven as you stared at the screen like it might change if you looked long enough.

The thought that followed came quietly, but it was worse than everything else.

Am I going home to no one?

The question didn’t have an answer you could tolerate. You got up, pacing your room once, then again, trying to shake the feeling out of your body, but it only followed you. The space around you felt too open and too empty at the same time, like there was nowhere to put what you were feeling.

Anger tried to surface after that, sharp and unstable. He could disappear for months and still not say anything? After you finally reached out? After you actually tried?

But even that didn’t last. It folded back into something worse, something smaller and more personal. Not anger at him, but confusion about yourself. Why did this hurt so much? Why did everything feel so unstable just because of one unanswered message?

Before you could spiral further, your phone buzzed again.

Minghao: I’m coming over.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to.

When he arrived, he didn’t bring his usual energy with him. No teasing, no lightness, no easy smile. Just quiet concern as he stepped inside, taking in your face before the door was even fully closed behind him.

He didn’t ask what was wrong immediately. He just stayed close enough to make it clear he wasn’t going anywhere, watching you for a moment as if confirming something he already suspected.

You could feel it in the way he looked at you, like he’d been noticing this build-up for a while but hadn’t wanted to say it out loud. The way you weren’t fully present anymore. The way your attention kept slipping away mid-conversation. The way even when you laughed, it didn’t reach all the way through you.

Minghao sat beside you eventually, not too close, but close enough that the space didn’t feel as wide anymore. He didn’t push you to talk, but he also didn’t let you completely disappear into yourself like you had been doing for weeks.

“You’ve been like this for a while,” he said finally, voice calm, not accusing. Just observant.

You let out a small breath, staring at your hands. “Like what?”

He didn’t answer immediately, like he was choosing not to say it too harshly. “Not here,” he said simply.

That made something in your chest tighten. You gave a small, almost defensive laugh, but it didn’t land. “I am here.”

Minghao shook his head slightly. “You show up. But you’re not really here. Not with us. Not with anything.”

You swallowed, looking away toward the floor. “I don’t know how to stop it.”

There was a pause. He shifted a little closer, still careful not to overwhelm you. “Stop what?”

Your fingers curled into your sleeve. You hesitated, then exhaled like you were giving up on holding it in. “Feeling like I’m… not in my own life anymore.”

That made him go quiet for a moment. His expression softened, but it didn’t turn pitying. Just understanding in a way that made it worse.

“Is it New York?” he asked gently. “The band? School? You don’t have to pretend if it’s too much.”

You shook your head quickly. “It’s not that. I mean, it is, but it’s not just that.” Your voice wavered slightly. “I should be happy. I am happy. I think. I don’t know why I still feel like this.”

Minghao studied you carefully. “Like what?”

“Like I left something behind and I didn’t realize how much it would hurt,” you admitted quietly.

The room went still again.

He didn’t interrupt. He just let you keep going if you needed to.

You let out a shaky breath. “And now it’s like everything is happening and I’m not fully inside it. Like I’m watching it instead of living it.”

Minghao nodded slowly, like he understood more than he was saying. “And it gets worse when you’re alone.”

That made your throat tighten immediately, because it was true.

You looked at him for a second, then away again. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said, a little firmer now, but still gentle. “You’re just not okay right now.”

You let out a small, broken laugh. “That’s basically the same thing.”

“It’s not,” he replied. Then, after a pause, softer, “It means something’s hurting you. Not that you’re broken.”

That made your eyes sting again, and you quickly looked down so he wouldn’t see.

He leaned back slightly, giving you space but not distance. “Do you want to talk about it? Or do you just want me to sit here?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Both? Neither?”

“That’s fine,” he said simply. “You don’t have to decide right now.”

“I’m trying,” you said quietly, almost like an apology.

“I know,” he replied immediately. “I can see that. That’s why I’m not leaving.”

That made your eyes close for a second, because even that simple sentence felt like too much and not enough at the same time.

And for now, he just stayed there with you in the quiet, letting you exist without having to explain anything.

“You should try to sleep after this,” he said gently.

You gave a small nod, even though you weren’t sure sleep would actually come.

He stood up slowly, grabbing his things. There was a brief pause at the door, like he was checking one last time that you were okay enough to be left alone.

“If it gets bad again,” he said, “just text me. Okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered.

He hesitated, then stepped back toward you instead of leaving immediately. It wasn’t dramatic or sudden, just a quiet instinct. He opened his arms slightly, and you leaned into it without thinking too much.

The hug wasn’t tight or overwhelming. It was steady. Grounding. The kind of hug that didn’t ask anything from you except to exist for a second without falling apart. You didn’t realize how much you needed that until your shoulders relaxed slightly into him.

When he finally left, the apartment felt different again. Quieter, yes, but not as suffocating as before. More like space instead of emptiness.

For a while after the door closed, you just sat there. Staring at nothing. Letting the silence settle in a way that didn’t immediately crush you. And slowly, almost uncomfortably, something shifted.

The panic didn’t disappear, but it loosened its grip just enough for clarity to slip in.

The show.

You had a huge performance coming up with the band. A real one. The kind people actually showed up for. The kind that mattered.

You looked around your room like you were seeing it properly for the first time in days. Your gear. Your notes. The faint reminders of rehearsals you’d been half-present for lately. It all suddenly felt like something you were supposed to be part of again, not something happening around you.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you muttered to yourself, voice barely steady.

And for the first time in a while, it didn’t feel like defeat. It felt like a decision.

The next few rehearsals were different.You showed up earlier. You actually listened through entire takes without drifting away halfway. You started adding small ideas again, quiet at first, then more confidently as the days passed. Joshua noticed it first, joking lightly about how you were “back in the room,” and Seungcheol started leaning into your suggestions more seriously again.

Minghao noticed too, but he didn’t make a big deal out of it. He just met your energy where it was, like he was glad you were coming back but didn’t want to scare it off by pointing it out too loudly.

And slowly, something in you started to flicker again.

Your spark didn’t come back all at once. It returned in pieces. In moments during rehearsals where a melody finally clicked. In small laughs between takes. In the way your hands stopped shaking as much when you picked up your instrument.

Vernon was still there, in the background of your thoughts. Still a dull ache sometimes, especially at night when everything quieted down. The absence hadn’t disappeared. It just stopped swallowing everything whole.

And for the first time in a while, you could breathe around it instead of drowning in it. You were still figuring it out.

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When the show got close, everything started moving faster again.

Rehearsals tightened up, setlists got finalized, and suddenly there wasn’t much room for spiraling thoughts in between sound checks and late-night practice sessions. You were still a little fragile under it all, but you were functioning in a way that finally felt intentional instead of accidental.

So you posted.

A simple Instagram post for the band. A flyer for the show, a few behind-the-scenes photos from rehearsals, a couple candid shots where you were laughing mid-break, trying to get as many people to come as possible. Your caption was light, casual, promotional. Nothing heavy. Nothing personal.

Still, your thumb hovered over the screen for a second longer than it should’ve before you hit share.

You didn’t expect anything from it. Not really.

But Vernon saw it.

He’d been scrolling without thinking, the habit still there even if everything else between you had gone quiet. And then your post appeared. The date. The venue. Your face in motion again, alive in a way that looked slightly distant but still undeniably you.

He stared at it for a long time.

Then he did something he hadn’t done in a while.

He liked it.

It was small. Almost meaningless. Just a tap. But for you, when the notification came through later that day, it stopped you mid-step.

You froze.

His name.

The like sitting under your post like it hadn’t been gone for months.

You stared at it longer than you meant to, thumb hovering over the notification. For a second your mind raced in every direction at once, but nothing landed firmly enough to turn into a thought you could hold onto. In the end, you just exhaled shakily and whispered to yourself, “So… He is alive.”

That was all you let it be. A sign he existed. Not a message. Not an answer. Not a return. Just proof that somewhere out there, he was still there too.

What you didn’t know was that the moment Vernon saw the date of your show, something in him locked into place.

He didn’t overthink it. He didn’t ask anyone.

He didn’t tell his friends, didn’t explain it to his family, didn’t even fully process it in words. He just opened his laptop, searched flights, and booked one to New York.

The confirmation email came through, and he stared at it for a long moment without blinking, like if he thought too hard about it, he might talk himself out of it.

But he didn’t.

Because for months, he’d been surviving on silence and screens and memories that didn’t stop replaying no matter how much he wanted them to.

And now there was a date.

A place. You.

He closed his laptop slowly, hands still slightly shaking, and finally let himself admit the truth he’d been avoiding since the day you left.

He didn’t just want to see you. He needed to. So he didn’t say anything to anyone. Not a word. He just started packing like it was the most natural thing in the world, like this wasn’t going to change everything, like he wasn’t about to step back into a version of his life he hadn’t been able to leave behind.

Because in his mind, there was no real alternative anymore. He just needed to see you.

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The day of the show came faster than you expected, like the semester had collapsed in on itself all at once. One moment you were still running through rehearsals, and the next you were standing backstage, hearing the low hum of a packed venue on the other side of the curtain.

You didn’t have time to overthink it.

There was only movement, only soundchecks, only the familiar chaos of getting everyone into place. And somewhere in the middle of it all, something in you clicked back into alignment. Not fully healed, not fully steady, but present in a way you hadn’t felt in months.

When the lights hit, everything changed. Stepping onto stage felt like breathing again after holding it in too long. The noise of the crowd swallowed you whole in the best way, and suddenly there wasn’t room for anything else. Not New York stress. Not distance. Not silence. Just music.

And for the first time in a long time, your spark didn’t feel forced.

By the end of the set, something in you had fully come back online.

The crowd noise blurred together as the final song ended, and for a second you just stood there, breathing hard, letting it all hit you at once. This was it. This was what you had been trying to get back to.

Minghao was the first to reach you.

He pulled you into a hug right there on stage, tight and genuine, the kind that said more than words needed to. “You killed it,” he said, slightly out of breath, smiling wide.

For a moment, everything felt normal. Then you looked up. Past the stage lights. Past the haze. Past the faces in the crowd. And your body went completely still.

Vernon.

He was there.

Real, unmistakable, standing in the crowd like he had been there the whole time you weren’t looking. Your breath caught so hard it hurt, and the sound of everything around you dropped out instantly. Your heart sank so fast it felt like your stomach followed it.

For a split second, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe properly. It was like every part of you had been pulled in his direction at once.

Then instinct took over.

You turned and ran off stage.

Minghao noticed immediately, his expression shifting as he called after you, confused and concerned, taking a step forward like he might follow you. But before he could, he saw someone already moving after you from the side of the venue.

He didn’t recognize him. But he recognized the urgency. And something in the way you reacted told him enough.

He slowed. Stopped. Watched instead. Because whatever was happening wasn’t his place to interrupt anymore

You pushed through the doors so fast they banged against the outside wall, the sound echoing into the night. Cold air hit you immediately, sharp against your skin, but you didn’t stop moving. You kept walking forward until you were far enough from the venue that the noise of the crowd dulled into something distant and unreal.

Only then did you stop.

Your chest rose and fell quickly, breath still uneven from running. Streetlights stretched long across the pavement, flickering slightly in the wind, the city feeling too quiet after everything she had just felt on stage.

The anger came fast, sharper than the shock. It filled in the space where confusion had been seconds before. You turned slightly, jaw tight, breathing still unsteady. “Of course,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head. “Of course you just show up.”

A soft step behind you.

Before you even turned fully, you felt a hand lightly touch your shoulder.

That was all it took.

You spun around immediately and slapped his hand away, the motion more instinct than thought. “Don’t,” you snapped, voice breaking slightly from everything you were holding in. “Don’t touch me.”

Vernon froze, his hand dropping instantly. “Okay—okay, I’m sorry,” he said quickly, stepping back half a pace like he was trying not to overwhelm you.

But you weren't done.

“You don’t get to just show up here,” you said, voice rising. “After months. After nothing. After I sent you that text and you just—nothing. Not even a reply. Not even a ‘I don’t know what to say’.”

Vernon opened his mouth slightly, like he wanted to interrupt, but he didn’t.

You pointed at him now, frustration spilling out faster. “Do you have any idea what that did to me? Do you have any idea what it fucking felt like to finally say something and just get silence back?”

“I know,” he said quickly, voice low. “I know, I’m sorry—”

“No,” you cut him off. “Don’t do that. Don’t just say sorry like it fixes it.”

He stepped forward slightly, then stopped himself, hands half-raised like he didn’t know what to do with them. “Please,” he said quietly. “Just… stop for a second. Please.”

He wasn’t fighting you. He wasn’t defensive. He wasn’t angry at all. He just looked… relieved. Like seeing your face was the only thing keeping him upright.

“I didn’t respond because I couldn’t,” he admitted, voice shaking slightly now. “I read it and I— I didn’t know how to say anything without messing everything up again.”

“That’s not an excuse,” you snapped, but your voice wavered.

“I know,” he said immediately. “I know it’s not. I just—” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, eyes never leaving you. “I came because I couldn’t not see you anymore.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “So you just show up? After everything? That’s your solution?”

“I didn’t come to fix it,” he said quickly, stepping forward again before stopping himself like he was afraid you'd run again. “I just needed to see you. That’s it.”

Your chest tightened, but you refused to let it show. “You left me in the dark for months, Vernon.”

“I know,” he said again, softer this time. “I know. And it killed me y/n. It absolutely killed me. I didn’t sleep, I missed you by my side. I lost myself completely.”

The way he said it—like he meant it, like it was sitting on top of him just as heavily as it sat on you—made you pause for half a second.

You went quiet. Whatever fragile control he’d been holding onto finally started to crack.

At first it was just his breathing changing—shallow, uneven. Then his face tightened like he was trying to hold something back and failing. His eyes stayed on you for a second longer, like he was trying to memorize you standing there in front of him, whole and real and not a memory on a screen.

“I can’t—” he started, then stopped, shaking his head as his voice collapsed. “I can’t do this without you.”

His hand came up to his face for a second like he was trying to steady himself, but it didn’t help. The tears came fast after that, slipping down his cheeks before he could even turn away from you.

“I’ve lost myself,” he said, voice cracking hard now. “Because I lost you. I wake up and I don’t even feel like I’m inside my own life anymore and I—” He sucked in a shaky breath, trying to continue but failing. “I’m so in love with you it hurts every single day.”

That made your breath catch.

But you still didn’t speak.

His voice dropped lower when he spoke again, softer, almost broken into pieces.

“I tried to move on,” he admitted. “I tried to act like I didn’t feel it. Like it would go away if I ignored it long enough.” He shook his head slightly, a tear falling before he even finished the sentence. “But everything I did just kept leading back to you. Always you.”

His shoulders trembled as he exhaled. “And I was too late when I realized what that meant.”

That landed between you both heavier than anything else.

Your expression shifted slightly, anger finally thinning into something more fragile, more uncertain. Your voice came out quieter than before, careful like you were afraid of what it might unlock.

“Why didn’t you say it before I left for college?”

That question made him stop completely. For a second, he just stared at you like he didn’t deserve to answer it. Then his voice broke again, but this time it was softer, stripped down completely.

“I didn’t know,” he said. “Back then… I didn’t know.”

He swallowed hard, stepping closer without thinking this time. You didn’t move away.

“I know now,” he whispered, like it hurt to say it out loud. “I know now.”

That was when it fully hit him again, and he broke down harder, tears coming faster, his breathing uneven as he tried to keep talking through it. “I know what it is,” he continued, voice shaking. “I know what I’ve been feeling this whole time and I just—” He shook his head, helpless. “I was so stupid. I was so late.”

You could feel your own eyes burning now, the weight of everything finally catching up. Neither of you were really holding it together anymore.

He stepped closer again, slower this time, like he was asking permission without words. You stayed where you were. His hand lifted carefully, hesitating for a second before he gently took yours.

You didn’t pull away. That alone seemed to wreck him even more.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, barely audible now. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it. I’m sorry I made you go through that alone. I’m sorry I lost you.”

There was a pause, shaky and fragile.

Then, through a wet, broken breath, you finally spoke again—half laugh, half disbelief, voice still trembling.

“You’re an idiot.”

He let out something that almost sounded like a laugh through tears, but he didn’t let go of your hand. If anything, he held it tighter.

“I know,” he whispered.

Your eyes dropped for a second, and when you looked back up at him, something in you finally cracked open fully.

“Did you think I wouldn’t feel the same way?” You say softly, bodies now closer than before. That made him freeze. A smile started to form on his face through tears. Then, quieter, almost scared to ruin the moment, you asked, “How did you even get here?”

He blinked at you, still holding your hand like it was the only real thing in the world. “Don’t worry about it,” he said softly, a hint of shaky humor in his voice. “I just needed to see you.”

A pause.

His gaze dropped to your lips for half a second, then back to your eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked again, quieter this time, like everything else had already been answered.

You didn’t even answer him. Not with words, not with hesitation, not with anything you could overthink later.

You just pulled him in.

The space between you disappeared in a single movement, your hand still half-trembling as it grabbed his shirt and brought him to you. His breath caught sharply like he hadn’t fully believed this was going to happen, like some part of him was still bracing for you to change your mind.

But then your lips met his.

And everything went still for a fraction of a second—like the world itself paused just to register it.

Then he kissed you back.

Immediately. Instinctively. Like something inside him had been waiting for this exact moment for months and finally stopped holding back. His hand dropped yours without hesitation, but only so he could pull you closer instead, arms sliding around your waist and locking you against him like he was terrified you might slip away if he didn’t hold on hard enough.

The kiss deepened in a way that wasn’t rushed, but desperate—years of unspoken things collapsing into one moment that finally made sense of everything else.

You moved like you already knew him again, like your body remembered what your mind had been trying to survive without. One hand slid up to his neck, fingers curling there as if anchoring yourself to him, the other moving into the back of his hair, tugging slightly as if to make sure he was real.

He let out a quiet, broken sound against your lips—half relief, half disbelief—but didn’t pull away. If anything, he held you tighter, like the idea of distance now was unbearable.

When you finally part, he laughs quietly to himself. 

“You really are so beautiful, you know?” he says quietly, like it wasn’t a compliment he was trying to give, but something he had been holding in for a very long time.

You pulled him straight into a hug, tight and immediate, like your body made the decision before your mind could interfere. Your arms wrapped around him with everything you had left in you, and the second you felt him properly—his warmth, the familiar weight of him, the scent of his cologne that hadn’t changed since high school—it was like something inside you finally stopped resisting.

He held you back just as tightly, almost desperately, like if he loosened even slightly you might disappear again. His hand moved up your back slowly, grounding you, while the other stayed firm at your waist.

Eventually, without breaking the hold between you, he murmured, “Can we… go somewhere? Somewhere quieter?”

You nodded immediately.

Your room wasn’t far.

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈••┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈••┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈••┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

The walk back felt unreal in the best way, like the city around you was moving normally but you weren’t part of it anymore. His hand stayed in yours the entire time, fingers occasionally tightening like he was reminding himself you were still there.

When you got inside, the door barely closed before everything softened again. The tension that had been sitting between you for months, even years, didn’t vanish—but it shifted into something warmer, something easier to hold.

You didn’t even really sit properly before he was pulling you toward your bed, like it was instinct. And once you were there, everything slowed down in the most natural way.

He laid down first, and you immediately curled into him like you’d done it a thousand times before. It felt wrong in how right it was. His arm slid around you instantly, pulling you close against his chest, and you let out a quiet breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

For a while, you just talked.

Not about everything heavy all at once, but pieces of it. Small updates. Random memories. Things you missed. Things you didn’t even know mattered until now. He told you about sleepless nights and half-written messages he never sent. You told him about New York, the band, the nights you didn’t understand what you were feeling.

Sometimes one of you would pause mid-sentence just to look at the other like you couldn’t believe this was real.

And then it would turn into something lighter again.

A little teasing. A little arguing over stupid things. Him stealing your blanket. You pushing him off and immediately pulling him back. Him pretending to be offended before laughing and pulling you closer again.

One moment you were trying to push him off your side of the bed, and the next he’d caught your wrist gently, not to stop you, just to hold you there. His laughter faded first—not abruptly, just slowly, like something in him shifted mid-breath.

You noticed it immediately.

His eyes dropped to your mouth for a second too long. Then he leaned in.

It wasn’t hesitant. Not really. It felt like something he had been holding back for so long that the decision didn’t even look like a decision anymore.

His lips met yours again, slower this time, warmer, deeper in a way that made your teasing thoughts dissolve almost instantly. When he pulled back just slightly, barely enough to speak, his forehead stayed close to yours.

“I’ve wanted to do that for months,” he admitted quietly, like it had been sitting in his chest too heavy to keep pretending otherwise.

That made something in you spark again—familiar, teasing, just enough to try and regain control of the moment.

“Oh wow,” you started, breath still uneven, a small smile tugging at your lips. “So what, you’ve just been suffering in silence—”

You didn’t even get to finish.

His hand slid to your waist, and he kissed you again.

The kiss deepened with every second, less about hesitation and more about everything you both hadn’t said finally spilling out without words. Months of distance, silence, confusion—it all collapsed into something immediate and overwhelming. Every time you tried to pull back just slightly for air, he followed you like it wasn’t even a thought, like stopping felt wrong now that he finally had you here.

And in between it all, when there was just barely enough space for words, he murmured against you, almost like he couldn’t help himself.

“Don’t tease me right now,” he said quietly, breath uneven.

That only made it worse.

You gave a soft laugh against his lips, but it faded quickly as he kissed you again, slower this time, pulling you back in like he was learning you all over again but refusing to stop.

You move your hands from around his neck to the bottom of his black t-shirt playing with the hem as he kisses from your lips, down your neck. A gasp leaves your mouth without even realizing as you feel a smirk form on Vernon’s lips.

You tug at the hem to then slightly lift it up so he gets the hint. He leans up grabbing the part of the shirt you just had your hands on to lift it over his head, throwing it on the floor in the process. 

You grab the bottom of your own shirt, doing the same motion throwing it on the floor right next to his. 

Vernon’s eyes stayed on you for a second longer than usual. not in a way that felt objectifying, but like he was genuinely taking you in—like he was trying to memorize you all over again in real time, now that everything was finally out in the open.

“You’re kind of unfair,” he said quietly, a small breath of a laugh in his voice.

You raised an eyebrow, still slightly breathless. “Me?”

He nodded once, stepping a little closer again. “Yeah. You do that thing where you act like you’re not affecting me.”

That made you laugh under your breath, shaking your head. “I’m not doing anything.”

He tilted his head slightly, like he didn’t believe you for a second. “Exactly.”

That got you to smile properly this time.

“Fuck you are so beautiful.” He says quieter in a low tone. The space between you disappeared again without either of you really deciding it. It just happened naturally, like gravity had reset itself. 

Your fingers curled into his shoulders as you pulled him closer, and he responded immediately, like he’d been waiting for that exact signal. When you broke apart, just slightly, he rested his forehead against yours again, breathing uneven but calmer now.

“I don’t think I’m leaving again,” he murmured.

You let out a small laugh, softer this time. “Good.”

“Besides, I kinda like New York.” He laughs mid sentence.

“Oh yeah?” You laugh back at the brown haired boy above you.

"It wouldn't be too awful to transfer to a nearby school… huh?” He jokes, but with a deadpan certainty that shows he definitely is not joking.

“I don’t see a problem with that.” You joke back.

He kissed you again, it felt less like chaos and more like certainty—like everything messy and painful and distant had finally folded into something that made sense.

And for the first time in a very long time, neither of you felt like you were missing anything.

You had each other, and you both finally realized, that's all you need.

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[epelletart]

someone stole my lunch?! 𑣲 j. wonwoo

SUMMARY: You can tolerate a lot. You don’t care when someone messes up your documents or when your situationship ghosts you after two dates or when your manager is drowning your work in red ink. It was annoying, but survivable. If someone steals your lunch, especially the one you woke up early to make for yourself, that's where you draw the line. No one is hot enough to be forgiven for food theft. Not even the annoyingly calm, morally upright, infuriatingly handsome attorney from the legal department. And you’re about to catch him.

PAIRINGS: jeon wonwoo x f. reader

GENRE: fluff, comedy, angst (soft), office romance, smut, oneshot

WARNINGS: suggestive content (MDNI!), cursing ofc, mention of family death, impregnation kink themes, unprotected sex, consensual m/f dynamics, dirty jokes (im sorry), mildly toxic workplace environment

WC: 8.9k

add tags❦︎: attorney! wonwoo, reader is in pr team, strangers to lovers, food puns (intended), wonwoo is kinda of an asshole here, minghao side quest, booseoksoon mentioned ft. mingyu, jeonghan you piece of shit, crackfic, dom!wonwoo, implied inexperienced reader, happy ending aye.

a/n: i'd like to think that im creative. also pls don't play with your food guys, inspired by one of the indie VN games i played.

No one is hot enough to be forgiven for stealing food.

And you’re about to catch that rat in action.

There’s nothing more infuriating than someone eating your lunch, especially when you made it that morning. With your own groceries. Your own money and your own time.

Your blood, sweat, and tears.

Oh, you’re about to be devastatingly mad. You want to throw the trash bin across the pantry, curse at the manager, maybe even consider resigning on the spot.

But did you?

Obviously not. Moment of weakness, as we speak.

Two hours earlier.

…

Work-life balance? Don’t know her.

Your life had been mundane as usual, and honestly, you didn’t mind that. You just wished your corporate life would stop trying to actively ruin it. Ever since the new CEO took over the man who stepped in after his father—you weren’t sure what to think of him. What you did know was that the company had been overworking its employees nonstop.

You wouldn’t even complain if they at least upgraded the cafeteria menu.

The new caterer didn’t seem to care about repeating the same dishes over and over to the point that one of your coworkers ended up with a stomachache. Not to mention the coffee drip machine sucked. Like, genuinely sucked. Thousand-dime company, yet they never bothered to upgrade the damn coffee machine.

No one wanted to drink that brown liquid. You’d rather dehydrate than willingly swallow it.

Since then, most people have started going out for lunch. Some just kept working through it, to the point of developing gastritis or borderline malnutrition.

But not you.

You refused to starve yourself.

Your mother always said: never be stingy with money when it comes to food. Money comes and goes.

That’s what she said.

Nothing beats a home-cooked meal. You’d choose that over takeout any day, unless you were really busy.

Just in time, it was finally lunch.

You had been anticipating this. Your lunch. Your heavenly five-star meal that you poured your whole heart into this morning.

Heck, you didn’t even eat breakfast. Just that cheap black coffee from the café downstairs.

Today’s packed treasure? A hamburg steak with a molten cheese filling in the center, paired with soft, fluffy rice.

You didn’t forget the fiber either broccoli and roasted potatoes to balance the meal. You swore nothing beat homemade meat: freshly ground beef, breadcrumbs, and spices that actually made sense together.

You’d like to think you’re very good at pounding meat.

The mental image of that juicy steak, gravy cascading over the top and soaking into white rice, made your stomach growl loudly.

God, you couldn’t wait to devour the whole thing. It was your self-reward after hours of sitting in your office chair to the point your ass might permanently imprint into it.

Sure, you couldn’t eat it fresh off the stove but at least the microwave here was more competent than the company’s infrastructure.

With a small, happy hum, you walked to the pantry fridge.

Around this time, the shelves were usually emptier. Only one or two transparent containers remained, so spotting yours should’ve been easy, the pink lunchbox. Your trusted Tupperware.

Of course your food deserved the best of the best. Duh.

You picked it up.

And immediately, something felt… off.

There was a sauce stain around the lid. And now that you thought about it somehow felt lighter than it had that morning.

You frowned but didn’t overthink it.

Until you opened it.

Your steak was…

Gone.

Like, all gone.

Your thick, juicy steak. Your fluffy rice. Your vegetables drowned lovingly in gravy.

Vanished.

Your stomach growled again as you blinked down at the empty container.

You weren’t just hungry. You were starving.

A small, devastated wail almost slipped out of you.

How could someone steal another person’s lunch? That was straight-up cruel. There was absolutely no excuse to think someone needed it more than you.

If anything, you needed it the most.

Because you deserved it. After all the prep. The early alarm. The effort.

You inhaled slowly, trying to be rational.

It would be wildly unprofessional for someone from the PR team to crash out over stolen food. So fine. You’d handle this professionally.

You pulled out your phone and speed-dialed HR. It was important to keep essential contacts ready. That’s what Seungkwan always said.

The call connected.

“Hello, this is Hyunsuk from Human Resources,” a flat voice answered. “How may I help you?”

“Hi, Hyunsuk. I’d like to report a theft.”

“Okay,” he replied. “What was stolen?”

You didn’t hesitate. “My lunch.”

There was a brief pause.

“Was it during company hours or on company property?”

“Yes and yes.”

“Unfortunately, we cannot compensate for your loss.”

You frowned. “I don’t want compensation, Hyunsuk.”

You swore you could hear him sigh. “An employee’s lunch is considered personal property.”

“Yes, but isn’t it concerning that theft is happening on company grounds?”

“We have cases like this happen very often,” he said. “The company is not responsible for them.”

“Yes, I know, but—”

“If you have anything else to report, please send an email,” he cut in. “My lunch break is starting.”

The line went dead.

Hyunsuk hung up.

You stared at your phone in disbelief. “…But my hamburg steak…”

Your eye twitched.

He just said it happens often.

Then do something about it?

“Whatever. Nobody even likes Hyunsuk.”

In fact, you weren’t sure he liked anyone at all.

With nothing else you could do, you begrudgingly poured yourself a lukewarm cup of coffee and returned to your desk with empty stomach, extra caffeine, and a growing vendetta.

The next day, you decided to let it go.

Okay, maybe you were being too forgiving. But hey, you were just hangry yesterday. Surely it was a one-time thing.

Still, the way Hyunsuk said these “theft incidents” happened often baffled you. As if they were normalizing it.

Like, what’s even the function of all those security cameras around the office?

If they can draw a hard line on “no inappropriate office activities,” then surely they can give justice to your stolen lunch too.

Crazy.

The last time people went into the pantry, they literally saw used condoms in the bin. Goodness gracious, as if the toilet didn’t exist. You’d rather not walk past and hear… unwanted noises either.

You did consider writing a company-wide email and CC’ing everyone. After all, who the hell knew who ate your lunch?

You refused to take this as egg-ceptance.

…Maybe not yet.

Despite yesterday’s tragedy, you still brought your lunch today.

After all, you made mapo tofu. And you were not backing down.

How did you make it again?

Oh, right.

Sichuan peppercorns.

While you weren’t a huge fan of overly spicy food, the spice of life played an important role in cooking. You could never forget the nose-numbing aroma of roasted Sichuan pepper. The thick red oil from the fermented bean paste. The firm, bouncy cubes of tofu holding heat so intense it transcended taste buds.

The Mapo Tofu.

You paired it with plain white rice but nothing could overpower the fragrance of chili oil and peppercorns.

It reminded you of that business trip, when Minghao introduced you to mala hotpot and a whole new universe of Chinese spices. You even brought souvenirs back, mostly seasonings to experiment with.

Bless him and his encyclopedic knowledge.

But today’s version?

Different.

Just in case, you doubled the heat. Twice the ground peppercorn. Extra chili flakes. A spice level too powerful for the mortal tongue.

Right before sealing the lid, you sprinkled a little more pepper.

If anyone dared to open your lunch, a red powdery explosion would await them.

Maybe you did this on purpose.

If they stole it again, you hoped their ass would explode in the toilet like that scene in White Chicks.

Serves them right.

…

Lunch break came.

You approached the fridge like a soldier returning to war.

You prayed the thief hadn’t struck again.

But the moment you picked up your Tupperware, the weight or lack of it—felt ominous.

You opened it and found it was already gone.

Again.

Empty.

But how? Why?

First of all, what the fuck? Second of all, who the hell devoured that hellishly spicy mapo tofu? Surely their stomach would declare war soon.

And third…

What. The. Fuck.

Who was this food-crazed glutton?

“…Wait,” you muttered to yourself. “If someone ate my super spicy Sichuan mapo tofu, their lips should be bright red right now!”

You didn’t hesitate.

Within the remaining minutes of your break, you scanned the entire floor like a detective on a mission.

Red lips. Red lips. Red lips.

But to no avail.

Your pepper-kissed burglar was nowhere to be found.

Much to your annoyance, there were simply too many employees in this company. Half of them wore bold red lipstick anyway. You couldn’t tell if it was spice-induced inflammation or just cosmetics.

You didn’t care.

You just wanted the rat-stealing-food burglar.

It was almost time to go home but unfortunately, a major project was in peak season. Several departments had to stay for overtime.

Including yours.

No one liked overtime.

Sure, you got paid. But was it worth it?

Maybe you should start your own business one day. Open a brunch café. Lower stress. Maybe finally use your bachelor’s degree properly.

You sighed.

Seokmin had given you a small box of macarons earlier after seeing the fury on your face but you hadn’t eaten them. You refused to fill your stomach with pity sweets. Too busy drowning in despair and caffeine as you typed aggressively at your keyboard.

The loud clacking and flipping of papers earned you a few glances.

You didn’t care.

Your food had been stolen. Twice.

Why should you care about their peace when they didn’t care about yours?

Fair is fair.

Eventually, you brushed it off and went downstairs to the convenience store before returning to the office. Instant noodles and sausages.

How classic.

You weren’t alone though.

There was a guy sitting a few seats away. Still in work clothes. His blazer hung over the back of his chair, sleeves rolled just above his elbows. He was eating two cups of buldak ramen, the spicy kind.

It reminded you of your Sichuan mapo tofu.

You felt like you were mourning a loss.

And for some reason, you caught a faint scent of pepper clinging to his suit.

Maybe you were imagining it.

People had been avoiding you all day anyway, some even spraying air freshener after you walked past.

Still, you kept glancing at him.

Was it common for two people to coincidentally crave spicy food on the same day? Watching him slurp down two buldak ramens made your stomach twist.

Noticing your stare, he paused.

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and turned to you. “You got some staring problem?”

His voice was deep and calm but the tone carried an edge.

“What?”

“I said,” he continued, face still stoic, cheeks slightly puffed with noodles, “got some staring problem? I know I’m a sight for sore eyes, but didn’t anyone teach you it’s rude?”

You blinked.

“Excuse me?”

Now it was your turn to feel offended.

You almost apologized earlier. Good thing that you didn’t.

This guy is insufferable.

Judging by his face alone, of course he was. The only good thing about him was his face. And unfortunately, the bad thing was also his face. What a waste of something that pretty.

You couldn’t help but hope there was at least one imperfect thing about him. Maybe his personality was rotten. Maybe he snored. Maybe—

Whatever.

You just hoped his dick is ugly. Then again, no dick is ever pretty anyway.

“Rude…” you muttered under your breath before returning to your convenience-store “meal.”

After a while, you finished dinner and headed back into the company building, americano in hand.

And much to your surprise—

The guy was there too.

Walking in the same direction.

For a second, you almost thought he was a creep.

And then came the real disappointment.

He fucking worked here.

You nearly lost it on the spot.

Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he? People in this company were either painfully dull, aggressively gray, or casually insufferable. If you were lucky, you’d meet someone with a decent moral compass.

Rare species.

Standing in the same elevator as him didn’t help. You had a talent for meeting the worst people at the worst possible times.

What’s new?

Still, you caught it again.

That scent. It was faint now but familiar.

The lingering peppery aroma. The same one from your stolen mapo tofu.

Okay. Maybe you were slightly unhinged, grieving over lost lunch.

But still.

You sniffed subtly and shifted a little closer.

The man frowned at you like you’d just malfunctioned.

“Hypothetically speaking,” he said flatly, “if you want to fuck me, you could just say so.”

You blinked.

Excuse me?

Oh, you would absolutely fuck him up alright but that was a different story.

He was insufferable. And irritating him suddenly felt therapeutic.

You scoffed and stepped back into your space.

“You have your entire life to be a jerk,” you shot back. “Why not take today off?”

Now it was his turn to look at you properly.

“I don’t know what your problem is,” he replied calmly, “but I’m guessing it’s difficult to pronounce.”

Oh, he was annoying.

“If I wanted to hear from an asshole,” you said sweetly, “I’d fart.”

There was a brief silence.

He stared at you.

You stared back.

He genuinely looked like he was calculating whether you were capable of doing it.

The elevator doors slid open.

You stepped out first.

“See you not later, Mr. Hodenkobold.”

He looked like he was about to fire back but the doors closed before he could.

For once, it felt nice to rage-bait someone else.

Especially after your lunch had been stolen.

So you decided.

For the next two days, you were going to catch the rat-stealing-lunch and end this once and for all.

For a brief, dangerous second, you did consider rat poison. But the thought of going to jail?

Absolutely not.

As tempting as it was, you couldn’t risk it. You had a baby to feed back at your studio apartment.

Your cat.

While you were suffering over your stolen gourmet lunches, your cat—Wonton, the name you lovingly gave her, was happily eating premium-grade cat food.

It was unfair. Really.

So you came up with a plan.

This time, you packed a cute bento-themed lunchbox: omelet nori rolls and rice balls.

Except—

They were made of wax.

Yes. Wax.

You followed a YouTube tutorial. Styrofoam base. Acrylic paint for texture. You even added gloss to make it look freshly glazed. Turns out, you had raw talent for this.

It looked absolutely gouda. An egg-cellent fake lunchbox.

You were certain the food stealer was souper hungry right now.

Okay. You really needed to stop hanging out with Seokmin and his endless food puns.

You even added a faint pepper scent to make it smell convincing. Surely no one was dumb enough to fall for fake food.

…Right?

But if they did? It would be hilarious.

…

When you returned at lunch break and opened the lid, you froze.

“….”

There was one—no, two chunks missing.

A bite taken out of the fake omelet.

You blinked.

What kind of unhinged human gluttony was this?

You couldn’t brie-lieve it.

They actually ate the wax.

The next day, you switched tactics.

You made curry fish head, rich curry paste blooming in oil, coconut milk thickening the broth just the way you liked it. You had to thank Minghao again for that Southeast Asia culinary expedition.

This time?

Untouched.

The container was slightly shifted, the lid smudged but the food remained intact.

You assumed the thief wasn’t a seafood fan.

Or maybe allergic.

That theory lasted exactly twenty-four hours.

The following day, you packed creamy rosé pasta with shrimp and clams. Garnished with basil. Sprinkled with oregano. And, of course, little octopus-shaped cocktail sausages.

For insurance, you taped a note to the lid:

🇾‌🇴‌🇺‌ 🇩‌🇴‌ 🇳‌🇴‌🇹‌ 🇹‌🇴‌🇺‌🇨‌🇭‌. 🇮‌ 🇼‌🇮‌🇱‌🇱‌ 🇫‌🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌ 🇾‌🇴‌🇺‌. 🇧‌🇴‌🇳‌ 🇦‌🇵‌🇵‌é🇹‌🇮‌🇹‌, 🇲‌🇫‌.

You stuck it firmly on top of your Tupperware.

Surely this would intimidate them.

Surely.

...

You returned during lunch break and immediately noticed the note had slipped to the floor.

You picked it up.

Your handwriting stared back at you.

And underneath—

🇾‌🇴‌🇺‌ 🇩‌🇴‌ 🇳‌🇴‌🇹‌ 🇹‌🇴‌🇺‌🇨‌🇭‌. 🇮‌ 🇼‌🇮‌🇱‌🇱‌ 🇫‌🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌ 🇾‌🇴‌🇺‌. 🇧‌🇴‌🇳‌ 🇦‌🇵‌🇵‌é🇹‌🇮‌🇹‌, 🇲‌🇫‌. "𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐘"

You stared at it in disbelief at the bold, neat handwriting.

Slowly, you lifted the paper then tore it to shreds with your teeth, pure rage simmering in your veins.

The audacity must be on clearance sale.

When you opened the container, your jaw tightened.

Your pasta? Gone. The noodles devoured and the octopus-shaped sausages? Missing.

The shrimp and clams?

Only to be left behind.

Oh.

So they weren’t allergic.

They were picky.

You clenched your jaw, saliva dampening the dry paper as it scraped against your tongue. “Wow. Tasty, indeed,” you mocked under your breath.

This needs to end now.

You honestly need to lock the fuck in this time, to catch that rat-stealing-food burglar. You just hoped they stepped on dog shit today, that both their pillows smelled horrible, and that they’d have the worst fucking nightmare the moment they woke up.

“Hey,” Seokmin approached you with Soonyoung beside him. “Rice to meet you today.” He greeted cheerily, but the moment he noticed your moody face, he faltered. “Okay… berry sorry for that.”

Both of them leaned against the railings beside you. Soonyoung offered you a lollipop. You needed that so much instead of lighting up tobacco, which you’d quit back in your college days.

“Is it about the lunch stealing again?” he asked. “I carrot believe that person’s kept the stealing streak going this far.”

You gave him a look. It seemed like Seokmin had rubbed off on him with all those food puns.

He raised his hands in surrender. “In my defense, I’m feeling saucy today. It’s alright, we can grab dinner after this—my treat, of course.” Soonyoung tried to reassure you, knowing how furious you get when your food gets stolen.

“Yeah, let’s meat up for dinner!” Seokmin chimed in, making you roll your eyes.

Wait.

That’s it.

You have to meet that fucking rat-stealer face to face.

...

This time, you made your well-crafted most scrumptious, katsu sandwich. Cut in halves, three thick slices stacked neatly inside your Chiikawa-pattern container. Minghao had given it to you after his business trip to Japan, and you gladly accepted it since the cartoon was trending everywhere lately.

You liked the yellow rabbit character. It reminded you of yourself because he’s a big back.

Just like you.

Anyway.

You were not about to let your lunch get taken away this time.

And this time, you were going to protect it like it mattered more than your own life. For the sake of your health insurance, you tried not to pounce on that food burglar.

You were not about to let your money, sweat, and time go to waste again.

Now that you think about it, you probably should’ve shown up ten minutes earlier before catching the culprit.

Standing from your seat, you headed toward the office pantry and peeked inside.

You couldn’t believe your eyes.

Someone was hunching over the fridge, hand hovering over the transparent containers then toward your Chiikawa lunchbox.

“Hm, this is new…” he murmured. “…and tacky.”

Excuse me?

You weren’t about to back down when someone literally mocked your precious lunchbox pattern. So what? You liked when your mom packed your food in a Hello Kitty container with those little fruit picks shaped like cat ears.

You cleared your throat to catch his attention. He jumped slightly, straightening up.

“Isn’t it too early for lunch break?” you asked, slowly approaching him, arms crossed.

He blinked.

It was the same four-eyed dude who inhaled two fire spicy bowl ramens the other day. You almost scoffed.

“You again,” he echoed. “And who are you?”

He still stood there, relaxed like he hadn’t just been caught red-handed.

“Me?” you repeated nonchalantly. “I’m not that important. Rather, why don’t we start with you, buddy.”

He looked like he didn’t want to continue this conversation. Probably hoping you’d leave.

Fine.

You indulged him for a moment and gave your name. When he finally replied, you learned his.

Jeon fucking Wonwoo.

You plastered a smile on your face. He turned away, ignoring you. The two of you just stood there for a few tense seconds.

“Don’t you have work to do?” he asked, sounding impatient.

“How’s that coffee?” you shot back, blatantly ignoring his question.

Wonwoo frowned, more like bristled at it, as if offended.

“Why would I drink that slimy brown liquid?” he said. “Don’t tell me… you drink that thing?”

“It’s not that bad,” you shrugged.

(It absolutely sucks.)

He chuckled, clearly mocking you. “You sound like you hate yourself.”

Oh, he’s so cocky.

Three days. Three days you’ve suffered because of this stealing bitch.

“Actually…” you stepped closer. “What did you do these past few days?”

He cocked an eyebrow and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Why? It’s a workweek. What else would I be doing?”

You weren’t buying it. “Do you always come to the pantry this often?”

“…I mean, I have to eat,” he replied like it was obvious. “Of course I come here.”

“Wow, me too!” you exclaimed sarcastically. “I have an idea—why don’t we eat together then?”

That made him falter.

He suddenly looked uneasy at your smile. Like you were plotting something.

“…No, thank you. I prefer eating alone. Now can you leave?”

“Why not?” You stepped closer, almost chest to chest even though he was much taller.

He stiffened but tried to maintain composure, clearing his throat before a grin slowly spread across his face.

“I see. If you wanted me so much, you shouldn’t have thrown yourself at me like that,” he chuckled lowly, eyes dragging down your figure. “All you had to do was ask.”

Your smile dropped instantly and stepped back.

You wanted to wipe that stupid grin off his face. That smug look made you want to chop off all his limbs.

“Oh, don’t lose that smile,” he tutted. “I’d rather think that mouth could do better. Maybe you’d be my cup of tea. Either way, it’s cheesed to meet you, Miss ____.”

Hell nah.

You were not backing down either.

Smiling sweetly, you replied, “You know what else my mouth could do, Mr. Jeon?”

His eyebrow lifted.

“Hurt your feelings. I think dildo is a perfectly acceptable insult. I’d call you a dick—but you’re not real enough.”

That caught him off guard.

He opened his mouth. Closed it again.

For the first time, Jeon Wonwoo didn’t know what to say.

“Cat got your tongue?” you smiled. “Or maybe my words are true—your dick isn’t that real.”

His eyes darkened as he stepped forward.

“Watch it. Say that again and I’ll put that mouth to good use.”

And then—

A sudden loud gasp from behind.

Both of you turned toward the doorway to see Seungkwan, Seokmin, and Soonyoung frozen in place, hands dramatically covering their mouths.

“You heard that, guys?!” Seungkwan gasped. “What the fudge—she was about to get dicked down!”

Seokmin clutched Soonyoung’s arm. “Look at them pudding up against each other! They’re both nuts!”

“That’s tea-rrific,” Soonyoung added, “but whisk I’m willing to take for a pear like this!”

“GET OUT OF HERE!” you and Wonwoo barked simultaneously.

In the end, you shared your katsu sandwich with him.

Somehow, it turned into a mutual rant session about Hyunsuk. No one likes him anyway. Glad you’re both on the same boat.

He ended up taking you to dine at a downtown French bistro. Claimed it was “compensation.” Not that you were entirely forgiving about it.

You learned he works in the legal department. Recently promoted. Employee of the Month. Overworked to death.

“So, do you not have a life then?” you asked, noticing he’d loosened two buttons of his dress shirt, sleeves rolled up.

He’s handsome.

Annoyingly attractive.

If only he’d shut up.

But again, no attractive person should be forgiven for food stealing. Especially your lunch.

“I did,” he said, sipping his wine. “Until they put me to work.”

You nodded slowly. Then circled back.

“You could’ve just ordered takeaway. Why my lunch?”

He grinned, leaning back. “Why? Your lunch, of course. Yours is the best I’ve tasted so far.”

The audacity.

Rich in audacity. Poor manners.

“So… what would you like to order?” the waiter asked.

“Right. Food.” Wonwoo skimmed the menu.

“What do you recommend?” you asked.

He hummed, closing the menu and looking directly at you. “Anything that tastes good.”

Your throat dried slightly. Maybe you’re imagining things.

“Oh? Like what?”

“Meat.”

Silence.

“…Okay. I’ll just get ratatouille.”

“But that’s all vegetables.”

“Shut up, meathead.”

The waiter coughed. “How cooked would you like your steak, sir?”

Wonwoo was still looking at you.

“Make it medium rare. And make it two,” you smiled. “I’d like a piece of meat too.”

The waiter jolted and left immediately.

“How long have you been stealing?” you circled back.

He sighed. “Look, I didn’t mean to do that—well, that was until I met you.”

“M-me?”

“Your lunch.”

Oh.

“I don’t like takeaways. I used to live with my roommate, Mingyu. He cooked for both of us until I moved into my own apartment,” he said. “And I can’t cook for shit.”

“Can tell,” you replied smoothly. “Your personality is probably as shitty as your cooking.”

He glared.

You smiled.

“Watch that,” he warned. “I’m definitely putting that smart mouth to good use—”

“Shut up. Save it for later. I’m not riding that fake dick.”

“…”

Silence.

You took a sip of wine, scanning the dim lights of the restaurant. Fine dining. Expensive plates. His salary was probably double yours anyway.

“Here’s the deal,” you said. “Stop eating my lunch. That’s it.”

He considered. “Fine. I’ll pay for your groceries. How about that?”

“Nah.”

Wonwoo frowned, fingers lacing together. “Okay, I’m sorry. But I really don’t like the dripping coffee machine. And the cafeteria sucks. And I hate that the caterer keeps slipping her phone number onto my tray.”

“All I ate were ham and cream cheese bagels,” he continued. “Depressing, I know.”

You raised a brow, unimpressed. “Why not? For an attention whore like you, I thought you’d enjoy it.”

“She’s married. With five kids.”

“….”

Okay. Fair enough.

“Alright,” you sighed. “I’ll bite.”

His eyes lit up.

He almost reached across the table, close to your hand then thought better of it and grabbed the napkins instead.

“Can I go to your place after this?” he asked suddenly.

You nearly choked on your wine. “Excuse me? Aren’t we going too fast?”

“To inspect your goods,” he deadpanned. “Your fridge.”

Yeah.

He’s definitely messing with you.

You did let him come back to your studio apartment, after all the groceries were paid for by him, of course. In return, you taught him how to make the katsu sandwich he’d been annoyingly edging about all night.

And yes, it turns out he really doesn’t like seafood. Wonwoo said it upsets his stomach, and once was enough for him to swear it off forever.

You set the groceries aside just as your cat greeted you, weaving around your ankles while you washed your hands, Wonwoo hovering awkwardly behind you.

Your place was cozy. Very you, he thought.

“Who’s this little companion?” he asked, crouching down to pet your white Persian cat. “Got a name?” He glanced up at you, finally noticing the frilly apron you were wearing.

“Wonton,” you said, peeling onions as you passed him another apron, this one reading Kiss the Cook.

He slipped it over his head without complaint. “That’s funny. Do you have a food phase or something?”

Now that you thought about it… yeah. 

“Yeah. I got dumpling takeaway that night, and she was inside the box when she was still a kitten. So I named her Wonton.”

The rest of the time, you walked him through each step carefully.

“So,” he said casually, “how often do you pound the meat?”

Silence.

You looked up.

He looked back, utterly oblivious. “The fried chicken sandwich yesterday was delectable.”

“Not much,” you muttered, going back to chopping potatoes. “Other than salty food—do you like sweets?”

He hummed while dipping the meat into egg batter and breadcrumbs. “Not really to be exact. I had it during a business trip in Europe. I don’t remember what it’s called. Something like… quickie?”

Your knife froze mid-chop.

“…Quiche,” you corrected. “It’s called quiche, Wonwoo.”

His face lit up, nodding like he’d just learned a new word.

For a moment, you wondered if he was messing with you but the genuine reaction told you otherwise.

“Are you messing with me?”

He blinked. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

You didn’t push it. It was pointless.

“Why can’t you cook?” you asked instead, lowering the coated meat into hot oil.

“Well, there’s this thing called ‘I just don’t,’” he said. “I once almost ate half-burnt scrambled eggs and decided never again.”

You scoffed. “It costs nothing to be kind with your words, you know.”

“Some days it costs me my fucking sanity, honey,” he shot back, eyes sharp.

Which would’ve been intimidating if he weren’t wearing that Kiss the Cook apron.

Your mom was right. There’s nothing romantic about cooking together. Move the fuck away.

“You know what?” you said. “Let’s split up to cover more ground. I’ll go left, and you go fuck yourself.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” he grinned. “Just don’t ogle me when I pound my meat. I’d know myself for the whole course of the meal.”

He’s so hot. If only he shut up.

“Calling yourself a meal when you’ve had an STD?” you said, setting the fried cutlet aside. “Okay, food poisoning.”

He frowned. “I’d have you know I’m very healthy and clean. So you’re safe.”

“No one said I’d fuck you.”

“Fuck you.”

“Gladly,” you replied. “But after we finish this, I’ll have my way with you later.”

“…..”

“So,” he said, scanning your apartment. “You live like this while working at a million-dollar company?”

“I live alone,” you shrugged, cutting the sandwich in half and handing it to him. “No reason for a big place. I do need a spacious kitchen, though.”

He nodded, biting into it. “Fair. What about a boyfriend? Girlfriend?”

“Don’t have time for that.”

“It’s alright,” you added. “At least I get to rest on weekends. What about you? Hobbies?”

He hummed. “I dissociate. I play games. And lately, my bed is the only thing calling me.”

“Oh,” you said. “Then… hookups?”

He leaned closer, smirking. “Are you offering?”

“Hell no,” you said immediately. “I don’t have the energy.”

“For what?”

You gestured at him.

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Half of your personality is just symptoms.”

“Your mom.”

“My mom passed away four years ago,” he said simply.

Well. That rhymed.

Silence stretched between you.

You swallowed. “…Sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay,” he said, finishing his sandwich. “It’s been a while. I still miss her.”

Another quiet beat.

“So…” you said carefully, “wanna catch up on Bridgerton?”

...

That night, you both sat on the couch with a noticeable gap between you, a cushion clutched to your chest like a shield.

The room was dim, lit only by the TV. Surprisingly, he was fully invested in Bridgerton. What was supposed to be one episode turned into a full marathon.

For some reason, it felt intimate.

Jeon Wonwoo, your coworker. The man who stole your lunch for a week. Also, the cause of your suffering.

Insufferable. Infuriating. Hot as fuck.

It would be a lie to say you’d never found him attractive. Well, except for that foul mouth. Not that you were any better.

The problem with this show was the sex scenes.

You’d completely forgotten how many there were.

Every time one came on, you felt the urge to skip it but Wonwoo didn’t move. He watched with the same unreadable expression, completely composed like poker-faced.

It was impossible to tell what he was thinking inside his head.

Another scene started.

Just great.

You were very aware of how you shifted slightly, how your fingers tightened around the cushion, how your knees pressed together. The small breath you exhaled without meaning to.

The couch shifted.

He turned his head toward you.

He definitely noticed and yet, he said nothing. That somehow made it worse.

Because he remembered the way you talked to him.

The insults. The degradation. The way you never backed down.

Fuck.

Maybe that’s what did it.

Maybe Jeon Wonwoo was turned on by the way you spoke to him like you weren’t afraid.

“Do you want to make out and make noises?” he asked suddenly, looking at you like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You blinked.

For a moment, your brain short-circuited.

Then you thought: when else are you going to get the chance to make out with a disgustingly attractive man like this?

Exactly.

“Thought you’d never ask,” you muttered, dropping the cushion before swinging a leg over his lap.

“Hell yeah,” he breathed.

His hands found your hips instantly.

The kiss wasn’t gentle.

It was messy. Almost clumsy at first, teeth knocking, breaths uneven but it quickly deepened. His mouth moved slowly against yours, deliberate now. One hand slid up to the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, holding you there.

You let out a soft sound against his mouth without meaning to.

Your body pressed closer.

He let out a low groan, restrained but it vibrated against your lips. You could feel his hardness pressed against yours, and it’s big.

When his tongue brushed yours, it wasn’t rushed. It was slow and intentional. Like he was testing how much you’d let him have.

You were already giving too much.

Time blurred.

When you finally pulled back, it wasn’t far. Just enough to breathe. A thin string of saliva caught in the dim light before breaking.

He looked up at you, and whatever was in his eyes now wasn’t smugness.

It was hunger.

Like he hadn’t had enough.

His head leaned closer until the tip of his nose brushed yours as he murmured, “…I want you,” he breathed. “Please. I need to have you tonight.”

Your heart pounded at the sound of his voice. The way his ragged breath fanned against your lips.

His hand wandered, softly caressing your back before sliding lower to grip your ass, making you jump slightly.

He grinned at your reaction. “Is that a yes?” he chuckled lowly, squeezing more firmly this time, drawing a gasp from you as your hands instinctively gripped his shoulders.

“Cute,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your lips before looking up at you again. “…I need that pretty mouth of yours working now, since you’ve been such a smartass with me the whole time.”

Something about his piercing gaze made the heat pool low in your stomach. God, his commanding voice alone was enough to make you melt like chocolate left out too long under the sun.

You’re not a masochist, of course.

His thumb traced slowly over your lips before pressing gently, parting them as he slid the pad of his thumb just inside. His voice dropped.

“Get on your knees. Now.”

Did you listen? Hell yeah.

“Normally, I wouldn’t get on my knees for a man, but here I am,” you muttered as you moved between his thighs, while he spread his legs slightly, working at his belt and the sleek pants he’d worn earlier to dinner.

“I’m flattered to be the first man,” he chuckled. You could see the damp, slight pre-cum stain against his boxer. Then pulling the underwear down to reveal his shaft.

Giving a few pumps as he strokes his dick, groaning as his head goes over the couch. “Fuck, now go make use of that pretty mouth, baby.”

You breathe out, seeing that shafts make you hesitate a bit. Okay, that was a real dick; you take that back for insulting and calling his stupid dick fake.

Slowly wrapping your delicate hands around his shaft, you glance up to see his head thrown over the couch as you give a kiss on the tip of his cockhead.

His breath hitched as he watched you kneel between his legs, those soft  eyes looking up at him with a mix of nervousness and determination. The sight alone made his cock throb harder in your gentle grip.

"Fuck..." he breathed out, his head tilting back against the couch cushion as he felt your lips brush against his sensitive tip.

His fingers instinctively tangled in your long wavy brown hair, not pulling but just... holding on. Grounding himself. The way your hands wrapped around his shaft made him stroke himself slower, more deliberately, letting you set the pace.

"You're so fucking pretty like this," he murmured, his voice rough and low as he watched your every move. "But you know what... I don't want your hands right now."

He gently guided your head down, his cock pressing against your lips as he guided you to take him in. Not all at once, he didn't want to make you gag or feel uncomfortable. Just... enough to feel you.

"Mmm... that's it," he groaned softly, his other hand moving to cup the back of your head possessively. "Use that pretty mouth of yours now. I want to hear from you."

His hips gave a subtle thrust, not demanding but encouraging. His eyes stayed locked on you, watching the way your lips stretched around him, the wet sounds filling the room.

"Christ... you're incredible," he breathed, his thumb stroking along your jawline tenderly despite the rough situation.

You stiffen slightly, feeling his whole length around your mouth. Slowly making your jaw work as you bobbed your head, sucking him good.

He stopped you mid-blowjob, pulling you up by your waist with surprising strength. The way you were panting, lips swollen from worshipping his cock, made him nearly lose control entirely.

"Fuck... you look so good like this," he growled, his voice strained as he guided you toward the bed.

Setting you down gently on the mattress, he immediately followed, positioning himself between your thighs. His hands pushed your skirt up slowly, deliberately, savoring how exposed you were for him.

"Shit…" he breathed, his eyes darkening as he stared at your glistening core. "So fucking wet for me already."

Without hesitation, he leaned down and buried his face between your legs, his tongue immediately seeking out your clit. The taste of you made him groan against your sensitive flesh.

"Mmm... fuck, you taste so good," he murmured against you, his tongue working in slow, deliberate circles. "Let me eat you properly before I take you."

His fingers gripped your thighs gently but firmly, spreading you wider as he feasted on you with renewed focus, determined to make you come on his tongue first.

You gasped sharply, your palm flying to your mouth, feeling his mouth dive in like a starved man. He knows exactly what you need to push you over the edge. Your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close. 

He laughs against your core, feeling your fingers tangle in his hair. It made him groan with satisfaction. The way your body trembled beneath his mouth, your gasps growing louder.

It was fucking intoxicating.

He continues to lap on your cunt, wanting you to come undone by his tongue. He could feel you’re coming close as he works closer and closer to the edge. His fingers thrust in and out of you, over and over again.

“Fuck— you’re so close already,” he murmured against your soaked folds, his tongue working faster now. “Let go baby, let me taste it.”

You could feel your orgasm coming closer as he kept pumping into you. When you finally came, his fingers still pumping inside you, he felt your walls clench around him rhythmically. The sight of you completely undone, head thrown back as pleasure washed over you— it made him nearly lose control too.

You swore you almost saw stars and later, he was going to make you see the entire fucking galaxy once he was inside you.

“God, you look so beautiful like this,” he breathed, slowly pulling his fingers out of you with a soft, wet sound. “So fucking beautiful when you let go.”

You gave him a weak tap, blinking as you tried to catch your breath. God, you hadn’t felt this good in a long time. Or maybe no one had ever made you feel this good.

“Hold up—” you breathed meekly. “Let me… catch my… fucking hell…”

It was embarrassing to let him see you like this. Kind of pathetic, honestly, to get so worked up just from being eaten out.

Wonwoo chuckled, settling himself between your thighs as he looked down at you, almost menacingly. “Take your time, sweet pea. I’m not done with you yet.”

Then, surprisingly, he said something reasonable. “Just to make sure—give me a safe word.”

You blinked, finally propping yourself up on your elbows against the mattress as you considered it.

“Strawberry,” you said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Make it shorter. Do you think you can say that before I pound you like dough?”

You huffed. “Cherry, then.”

“Fair enough.” He leaned in to kiss you again but stopped midway. “I don’t have condoms, though…”

And you weren’t on pills. You couldn’t blame him. No one had expected this to happen.

You checked the drawer beside your bed. It had probably been sitting there for two years, back when you never expected there’d be a man in your life again.

When you handed it to him, he bristled, letting out a laugh and flashing a cocky grin. “This isn’t my size, sugarplum. It’s alright—I’ll pull out immediately,” he promised, pressing a kiss to your temple then running his hands along your curves possessively.

He sheathed himself slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. There was no hesitation in his movements, yet something raw, almost vulnerable flickered across his expression.

“I’m clean,” he murmured, his voice more serious now. “And I’ve never done this without protection before. So… yeah.” His gaze softened just slightly. “I’m trusting you, too.”

You let out a small whimper, feeling himself positioned at your entrance, his cock pressing against your wet heat. His thumbs framed your face, cradling it gently.

“Tell me you want this,” he said softly, eyes searching yours. “Tell me you want me inside you bare.” His hips gave a small thrust, just teasing waiting for your answer.

Almost cussing out at him for purposely made you feel this way, you breathe out almost pleadingly despite your bite. “...you asshole, stop playing—” you sharply inhaled when he thrusted his cock inside you.

He felt you gasp as he pushed inside, his cock stretching you open slowly. 

Fucking hell.

The way you clenched around him immediately made him grit his teeth, might as well come inside you at this point.

“Fuck…” he breathed out, his hands moving to grip your hips. “So tight…fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” He didn’t slam in, he took his time, letting you adjust to him. The way your walls squeezed him rhythmically was almost too much, but he forced himself to stay controlled.

And you—you never felt so fucking amazing right now. You think you might ascend to heaven. Eyes rolling over with your grip tightens on the sheets.

“Still with me, sweet pea?” he asked, voice strained as he hilted himself completely inside you.

You nodded slowly at him, murmured softly, “...yeah…you can move faster now.”

His fingers dug into your skin slightly, not quite bruising but definitely holding on tight. Breath hitched when you finally gave him permission, that single nod making his control slip dangerously. The way your walls were already clenching around him was driving him insane.

“Thank fuck,” he breathed out, hips already starting to move. He pulled back slowly, feeling every inch of you squeeze around him then thrust forward with more purpose. The wet sounds of your tangled bodies filled the room.

Your poor cat, Wonton, is already scurrying away somewhere.

He could feel your body trembling beneath him, and it made something possessive ignite in him. He wanted every gasp, every moan and every shudder of pleasure entirely for himself.

His thrusts became faster, more desperate as his breath came in harsh pants against your neck. “Tell me how it feels,” he demanded softly, one hand moving to cup your chin, fracking you to look at him. "Tell me when you’re close.”

His cock throbbed inside you, pre-cum leaking out but he was determined to make this last. To make you feel as good as you made him feel earlier with that perfect, needy mouth.

“You’re killing me,” he admitted breathlessly, his forehead resting against yours. “But I’m not pulling out until I see you completely destroyed…”

...on my cock.” you heard him finished, his voice thick with need.

God, you can’t even talk properly with him. Did he just fucked you this good?

His hips snapped against yours, making you gasp. The change in rhythm was almost punishing— harder, faster and deeper. Each thrust he gave, sent pleasure spiraling through your waves, making your toes curl and your visions blur.

“Fuck…fuck— Wonwoo! You cried out, back arching off the bed slightly as he drove into you relentlessly.

One of his hands moved from your hip to your hair, fisting it rough;y and tilting your head back. His lips crashed against yours in a desperate, messy kiss that tasted like desperation and need.

“Say my name while I fuck you.” He demanded between kisses, his other hand moving to your throat, just barely pressing, not choking but claiming.

“Wonwoo!” you sobbed into the kiss, voice breaking.

It was all too much. His mouth on yours, hands on you and the way he was fucking you like he wanted to imprint himself on your very soul. Your orgasm built faster than you could handle, climbing higher and higher until you were breathless and dizzy.

“I’m—oh god— I’m—” you couldn’t even finish the sentence as pleasure crashed over you in waves, your inner walls clamping down around him.

He felt you come, your body shaking and clenching around his cock, and it was his undoing. With a guttural groan, he buried himself deep inside then immediately pulled out as he promised. His remains spilled on your stomach, giving a few last pumps as he stays there.

“Fuck… fuck…” he breathed against your neck, his body collapsing onto yours as aftershocks rippled through both of you.

You stayed like that for a while, limbs tangled, your body slowly growing heavy with exhaustion.

But goddamn. That was the best sex you’d ever had.

(You’d only had, like, two back in school, but whatever.)

Just when you thought he was finished, he lifted his head and looked down at you before finally shrugging off the dress shirt that had been hanging open. He pulled it over his broad shoulders, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the lean muscle beneath.

God, you silently thanked the heavens for giving you an asshole that looked like him.

Grinning cockily, he hovered over you, his voice dropping into a husky murmur. “Oh, I’m not done yet, honeybun. That was just the appetizer. We still have the full course and dessert.”

Okay, maybe you should’ve bought the condoms and pills when you were grocery shopping with him.

“Now strip bare before I devour you for real.” He smacked your ass and squeezed, making you yelp.

The rest was history.

The next morning. Thank heavens it was Saturday. You would not have survived this if it were Monday and a workweek.

You fumbled beneath the comforter, still half-asleep. Then it hit you.

You’d been dicked down by the most insufferable, food-thieving man alive.

Slowly, you sat up, immediately feeling the soreness between your thighs.

Thanks a lot to that bastard for bottoming you out so good.

And you loved every single second of it.

Noticing the empty space beside you, your gaze drifted across the room—only to find him in nothing but his boxers, crouched beside Wonton, your cat. It looked like he’d already fed her.

Wow.

The sight of him watching your cat eat was almost… innocent.

Was that really the same person who pounded you like a beast last night?

Whatever.

You looked down and realized you were wearing his dress shirt. He probably cleaned you up before you passed out.

Pushing yourself out of bed, you shuffled toward the kitchen. You were starving, might as well whip something up.

He noticed you rummaging through the fridge and followed after you.

“Morning,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around your waist as you worked at the counter. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Me,” you joked.

He immediately groped your chest, making you yelp as you slapped his hands away.

He didn’t look sorry at all. “You said it. I’m just taking what I want,” he grinned against your ear, pressing a soft kiss there.

“Let’s get married,” he suddenly said. “I need you for a lifetime.”

You hummed thoughtfully while whisking the pancake batter. “For what? The food or the sex?”

“Both,” he confirmed easily. “I already paid for the groceries. I’m basically your wallet at this point. Marry me and you get both—my dick and my money.”

You had to stifle a laugh.

His arms tightened around you as he added, “Then I can finally fuck you without using those damn condoms and pills.”

That made you turn to look at him, eyebrow raised as he flashed that stupidly annoying grin.

“Was that a threat?”

“A promise,” he corrected. “We’d make a great pear. And I wouldn’t mind putting a few little peanuts in you.”

He nuzzled your nape like an oversized cat.

You stared at him in disbelief.

“You’re crazy.”

“Yeah,” he said smoothly. “I’m nuts for you, sweetie pie.”

Since that day, you kept seeing Wonwoo during lunch breaks at work.

With a price, of course. The lunch arrangement.

For some reason, you couldn’t help but notice the change in his personality. Well… he’d been a lot nicer lately.

And it scared the shit out of you.

You’d rather have him insufferable as always, wearing that stupid cocky grin.

Okay, maybe not. That was too annoying. You weren’t sure you could restrain your fist from connecting with his majestic face.

“Have you been sitting in all that sugar you bake with? Because you’ve got a sweet butt,” Wonwoo suddenly said.

A loud crash echoed through the kitchen as you dropped the baking tray in your hands, staring at him in horror.

Noticing your mortified expression, he took a step back. “Sorry. Too forward?”

He’d been crashing at your place again, insisting on driving you home as an excuse to spend more time together.

“Have you been laying in sugar, sweetheart?” he tried again. “Because you’re looking pretty sweet. Is that better?” he asked, almost apologetically.

You honestly didn’t know what to say, setting the meatloaf aside.

“I mean…” you started slowly, “…you always smack my ass whenever you get the chance, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do it when I’m about to get into the passenger seat.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “I think all of you are sweet, really.” Then he added, “I can tell your parents were bakers—they’d have to be to make a cutie pie like you.”

You blinked, finally turning to look at him. “…Well, my mom was a baker. And my brother owns a café, so yeah. Technically.”

“Wait, really?” he asked, momentarily dropping the act. “Why didn’t I know that?”

“You never asked,” you replied simply, waving him off. “By the way, what’s with all these cheesy pick-up lines? Where did you even learn them?”

Completely ignoring your question, he continued, “Are you bread? Because you’re the loaf of my life.”

Your lips twitched. “Okay, now you’re up to something. Did you lose a bet?”

“I think I’ve got cavities, because you’re too sweet.”

You chuckled, leaning against the kitchen counter in your pink frilly apron. “If you’re trying to seduce me into baking cookies, you could’ve just asked.”

“I don’t know about cookies,” he shot back smoothly, “but you and I would bake a great couple.”

Your smile widened as you pushed off the counter and slowly walked toward him. “Oh? Is that what you think?”

He audibly gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he watched you approach.

“Did you just come out of the oven?” he continued weakly. “Because you’re hot.”

You let out a soft giggle, stopping in front of him and placing your hands on his shoulders. “I don’t know if I’m scared of you or attracted to you.”

His hands naturally found your waist. “Marry me, please. Let me be your husband. I’ll take care of you… and our little peanut. Soon.” He nuzzled into your neck.

Smiling, you couldn’t help but laugh. “Hey, Won,” you murmured, “if you want something sweet, there’s plenty of sugar right here.”

You tapped your lips playfully. He didn’t hesitate before pressing his mouth to yours.

A moment later, you both pulled back, laughing and giggling like idiots, foreheads resting against each other.

“By the way,” you asked softly, “where did you even learn those pick-up lines?”

He paused, thinking for a second.

“Jeonghan,” he said simply.

Ah.

Of course.

You never liked him. Same department as Wonwoo…just more obnoxious.

He definitely put him up to this on purpose.

One thing you actually learned from your mother's advice that surprisingly worked was that the fastest way into a man’s heart was through his stomach.

Turns out, he stopped stealing your food. He found something sweeter to keep instead.

FIN.

A/N: once again, thanks a lot for staying until the end, apples!! finally we've come to the end. if you're interested in more of my fics, feel free to check my page and my masterlist, if any of you guys are interested include in my taglist, feel free to sign in the form link.

feedbacks and comments are appreciated!! (for future purposes, so that i will improve my writings more.) pls do support me if you found this entertaining! ˙𐃷˙ here

[lotusinmuddywater]

s v t f i c r e c s ☆ • . * 。

s e u n g c h e o l

take my hand │ c.sc by @anxiouscherubs (seungcheol x fem!plussize!reader)

j e o n g h a n

. . . l o a d i n g

j o s h u a

all the petty scenes & all the pretty things | hjs by @starlightkyeom (one-sided enemies to lovers, they go on a trip)

j u n

kiss me, it's for science -junhui by @supi-wupi

the heat of the moment by @leejihoonownsmyheart (angry!yn, big dick!jun)

h o s h i

. . . l o a d i n g

w o n u

— meet cute of the century ⟢ by @lovelyhan

someone stole my lunch?! 𑣲 j. wonwoo by @epelletart (had me chuckling left and right, so amazing!!)

photobooth by @juniperdugong (i YEARN for this!!!!)

(not so) secret santa by @starlightkyeom (office!au)

u j i

. . . l o a d i n g

s e o k m i n

where the hell is my husband?! ᯓᡣ𐭩 lsm by @luvrung (coworker! lee seokmin x f!reader)

prom night ❆ by @haologram (best friend's brother!lee seokmin x reader)

m i n g y u

kim mingyu’s (unhelpful) guide to losing your virginity by @shuaflix (honestly my favorite fic ever!! i think about it at least once a day.)

m i n g h a o

rain room (x.mh) by @sailorsoons (coworkers to lovers)

a christmas proposal by @leejihoonownsmyheart (legit made me sob, so good tho)

s e u n g k w a n

. . . l o a d i n g

v e r n o n

- ̗̀ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 ˎˊ- by @wondernus (teacher!vernon x teacher4yn)

all in my head by @studioeisa (college friends!au)

d i n o

love guard by @tqmies (lifeguard!dino x lifeguard!fem reader; read it two years ago, still regularly on my mind)

r e a c t i o n s / / i m a g i n e s

seventeen reaction to you calling them unemployed when they ask you to talk dirty to them by @hoshifighting (bruhhh, i LOVE this)

☆ • . * 。☆ • . * 。credits to the authors!!

[orpheuslament]

if i had a dick i would love to have a disappointing orgasm in the shower while thinking of something or someone that i felt i should not be thinking about & then stand under the water with my forehead against a wall watching the proof of my guilt & shame go down the drain

[krippe90]

The insight I get into the female mind thanks to this website is amazing.

[orpheuslament]

not a female 👍

[orpheuslament]

pause everybody take notes. real trans ally

[gholateg]

this is the kind of comradeship we need to start the month off on.

[absinthehyuk]

choi seungcheol = calculator

pairing. office worker seungcheol + office worker f!reader

summary. everyone at your work place thinks seungcheol was a calculator– not just because of his weird math skills, but because of the look in his eyes every time he did something.

warnings. porn with no plot lol, cunnilingus, pussy eating, kinda face riding? Idk, use of pet-names hers darling, sweetheart, love his cheol

a/n. can u tell this was inspired by that one ateez interview where mingi called hongjoong a calculator? 😭 anyways hi! i will be publishing more soon, i’m so sorry for being mia love u all

If you had anything to say to your work bestie right now, it would be– “Hah! I proved you wrong, Minseo!”

But unfortunately, you were in no position to speak, breathe, or even think for there was a deviant between your legs who had stolen your breath away.

Choi Seungcheol.

In the office, he was practically invisible. While everyone else buzzed about their day, he quietly roamed the halls, clutching a Stanley Cup and typing away on his MacBook, a blank expression lingering on his face.

To his colleagues, he was just the exceptionally bright guy who seemed to drift through their conversations without leaving a mark—too absorbed in his own thoughts to ever truly engage. It was as if he was a ghost in a sea of chatter, always there but rarely acknowledged.

But he was eye candy to you and Minseo, one of the more attractive males on your floor.

And right now, his handsomeness was tenfold as he carefully ran his fingers down your leg, purring to himself.

“You’re sensitive,” he muttered, making an observation as he pushed up the skirt of your dress.

Tonight was the office get-together, where you and all your colleagues celebrated your survival of the year-end. What was supposed to be a casual dinner turned into a bet amongst you and Minseo.

The topic? Seungcheol, obviously.

“How good can he even be in bed? He looks like he doesn’t even know how to get a girl wet,” Minseo had laughed.

Your breath hitched when you sawSeungcheol’s eyes darken, that familiar twinge of his calculating personality swimming in those brown irises.

He’d pushed your dress up fully and was now face to face with the dark spot on your underwear.

“Is this from the kissing earlier?” He asked, voice raspy.

You wanted to say yes.

You wanted to scream at him– ‘Yes, Seungcheol! This is what happened when you kissed me against the wall and spread my thighs with your knees and and–’

But you simply nodded, not trusting yourself to make any noises.

“Mm... I like it,” He nodded, his fingers tracing your pussy through the fabric of your panties. A short breath left your mouth and his eyes instantly snapped back up to meet yours.

You knew exactly what he was doing.

You’d seen him do it countless times before, especially when he truly locked in. That distant, intense look in his eyes—like he was plotting, scheming, and unraveling a plan in his mind.

And now? He was going to figure you out.

Seungcheol’s fingers gently prodded at your clitoris, lightly rubbing the bundle of nerves through the fabric. His fingers were exploratory, cautious. His eyes switched between watching you and looking at the dark spot in your panties increase in size slowly.

Even just the clitoral stimulation had your thighs twitching, the gentle flick flick flick of his thumb against you made jolts run up your spine.

“May I?” He asked softly. You looked down to find his beady eyes staring at you, free hand ghosting against the elastic band of your underwear. The sight made you want to kiss him. But it was evident that he was too focused on your pussy to give a shit about that.

You managed another nod, watching him peel the panties off of you, his eyes calculating.

The second that the layer between your most intimate spot and his sharp gaze was gone, Seungcheol let out a groan, his palms on the side of your cunt’s pout, gently spreading the skin to see you.

“God, she’s beautiful,” He muttered, the warmth of his breath making you whine. He noticed it, of course. The bastard always noticed.

His eyebrow raised, the thick hair creating a beautifully slanted line as he stared at you for a brief moment before blowing a stream of cool air into your pussy.

“Jesus fuc–” your breath hitched, back arching slightly as you looked down to find him staring at your cunt like he’d unlocked a hidden gem.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he leaned in, making you choke on thin air. “That feels nice, hmm?”

Before you could even think, his mouth descended on you, placing a sweet, soft kiss onto your mound. The contact made you sigh, fingers shyly finding his hair as you tugged, urging him to go deeper, do something.

But Choi Seungcheol had other plans.

The man placed another kiss along your folds, hissing softly as you tugged the strands on the back of his head. The third kiss came right on your clit before his tongue snaked out, moving from one side to the other, toying with you.

Seungcheol looked up at you, eyebrows scrunched together and that familiar glint in his eyes deepening as he heard your breathing pattern change.

He flattened his tongue, licking a languid stripe up your cunt before puckering his lips and slowly sucking the clitoris into his mouth.

Your slick oozed out of your folds, breathy moans mixing with the mild hum of his air conditioning as he dipped his head lower, his tongue parting your lips and sneaking inside.

“Oh...”

His nose nudged your clit and your grip on his hair tightened, tugging sharper as you whined, dragging your hips upward to catch his nose again.

But his palm roughly flattened against your stomach, pinning you down. The way his thumb brushed against your skin had goosebumps rising.

“Let me– Please,” Seungcheol whispered, like he was some mind-reading maniac who had figured out what you wanted despite you doing nothing but moaning pathetically.

He shifted the position of his head, nose bridge rubbing right against your nerves, his tongue flattened over your pussy as he mouthed at you like an animal lapping water.

You were not going to last.

Seungcheol figured that out too.

“I got you, darling,” he hummed, mouth lapping at you as he bobbed his head up and down, the friction against your most sensitive button and the pressure of his treacherous tongue against your intimates had you crying out his name like a war cry.

You came fast and hard, vision going white for a split second as you breathed loudly, hips grinding to ride out the high on his mouth. He let you use him, before finally coming up for air.

With lazy eyes, you almost giggled at the way he was staring at you. Internally, Seungcheol was making a mental checklist— likes to get her clit played with, sensitive skin on her lower stomach, gets very breathy when nearing an orgasm...

Yeah, you were not going to survive the night.

©️ absinthehyuk, 2026

i’m sorry this is so short i have no inspo-

[cheolliecherie]

when he hits you with this pose

[sailorsoons]

★schedule and updates.exe ★ faqs.exe ★ skz m. list.exe ★ ★ hosted collabs.exe: aju league.exe ★ sands of time.exe ★

collections downloading... ★ the syndicates collection.exe ★ the paddock club collection.exe ★ the seventeen realms campaign.exe ★ House Rules Collection.exe

series.jpeg

Bite | Multiple Members x f. reader | Romantic Fantasy | Werewolves | Smut | Angst | Polyamorous | Ongoing

When the Divine’s cult conquers your home, they don’t expect you to survive, let alone fight back. Captured but not broken, you and the unlikeliest of allies are ready to burn it all down.

one shots.jpeg

Amnesia | Seungcheol x f. reader | Friends with Benefits to Lovers | Hint of Angst | Smut | Complete

Choi Seungcheol has never been the type to commit to relationships - casual is more his thing. You’re fine with that - except you and Seungcheol seem to be terrible at casual when it comes to one another. 

Giving Season | Chan x reader x Seungcheol | Established Relationship (w. Seungcheol) | Polyamorous | PWP | Smut | Complete

You always enjoy the office holiday party each year, especially when you get to do secret santa. This year, you enlist Seungcheol’s help to give Chan the perfect gift.

Giving Season Again | Chan x reader x Seungcheol | Established Relationship | Polyamorous | PWP | Smut | Completed

It’s been a year since Chan got a taste of you and Seungcheol at the office Christmas party. Turns out, you want to celebrate.

Hush | Incubus!Seungcheol x reader | Supernatural | PWP | Smut | Complete

You can’t seem to sleep, but the strange man in the bar that you can’t visiting promises he can help. 

Midnight Sails | Pirate!Seungcheol x reader | Pirate AU | Sort of Lovers | Requested | Complete

Seungcheol has never been able to give his heart over to anything but the sea, which has landed him in a never-ending game of chase with the sea’s favorite daughter. 

Overtake | F1 Driver!Seungcheol x f. reader | F1 AU | Exes to Lovers | Brothers Best Friend | Angst | Smut | Part 1 | Part 2

Seungcheol and your brother Joshua battle over everything - pole positions, championships, the title of Mercedes’ best driver. The one thing they were never supposed to fight over was you. 

Please | Alpha!Seungcheol x Omega! f. reader | Omegaverse | Coworkers to Lovers | Smut | Complete

A heatwave in your city makes dealing with your hormones more difficult than usual. Getting locked in a lobby at work for an hour with an alpha makes it ten times worse. Thankfully, Seungcheol is there to help you - and maybe a little more. 

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Bite | Multiple Members x f. reader | Romantic Fantasy | Werewolves | Smut | Angst | Polyamorous | Ongoing

When the Divine’s cult conquers your home, they don’t expect you to survive, let alone fight back. Captured but not broken, you and the unlikeliest of allies are ready to burn it all down.

Resonance | Jeonghan x f. reader | Romance | Angst | Best Friends to Lovers | Smut | Complete

ORBITAL RESONANCE /ˈôrbədl/ /ˈrezənəns/ (noun):  (1.) Occurs when orbiting bodies exert regular, periodic gravitational influence on each other, usually because their orbital periods are related by a ratio of small integers. (2.) Phenomenon where you and Jeonghan have circled one another for years, constantly applying force and influence over one another in cycles. 

one shots.jpeg

Amontillado | Vampire!Jeonghan x human!Reader | Supernatural | Mild Horror | Strangers to Lovers | Smut | Complete

Disappearing from your fiancé should have been easy. Instead, you stumble into Jeonghan’s empire of blood and alcohol - and he becomes the only thing standing between you and death.

Ring Master | Ring Master!Jeonghan x reader | Magical Realism | Liminal Space | Carnival AU | PWP | Smut | Complete

A mysterious circus arrives in the middle of the night at the edge of town. You and your friends go to enjoy the show, but you stay for the mysterious ring master. 

one shots.jpeg

Break | Witch!Joshua x Cursed!Reader | Magical AU | Friends to Lovers | Heavy Angst | Smut | Complete

You’ve suffered your entire life after a single magical accident when you were thirteen. Joshua has been your biggest comfort and anchor, but he also becomes your deepest regret. 

Holy | Devil!Joshua x Angel!Reader | Supernatural | PWP | Smut | Complete

You’ve never been able to follow anyone but Joshua - even if it means falling from Heaven for him. Even if it means being kept in a gilded cage.

Summon | Demon!Joshua x f. reader | Supernatural | Demon | PWP | Smut | Complete

A stupid dare by your friends turns into something much stranger than you ever could have anticipated. 

one shots.jpeg

Deadlock | Hitman!Junhui x Spy!Reader | Established Relationship | Angst | Smut | Romance | Complete

You and Junhui have the perfect life together. Sure, you’ve failed to mention you’re a spy for Clockwork and he never mentioned being a hitman for Protocol, but what couple doesn’t lie? The lies work - until Junhui is tasked with killing you, his perfect wife who has secrets he never dreamed of.

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Bite | Multiple Members x f. reader | Romantic Fantasy | Werewolves | Smut | Angst | Polyamorous | Ongoing

When the Divine’s cult conquers your home, they don’t expect you to survive, let alone fight back. Captured but not broken, you and the unlikeliest of allies are ready to burn it all down.

one shots.jpeg

Baby | Soonyoung x f. reader | Mafiaverse | Established Relationship to Exes to Lovers | Angst | Smut | Complete

Soonyoung had been in your life for as long as you can remember. You haven’t spoken since your wedding to someone who isn’t him, but when you uncover your husband’s plans to turn against your family, you don’t know who else to call.  

Greedy | Vernon x f. reader x Soonyoung | PWP | Idolverse | Smut | Request | Complete

Vernon is good at a lot of things - Soonyoung wants to help him be good at one more thing. 

One Hundred and One | Soonyoung x Reader | Established Relationship | Fluff | Requested | Complete

Soonyoung is always affectionate and sweet. Soonyoung after a few drinks is all of that and more.

Petrichor | Soonyoung x afab reader | Slice of Life | Smut | PWP | Established Relationship | Complete

Waking up to the sound of rain is good - waking up to the sound of rain and Soonyoung pressed up against you is better. 

Trigger | Soonyoung x f. reader | Mafiaverse | Established Relationship to Exes to Lovers | Angst | Smut | Complete

You have been Soonyoung’s entire world from the moment he met you. When you marry someone else, Soonyoung’s world ends. 

Virago | Ares!Soonyoung x Priestess!Reader | Mythological AU | Strangers to Lovers | Romance | Smut | Complete

For years, you’ve been the lone mortal tending to the forsaken altar of Ares. When war befalls your city and the Temple of the Gods, you refuse to flee, blade in hand, and your defiance in the face of death summons the very god others were too afraid to serve.

Warning Track | Baseball Player!Soonyoung x f. reader | Strangers to Lovers | Smut | PWP | Complete

When you let your friends take you to your first baseball game, you didn’t expect to enjoy it. You especially didn’t expect the right field to go over the fence and into your lap.

You. Always. | Soonyoung x f. reader | Established Relationship | Slice of Life | smut | PWP | Complete

Soonyoung isn’t a jealous guy - he’s not. But sometimes it gets to him, the way other people look at you and fall a little in love with you. Don’t they know you have him? 

one shots.jpeg

Chat, is that Rizz? | Wonwoo x f. reader | Established Relationship | Slice of Life | Smut | Complete

Your rivalry with Wonwoo has existed for as long as you’ve been streaming. It’s fun, and both of your communities love it. Wonwoo is happy to play along - at least until you question his rizz while live, and he feels like he should remind you just how much rizz he has.

Dahlia | Vampire!Wonwoo x Vampire!reader | Established Relationship | Smut | PWP | Complete

Being a fledgling vampire comes with a lot of new cravings. The most intense of them all is for the vampire who turned you.

Santa Baby | Wonwoo x f. reader | Established Relationship | Humor | Slice of Life | Complete

Your boyfriend is stuck working on Christmas Eve in hell on earth. You decide to pay him a little visit to cheer him up - and give yourself a good laugh.

Sweetest Thing | Dad!Wonwoo x Mom!Reader | Established Relationship | Slice of Life | Smut | PWP | Complete

For the first Halloween in years, you and Wonwoo are able to enjoy it together without the kids. When you feel a little nervous about your costume, Wonwoo is determined to show you that you’ve always been the sweetest thing. 

You & I | Chauffeur! Wonwoo x Mafia!Reader | Childhood Friends to Lovers | Mild Angst | Smut | Complete

Wonwoo has been your loyal driver and security details for years now. But before that, he was your friend - someone you loved, even. Now, you spend most nights in silence, wishing you could go back to the way things were.

one shots.jpeg

Heartbreaker | Ferrari Driver!Jihoon x Journalist!Reader | Exes to Lovers | F1 AU | Angst | Smut | Complete

Jihoon is suffering through a heartbreaker of a season with Ferrari. The car won’t cooperate, his teammate keeps outpacing him, and nothing seems to go right. Worst of all is what’s happening off the track. It seems racing is slipping through his fingers - and so are you.

Storm Breaker | Jaeger Pilot!Jihoon x Jaeger Pilot!reader | Pacific Rim AU | Forced Proximity | Strangers to Lovers | Smut | Angst | Complete

It’s a known fact Lee Jihoon is one of the best pilots the Jaeger Program has. The only problem? He can’t keep a co-pilot to save his life. He thinks you’ll just be another Ranger in the rotation, but you are an unpleasant surprise. 

series.jpeg

Bite | Multiple Members x f. reader | Romantic Fantasy | Werewolves | Smut | Angst | Polyamorous | Ongoing

When the Divine’s cult conquers your home, they don’t expect you to survive, let alone fight back. Captured but not broken, you and the unlikeliest of allies are ready to burn it all down.

one shots.jpeg

Devils | Devil!Seokmin x f. reader | Supernatural | Circus | Smut | PWP | Complete

The circus isn’t really your thing, but when the man out front of the big red tents invites you in, you can’t seem to say no. Even when every one of your instincts tells you to run. 

Shadow | Demon!Seokming x f. reader | Angst | Supernatural | Hurt/Comfort | Complete

You don’t know what to do with all of the grief stuck inside you. That is, until one day you find an unlikely companion in the forest.

Texas Sun | Outrider!Seokmin x f. reader | Dystopia AU | Futuristic AU | Angst | Smut | Strangers to Lovers | Complete

Seokmin remembers nothing before the Station. Just the unending desert, the cobalt sky overhead, and kill any machine he sees. Then one day, he finds you and forgets everything he’s ever been trained to do.

one shots.jpeg

Callin' | Mingyu x f. reader | One Night Stand | Smut | Complete

The last thing you expected while clubbing Christmas night is to take someone home, but the second you lay eyes on Mingyu, you know there was never any other choice.

Floris Venefica | Mingyu x Witch!Reader | Friends to Lovers | Fluff | Magical AU | Complete

You’ve been in love with Mingyu for as long as you can remember. You’ll never tell him - unless he accidentally poisons himself in your apothecary, that is. 

Prism Power | Mingyu x afab!reader | Established Relationship | Smut | Fluff | PWP | Complete

It’s your first Halloween with Mingyu as a couple and when a power outage threatens to ruin your favorite holiday, Mingyu makes sure to save the night. 

THREE AM | Mingyu x f. reader | Established Relationship | Smut | PWP | Fluff | Completed

Unable to sleep after a dream, your boyfriend Mingyu helps you go back to bed.

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Rain Room | Waterpark Worker!Minghao x Waterpark Worker!Reader | Coworkers to Lovers | Romance | Smut | Complete

Working at a waterpark during the summer has its own trials and tribulations, but working with your ex makes it that much harder. When you discover the cool and quiet of the rain exhibit while hiding from your ex, you don’t expect to find additional solace - and something more - in its main occupant.

Until Death | Minghao x f. reader | Arranged Marriage | Mafiaverse | Angst | Smut | Syndicates Collection | Complete

As the second daughter to one of the most powerful businesses under the Choi Syndicate, you’ve always lived your life free of responsibility - until your sister dies and you become the heir. So when your family announces one of your new responsibilities as heir is an engagement to the son of a powerful shipping conglomerate, it comes should come as no shock. Minghao, however, is full of surprises, each one of them more deadly than the last.

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Street Demon | Mafia!Seungkwan x street racer!reader | Mafiaverse | Strangers to Lovers | Action | Smut | Complete

You’ve been street racing since you could reach the pedal of a car - it’s the only thing you’ve ever been good at. When Seungkwan shows up to make an offer you can’t turn down, you realize it isn’t about racing anymore - it’s about life and death.

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Bite | Multiple Members x f. reader | Romantic Fantasy | Werewolves | Smut | Angst | Polyamorous | Ongoing

When the Divine’s cult conquers your home, they don’t expect you to survive, let alone fight back. Captured but not broken, you and the unlikeliest of allies are ready to burn it all down.

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Angel | Vernon x f. reader | Mafiaverse AU | Established Relationship | Smut | Angst | Complete

You always knew you were different from a young age. The only person who has ever been able to understand you is Vernon. When things take a turn for the Choi Syndicate, your long-term relationship is put to the test.

Dark Gospel | Vernon x afab reader | Supernatural | Complicated Relationship | Thriller | Angst | Smut | Complete

After discovering Vernon experienced a violent possession on Halloween night, you try to help him get his old self back. Except Vernon is insisting he's not still possessed and this has always been what was lurking under his surface... and you're not totally convinced that you mind.  

Hello, Darling | Vernon x afab reader | Supernatural | Friends to Lovers | Thriller | Smut | Complete

Vernon has been one of your best friends for years. Shy, quiet and calm, he’s always been a steady rock for you. He has no idea you’re in love with him, but that’s neither here nor there. Ater a strange series of events on Halloween night, Vernon seems a little… different, and the new version of him both terrifies and thrills you. 

Greedy | Vernon x f. reader x Soonyoung | PWP | Idolverse | Smut | Request | Complete

Vernon is good at a lot of things - Soonyoung wants to help him be good at one more thing. 

On the Clock | Vernon x f. reader | Fake Dating | Coworkers to Lovers | Smut | Complete

Modern problems call for modern solutions, including naming a random stranger in the bookstore as your boyfriend to avoid an embarrassing encounter with your ex. The problem? The stranger is Vernon and he’s not supposed to be a stranger at all - he’s your coworker, and now everyone at the office - including your ex - thinks you’re dating. 

Red Sands | Set!Vernon x Sekhmet!Reader | Adversaries to Lovers | Egyptian Mythology AU | Supernatural | Smut | Angst | Complete

Vernon is the type of historian you hate - reckless, disrespectful, and far too comfortable stealing and selling artefacts to the highest bidder. You tolerate him at best, but when a job goes wrong and you’re left clinging to life with a new power you don’t understand, you find that the man you’ve detested has far more experience with divine forces than you ever would have guessed.

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Bite | Multiple Members x f. reader | Romantic Fantasy | Werewolves | Smut | Angst | Polyamorous | Ongoing

When the Divine’s cult conquers your home, they don’t expect you to survive, let alone fight back. Captured but not broken, you and the unlikeliest of allies are ready to burn it all down.

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Blood & Popcorn | Chan x f. reader | Friends to Lovers | Idiots to Lovers | Smut | Hint of Angst | Fluff | Complete

Fridays are reserved for watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and stuffing your face with popcorn and pizza. It’s been like that for you and Chan since your freshman year of college. But when he skips your Blood and Popcorn night for a date, things take an unexpected turn. 

Cherry Sours | Mafia!Chan x f. reader | Mafiaverse | Cyberpunk | Strangers to Lovers | Angst | Smut | Complete

Nothing in your life ever comes easy. Not family, not money, and certainly not jobs to pay the endless stack of bills. The only thing easy is the smiles you give Chan when he comes into your convenience store at the same time every Saturday to buy his cherry sours. And then one day you run into him where you’re not supposed to, and everything changes.

Giving Season | Chan x reader x Seungcheol | Established Relationship (w. Seungcheol) | Polyamorous | PWP | Smut | Complete

You always enjoy the office holiday party each year, especially when you get to do secret santa. This year, you enlist Seungcheol’s help to give Chan the perfect gift.

Giving Season Again | Chan x reader x Seungcheol | Established Relationship | Polyamorous | PWP | Smut | Complete

It’s been a year since Chan got a taste of you and Seungcheol at the office Christmas party. Turns out, you want to celebrate.

Huntress | Fae!Chan x f. reader | Low Fantasy | Strangers to Lovers | Bit of Angst | Smut | Fluff | Complete

Every year, your village holds the Hollow Moon Festival and sends seven Chosen into the Demon Wood. This year when your name is called, you go without protest. You are the lone one to make it to the other side to find someone waiting for you.

Still Watching? | Chan x f. reader | Established Relationship | PWP | Smut | Slice of Life | Complete

Blood and Popcorn with your newly minted boyfriend is your favorite. Except now you watch a lot less Buffy and a lot more of Chan. 

collections downloading... ★ the syndicates collection.exe ★ the paddock club collection.exe ★ the seventeen realms campaign.exe

[smileysuh]

heavenly demonic

🌙 starring. Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader 

🔮 preview. “You don’t have to believe me when I say I want to defile you. I’ll prove it to you soon enough,” Wonwoo’s smirk widens. “You might be an angel, but angels aren’t impervious to sin. After all, demons were angels once, until they stopped lying to themselves and gave in to the carnal pleasures. We’ll get there, don’t worry. I might be a demon, but I can be patient.”

tw/cw. Mentions of porn and bdsm, unprotected sex, multiple sex positions, multiple reader orgasms, oral/pussy eating, praise, slight degradation, manhandling, fingering, overstimulation, foreplay, etc…  I pet names: (hers) angel, baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 7.6k 

🍭 aus. Non idol au, angel & demon au, enemies to lovers, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. So think of it kind of like the Disney movie about emotions, Inside Out, where the demon and angel view Mingyu’s world through a viewing station and speak to him through his subconscious to guide him one way or the other. Also, please note: I’m not religious, so my interpretation of angel!y/n warring with herself over temptation is simply an interpretation and a fanfic. 

Prologue:

You can remember the day you first saw Mingyu as if it were only this morning. He was the sweetest child, visiting church with his family at age four. There was something so adorable about his all-white outfit, the slacks and button-up with a vest. He looked very devoted and very determined as he stood up and sang the church songs with his whole little chest.

That was the day you asked to be his guardian angel, and for a time, nothing had ever been so easy.

Mingyu is pure of heart in a way most humans can never even dream of being. Some kids have a demon on their shoulder from an early age, a pest to be dealt with and chastised by both angel and parent, but not Mingyu. It was just you and him, for many, many years, and you delighted in the fact that you had one of the best boys you’d ever met as your ward. 

Many late-blooming children gain a demon when they enter high school, when they first try marijuana or alcohol against their own better judgment - it’s the work of the demon on their shoulder - but again, not Mingyu.

It wasn’t until your good boy was sixteen that things started to shift. His friends were all having their first sexual encounters, and they began to tease your perfect church baby that he was a virgin. Mingyu tried to pretend their words didn’t hurt, but you knew differently. Although you tried to push him in the direction of spending more time with other church children, Mingyu continued to hang out with these raunchy boys, as they were on his high school basketball team. 

He held off valiantly from the compulsions of the deadly sins, but one cold December night, your perfect golden boy finally snapped and gave in to temptation.

The demon known as Wonwoo appeared the moment Mingyu first typed the words ‘porn hub’ into his cellphone, and in the darkness of Mingyu’s room, you met the man who would be your antihero for as long as Mingyu would continue to live.

And Wonwoo is a demon with a reputation. Whereas you like to cherry-pick your wards as the kindhearted humans who are pure of soul, Wonwoo is known for his ability to sniff out those who are easily tempted by sin. His last human was a sexual fiend, and he got addicted to OnlyFans. he lost his relationship and all of his money due to Wonwoo’s coaxing of the addiction. The man died prematurely while drunk driving, which is something of a success story for the demon who collected his soul in the end. 

So why was this demon in particular here with you and Mingyu?

What had seemed like an easy task had become more difficult than you ever signed up for, and Wonwoo seemed to relish in the knowledge that he was here to contradict your every musing in Mingyu’s ear.

One:

“I hope you have your popcorn ready, angel,” Wonwoo grins, as the two of you hover in your between-worlds guardian posting. It’s kind of like an apartment, with two sides, the good and the evil, with a massive monitor to watch what Mingyu is doing at any given time. There are speakers for you both to try to persuade him into things, and your voices are what Mingyu might classify as opposing sides of his subconscious.

“Frat parties can be positive,” you insist as you settle next to Wonwoo. “Last time, he saved that girl who blacked out.”

“Yeah, the wild goose chase,” Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “He should have been hitting on girls and slamming jello shots, but instead, you convinced him to track down the girl’s dorm room, carry her all the way home, and make sure she was okay when she woke up hours later. He even held her hair back while she puked. Yuck.”

When Wonwoo knows he’s lost to you, he generally fucks off, goes back into his demon side of the apartment, in his demon room,  or leaves altogether to complete other tasks.

Demons don’t need sleep, and technically, angels don’t either, but you’re a self-identifying lazy girl, and you prefer to have rest when Mingyu sleeps, rather than be twenty-four seven working like Wonwoo is. You wonder if his packed schedule is what makes him such a dick, but you also have seen the joy he takes in doing bad deeds, and you can only assume that when he’s not here with you in Mingyu’s head, he’s off pillaging and causing mischief elsewhere.

Wonwoo looks through Mingyu’s eyes, and he leans toward the communicator where he can send his words to your ward. “Get a drink,” Wonwoo insists. “Something fun. Something fruity. Something with way too much alcohol that’s masked with sugar.”

You sigh, also leaning forward. “We should start slow with some water.”

You can sense Mingyu’s inner turmoil as he makes his way to the kitchen, and that’s where he bumps into Hoshi and Seungkwan, both of whom are ruled by their inner demon.

“Hey buddy, want a drink?” Hoshi grins, cheeks pink, eyes clouded with booze.

“Reject him,” you say.

“Accept,” Wonwoo pushes. 

“Sure, why not?” Mingyu grins, taking the cup of purple liquid. He downs it easily, and you sigh. So tonight will be a more indulgent evening, and you hate the way Wonwoo sits back with a smile.

“Score one for me, angel,” Wonwoo muses.

“The night is still young,” you huff.

Wonwoo leans forward again. “You know what goes good with alcohol? Cocaine. Or ecstasy. Something fun. Maybe molly.” 

You’re flabbergasted. “Mingyu has never-”

“Now is the night to start, he’s at a frat party, with friends, and we know Vernon always has a bong on hand. Maybe weed, something chill.”

You hate him, and you spend the next two hours battling Wonwoo for dominance of Mingyu. Wonwoo wins when it comes to alcohol, but your sweet boy isn’t interested in drugs, no matter how much the demon insists it’s the perfect night to dabble.

And that’s when Mingyu first lays eyes on Kimi. 

She’s a year younger than him, someone he’s heard about and seen a few times, but never talked to. She looks gorgeous, in a flowy top and jeans that hug her just right. You can sense Mingyu’s heartbeat quickening, and in his drunkenness, he’s even more susceptible to Wonwoo, who leans forward. “You should fuck her tonight, there’s never a time to be a whore like the present.”

“No sex, you like her!” you argue back. “Talk to her, get her name, look for longevity.”

Wonwoo scoffs. “A one-night stand with a girl like that? Who could think of something better?” 

“Uh, maybe a relationship?” you snap. 

“We don’t know anything about her!” Wonwoo yells. “And we don’t need to know.” 

You lean back from where Mingyu can hear your subconscious pushings, glaring at Wonwoo. “What’s with you and rough, anonymous sex?”

“It’s the best way to have it,” Wonwoo tells you, his grin widening. “I think our Mingyu boy would love to try some of the things he’s seen in the porn I’ve pushed him to watch. You know, bondage, tying a girl up, all the good shit.”

“Consentually, of course.”

“With you here, it would always have to be consensual,” Wonwoo scoffs.

“You’re despicable.”

“I’m a demon.”

“Even demons have their limits.”

Wonwoo shrugs. “Not really.”

“Well, my Mingyu is a good person. He’d never stoop to your level.”

“Well, he watches the porn I want to watch.”

You click your tongue. Wonwoo convincing Mingyu to watch porn is always the worst, and it’s when you leave the viewing station. The demon can be particularly convincing when it comes to observing sex acts on Mingyu’s phone, but you know your good boy would never go further than simply watching. He’s not the type to ever act on some of the more raunchy ideas Wonwoo forces into his head.

No matter how hard Wonwoo pushes, you know your Mingyu.

And you’re thankful that by the end of the night at the frat party, Mingyu agrees with you that he’s now too drunk, and he retires to bed.

The viewing station goes dark as Mingyu drifts to sleep, and you stand up with a sigh, glaring at Wonwoo. 

“You know, one of these days, you’re going to admit that you kind of like the whole bondage sex thing,” Wonwoo sighs.

“What?” you gasp.

“You always leave the room when he and I watch porn.”

“Because I’m a pure being! Because porn and sex go against what I stand for!”

“Porn and lust might be ‘anti-angel’, but sex is natural; it’s God-created. Humans are like any other animal, and they’re meant to have sex, to procreate,” Wonwoo says simply. “I know you’re loose on your whole ‘celibate until marriage’ ideals. When Mingyu lost his virginity, you were happy because it was soft. You might be an angel, but you don’t follow a strict code, no matter how much you try to convince yourself that you follow the bible to the letter. I’m just curious how loose your morals really are. You might think I’m here to test Mingyu, but I’m really here to test you.” 

“And who do you think you are to test me?” you glare.

Wonwoo shrugs. “Just a demon who specializes in lust, a demon who took one look at you on Mingyu’s shoulder and decided, ‘you know what, I’d fuck that angel.’”

“As if that’s a compliment.”

“It is, most angels have sticks up their asses the size of the Empire State Building. And don’t get me wrong, you have a stick up yours too, I’m just curious if you’d want something else up inside of you at the same time.”

“I can’t believe you,” you groan, hating the way your body reacts to his sinister smirk, the slight floodyness of his hair, and the regal way he stares at you.

“You don’t have to believe me when I say I want to defile you. I’ll prove it to you soon enough,” Wonwoo’s smirk widens. “You might be an angel, but angels aren’t impervious to sin. After all, demons were angels once, until they stopped lying to themselves and gave in to the carnal pleasures. We’ll get there, don’t worry. I might be a demon, but I can be patient.” 

Two:

“Hold it, you’re not going anywhere,” Wonwoo grins, grabbing your arm as you’re about to leave the room, when Mingyu pulls up pornhub with Kimi on his mind. 

“I’m not sitting here with you for this; it’s weird,” you insist, pulling yourself away from him, hating the way the cold of his touch lingers on your skin.

“Boys will be boys, let the man find some release,” Wonwoo tells you, his grin widening.

“Boys may be boys, but you were whispering in Mingyu’s ear all day that he should have a jack off session and think about ‘that chick from the frat party.’”

Wonwoo shrugs. “It wasn’t that hard to convince him.”

You let out a deep breath. 

“Watch this,” Wonwoo leans forward so Mingyu can hear him. “Look up ‘rope BDSM.’”

“Oh my gosh!” You cover your eyes with your hands as Mingyu quickly follows through with Wonwoo’s suggestion.

“There’s something so sexy about having complete control of another person,” Wonwoo insists, leaning back and staring at you with dark eyes. “Admit it, you liked controlling Mingyu before I showed up.”

“It’s not remotely the same.”

“It is, sort of.” The demon shrugs. “You like control. I know you do. Because every time you don’t get your way, you have a little fit.”

“I do not!”

“Look at you, angel, you’re practically stomping your cute little foot right now.” Wonwoo lets out a chuckle, and you hate how attractive it is. “If you play your cards right, someday, I might let you have a little control over me.”

“What, like tie you up?” you scoff.

Wonwoo’s grin widens. “Does that excite you?”

“In your dreams,” you snap.

“Angel, we both know I don’t sleep. But I do imagine things, things about you…”

Your breath catches.

“I imagine what you sound like, what you taste like. I imagine the look in your eye when I have you immobilized and at my mercy. I imagine making you crack, making you finally admit that pleasure is exactly what it means in the dictionary; the feelings of delight, something you enjoy with every fiber of your being, something you’d beg for me to give you again and again.” 

Your skin is heating with embarrassment, and it’s crazy to you that Wonwoo can say everything he just said with a completely straight face. He has zero shame in admitting the things he’s just admitted, and yet, you feel like the dirty one. 

“I’m leaving,” you say again, more firmly this time.

“I won’t stop you; you have full control of yourself, and that’s what makes this interesting.” Wonwoo turns his attention back to the screen, where Mingyu is now in the throes of enjoying porn. 

“You’re evil,” you snap.

“I’m a demon, it’s part of the job description,” Wonwoo says absentmindedly.

You fight the urge to stomp your foot, and with one last scoff of displeasure, you go back to your quarters, throwing yourself down onto your bed with a muffled scream. 

Three:

It’s been a month of chaos. Wonwoo has become somehow even more dirty, and every time he whispers some sexual idea in Mingyu’s ear, his eyes are fixed on you. 

You squirm when he mentions bondage, porn, rough sex, and more dirty things that are not for an angel’s ears. 

And to make matters worse, you know that Wonwoo is imagining himself doing all of these dirty things to you. To be the object of sin and desire is new to you, and it brings an uncomfortable feeling to the pit of your stomach.

You grapple with yourself every night, unable to get Wonwoo’s voice out of your head.

The word ‘tantalizing’ has never had much merit for you, but now, you understand. Wonwoo oozes sex and intrigue; he makes your mind go to places it's never before visited; dark, lustful places that make your heart race and your skin tingle. 

The little smirk that quirks onto his lips when he knows he’s irritated you has become burned into your mind's eye, and you can’t escape the shiny points of his canines, or the flash of black that overtakes his irises when he’s being demonic. 

You can feel your resolve to stay true to your morals is slipping, and in its place is a growing need that’s threatening to overtake you, body and soul.

This is the power of a truly strong demon, and it both scares and excites you while you war with yourself. 

Four:

After another long day of Wonwoo being raunchy, Mingyu finally goes to sleep. The viewer goes dark, and you stand up with a sigh. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this,” you muse, “but I’m thankful you didn’t push for more porn.”

“He’s on a streak, you know,” Wonwoo smirks. “But I figured I could let you off the hook for one night.”

“Let my pure boy off the hook, you mean.”

“No, I meant what I said. You’re the one who has a problem with it, not Mingyu. He’s just a hot-blooded man who’s hardly had any good sex in his life. A bit of porn can’t hurt.”

You roll your eyes. “Scientists who study the interaction between porn and erectile dysfunction would beg to differ.”

“Human scientists.” Wonwoo’s smirk widens. 

“I’m not having an argument with you, I’m off the clock.”

“Off the clock,” the demon repeats with a chuckle. 

“Yes, off the clock, which means I also don’t have to deal with you anymore.”

“You enjoy ‘dealing with me.’” Wonwoo insists.

You scoff loudly. “In what diluted world can you come to that conclusion?”

The demon steps closer to you. “The world where I’m a demon who can read sexual energy, and lately, it’s been wafting off your aura like smoke. And where there’s smoke, well, there’s fire.”

“I think you should get your eyes checked,” you fire at him, your arms crossing over your chest in an effort to keep that ‘sexual energy’ contained. 

“You’re such a virgin that it’s almost laughable,” Wonwoo tells you, his voice lowering. “Most angels don’t have the kind of lustful energy you do, virginity and all, but every being that exists is plagued by at least one of the seven deadly sins, angels included. It seems to me that your carnal desire is sex, which isn’t anything to be ashamed of. I’ve worked with angels who are greedy, angels who have a sense of divine wrath, but pride is the main trait I’ve seen. One could argue that all three of those sins are more disgusting on an angel than that of simply wanting to be touched, to experience one’s form to the fullest.” 

Your mouth feels dry, and you lick your lips, unsure of what to say.

“Don’t worry, angel, I don’t need a response, not really. But… I would never defile an angel without her wanting it, so when I ask you this next question, I’ll need at least an enthusiastic nod if not a verbal ‘yes.’”

“What do you need to ask me?” you whisper.

Wonwoo is close enough to touch you now, and he reaches for your hand, tracing his thumb against your palm. Your mind is telling you to pull away, but you can’t. His touch is cold, but there’s something so nice about it…

“Can I kiss you?” Wonwoo asks, his words hanging in the air like a heavy smog.

You try to swallow the lump in your throat, but it does little to help, and you stare at the beautiful demon. Your body is screaming yes, but your mind is still plagued with trepidation. 

“It’s a sin.”

“A kiss isn’t a sin, and besides, you’re off the clock, remember?” His smirk is just so beautiful, and you have to remind yourself that even though he’s a demon, Wonwoo was crafted by God’s own hands. “I think you can forgive yourself for a small misdemeanor, after all, humans are forgiven for much worse.”

“I…” Your heart is hammering in your rib cage, and never in your long life have you felt a desire like this.

“Or… I could wait,” Wonwoo sighs. “I won’t pressure you. I’m a demon, but I’m not an asshole.”

The idea of waiting even longer makes your skin tingle, and you can feel a frown of dissatisfaction appearing on your face.

“You can kiss me,” you say, and the words feel foreign on your tongue.

“Even though you hate me?” Wonwoo grins, cocking a brow.

“Even though I hate you.”

The demon lets out a laugh, dropping your hand in favour of grabbing your hips. He pulls you toward him, being shockingly gentle for a man who’s so outspoken about his taste for rough sex.

“Nobody has to know about this,” Wonwoo whispers as he leans closer. “Even angels are allowed to have dirty little secrets.”

“Then this will be our little secret,” you breathe, swallowing thickly as your hands instinctively go to his shoulder, tugging the demon even closer.

He meets your gaze as he slowly leans in, giving you all the time in the world to change your mind. But you’re in too deep now, and there’s no going back.

His lips press against yours gently, and your whole body is flooded with what you can only describe as pleasure, like a cool breeze wafting over you on an extremely hot day. You want more, and Wonwoo tugs you closer by your hips, his tongue snaking out to rub your lower lip.

Your mouth opens a little, a whimper escaping you as the kiss deepens. Wonwoo releases a low growl, and butterflies erupt in the pit of your stomach from the sound.

Nothing in the world has ever made you feel this way, as if you’re glowing, and all because a dark being is tantalizing you toward sin.

With a gasp, you pull away, breathing heavily. 

Wonwoo holds you, not pushing for more; he gives you mental space to analyze what’s just happened, while still keeping you physically close, like a protector.

It’s such an odd notion, the idea that a demon could be any sort of protection for an angel like you. 

“I think…” You swallow thickly. “I think I need to have some time alone now.”

“I understand,” Wonwoo nods, his hands slipping away from your hips. “The ball is in your court, angel. Until you decide what you want to do, this is our little secret.”

“Our little secret,” you repeat like a mantra, but the words don’t do anything to help the anxiety building inside of you. It’s as if at any moment you could be struck down for impurity, except, even when you’re alone later, no hand of God comes to smite you.

You think carefully about what Wonwoo’s said, about all living things having their sinful, carnal desires, even angels.

Maybe this is natural, maybe this is okay… maybe. 

Five:

You’ve been yearning for Wonwoo in a way you’ve never yearned for anything since your creation. It’s taking every ounce of your self-restraint to keep your distance from him, and Wonwoo’s not making any of it easy.

Every dirty whisper in Mingyu’s ear, every glance at you while he talks about sex, bondage, and porn… 

It has your heart racing, your skin heating, and your core throbbing in a way that used to be foreign but is now becoming all too familiar. 

“Should I push for more sin tonight?” Wonwoo asks as Mingyu gets ready for bed. “Or have you had enough?”

You groan, knowing that you’re wet from the day you’ve had. “Please.”

“Please, what?” He cocks a brow.

“I’m so tired of all of this.”

“Tired of fighting your own desires, you mean,” Wonwoo corrects, seeing right through you.

You hate that your ‘sexual aura’ is visible to him, hate that no matter how hard you try to fight it, Wonwoo will always know the truth.

And the truth is: you want this demon to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked. You want to get a taste of the sin he has to offer, the sin he claims other angels partake in secretly.

Why are you holding yourself back, holding yourself to a set of standards, if others in your angelic profession don’t?

“What are you thinking about?” Wonwoo asks, watching you carefully.

You release a deep breath. “Everything.”

“Sounds like a lot,” the demon chuckles.

“It is.”

“Too much for a sweet angel like you to carry on her own shoulders.” 

You study his face, wondering if he’s being condescending or not.

“Being a demon is much easier. I don’t have to worry about anything,” Wonwoo continues, leaning back in his seat. “No rules, no standards, no fear. Just existence. Freedom.”

“I’m free,” you insist.

“Are you really?” Wonwoo grins. “Could have fooled me.”

“I am free! I’m an angel! I have the most freedom in the world!”

“Freedom to kiss who you want to kiss? To act on the desires that were literally built into you? Why would God have made you with the sin of lust if he did not intend for you to act on it? To torture you for your entire existence?” Wonwoo shakes his head. 

“He bestowed temptation so his creations could rise above it and devote themselves to Him,” you insist. “It teaches spiritual strength and perseverance.”

“Whatever you say, little Miss Sunday School.”

You let out a deep sigh. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” Wonwoo grins.

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because it makes me want you even more!” you scream. “For a reason I can not comprehend, I want you. I want you for the teasing, for the chastizing, for this disgusting ego that I would never condone on a human ward. I want it. I want all of you. And it’s killing me!”

Wonwoo stands up abruptly, and you mirror him, heart racing in your chest.

You can’t believe you’ve just admitted all of it, all of the deep dark things you’ve been thinking about for weeks.

“An ego can be sexy,” Wonwoo says finally. “Although I’d classify myself as more of a prideful being than an egotistical one.” 

“Ugh!” You throw your hands up, hating that his smirk is the most handsome thing you’ve ever seen, hating that he’s right. 

“Tell me you want this again,” Wonwoo urges you, stepping closer.

“I want you! You already heard me say it!” Your skin is hot with irritation, both sexual and emotional, and you can hardly think straight.

“No, tell me you want this.” Wonwoo grabs your hand, tugging you to his chest. He looks down at you, his lips almost ghosting over your own.

“I want this,” you whimper, feeling defeated and broken. 

You can no longer hold yourself back, and part of you doesn’t want to.

“I’ll be gentle,” the demon promises, bringing his mouth down to your throat, where he presses soft kisses that take your breath away. 

“I thought you liked it rough,” you say, releasing a chuckle that brings your anxiety down.

“I also like pleasure. I’m prideful, not a narcissist. Tonight, your pleasure will come first.”

Your skin tingles, and you swallow a lump in your throat. You can feel your fear dissipating. Part of you had imagined he’d want to try bondage with you right away, so it’s a relief that he’s going to meet you at your level, which is… well, nonexistent.

You are a free being. And tonight, you will lose your heavenly virginity of your own volition.

Wonwoo begins to suck on a spot just below your ear, and it makes you moan. You throw your arms around the demon, tugging him closer.

One of Wonwoo’s hands slips down to your bum, squeezing you through your white pants. 

God, he feels so good, and you focus on the feeling, pushing aside your racing thoughts.

You draw his lips to yours, and Wonwoo groans with pleasure, tugging you so you’re flush to his body. 

Kissing him is like magic, and you get lost in it easily. Your core is wet, and you can feel your panties getting sticky, which is a tantalizing thought.

“Bedroom,” Wonwoo says, breaking the kiss. 

Without missing a beat, the demon reaches down and lifts you bridal style. You gasp, clutching onto his shoulders and blinking up at him. 

“Don’t look so surprised,” Wonwoo laughs. “As if I was about to take your virginity in a living room.” 

He heads toward your side of the apartment, and he pushes the door of your bedroom open.

Your room is all creams and minimalism, a true safe space, and he pauses to look at it for a moment. He’s never been in your room, nor you in his.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothing, it’s just… very different from my side of the space.” 

“No whips and chains hanging on the walls?” you tease.

“How about no black onyx floors or dark colours.”

“Well, I am an angel,” you point out as he gently sets you on the bed. 

“Yes, baby, the best angel I’ve ever met.”

“Really?” 

“Without a doubt. The most angelic.” Wonwoo climbs on top of you, and your legs spread instinctively as the demon looks down at you. “I’ve never met an angel who has never sinned. It’s endearing.”

“Will you still find me endearing after tonight?” you ask.

“I’ll find you endearing forever,” Wonwoo promises.

“Who knew such sweet words could come from a demon.”

Wonwoo laughs. “If anyone deserves sweet words from me, it’s you.”

“You’re just saying that to get me in bed.”

“We’re already in bed.”

“Good point.” You grab the nape of his neck, tugging his lips down to yours.

This verbal foreplay has become trite, and you’re ready for more, ready for all Wonwoo is about to give you.

For the first time, you taste desperation on his lips, and it excites you. He grinds gently down against you, and it’s the first time there’s been pressure on your core. Tingles of pleasure run through you as you tighten your legs around his hips, willing him to push harder.

Wonwoo groans, following through with your silent plea. He ruts hard as you kiss each other, stimulating your clit through your clothing.

One of his hands reaches up and grabs your breast through your white sweater, massaging you and making you gasp.

“Such pretty sounds,” Wonwoo whispers, biting your earlobe gently. “Can’t wait to hear you screaming my name.”

“Wonwoo,” you whimper, wiggling beneath him, eager for more.

He sits up, and with one tug, Wonwoo removes your sweater, leaving you in a cream bra. 

“All white everything, huh?” he laughs.

“I’m an angel.”

“So you keep reminding me. You always wear such loose, modest clothing, but I imagined you’d be gorgeous under all these layers.” He licks his lips, his thumb teasing the lace of your bra. “Should I go slow?” 

“Go medium,” you tell him.

Wonwoo lets out another chuckle. “That wasn’t one of the options.”

“Make it one of the options.”

He shakes his head at you, leaning down to press his lips to yours.

You thread your fingers through his raven black hair, mewling as he massages you through your bra. Your nipples are aching already, and there’s a sense of great relief when he finally takes your bra off. 

“So pretty,” Wonwoo muses, kissing down from your throat to your breasts, where he captures one of your nipples in his mouth.

You whimper desperately, your entire body on fire with the pleasure.

“And so sensitive too,” the demon groans, gently dragging his teeth over your sensitive bud.

“Please,” you gasp.

“Please, what?” he looks up at you.

You let out a shuddery breath. “More.”

 “Your wish is my command, angel,” Wonwoo teases, his hand gliding down your body. Deft fingers slip under the waistband of your pants, but he stays over your panties as he makes contact with your clit.

You writhe against the bedding, eyes clenched shut as foreign ecstasy washes over you.

He continues to suck on your nipple as he toys with your pussy.

“Soaking through your panties,” Wonwoo tuts. “My dirty girl.”

Your heart lurches in your chest, and you’re shocked that you like the way his words feel. It’s a sinful kind of praise, and it makes you dizzy as you watch him, anticipating what he’ll do next. 

Wonwoo takes his time as he licks and sucks your nipples, playing with your pussy through drenched fabric.

It’s a relief when he finally tugs your pants down, leaving you in only panties.

Then, Wonwoo sits up, tugging his shirt off with one motion.

Your jaw drops at the view of his bare torso. He’s lean but muscled, and you wish you could trace the lines on his skin, but Wonwoo made it clear that tonight is about you. 

“I’m going to eat you out now,” Wonwoo explains, as he sinks to the floor. “Bet you taste like nectar and sunshine.”

Talking about your ‘taste’ makes you shy, and you close your thighs, only for him to gently pry them open.

“Don’t be bashful, baby,” Wonwoo coos, pressing kisses to your skin. 

“What if I don’t taste like nectar and sunshine?” you ask.

“I can already smell it on you,” Wonwoo promises, an attempt to be assuring, but now you’re talking about smell, and it makes you even more anxious. “You know what, let’s leave taste and smell out of this for now, okay?”

“Yes, please,” you nod, biting your bottom lip.

Wonwoo hooks his fingers in your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs.

The cool air of the room on your wet core makes you groan, back arching a little as you writhe against the bed.

Cold hands grab your thighs, confidently spreading you open. 

“Just breathe,” Wonwoo reminds you as he leans forward and licks the entirety of your core lewdly.

“Shit!” you gasp, thighs quaking.

The demon chuckles. “That’s the first time you’ve ever swore.”

You slap a hand over your mouth, and he shakes his head at you, returning to his task.

Soon, you’re moaning through your fingers, and your other hand reaches down to grab at his hair, keeping his face buried between your thighs.

He eats you out like a starved man, ravaging your pussy with licks and sucks that have your head spinning in the best possible way.

And then Wonwoo begins to growl, and you’ve never heard anything so erotic.

Your own gasps and whimpers are filling the room, and you can feel something getting tighter and tighter in the pit of your stomach.

“Wonwoo,” you pant. “I think… I think I’m going to cum!”

He releases a groan, and the vibration of it on your clit makes your legs shake. All of your muscles are tense, waiting for that final push-

Then you look down, and your eyes lock with his. His pupils are blown, and he looks absolutely demonic, but there’s something so incredibly sexy about this powerful demon worshiping you with his mouth on your core-

You cum like an electric shock, your entire body jolting, muscles releasing only to clench again as the waves surge through you.

You scream, grabbing at the bed sheets like an anchor as your orgasm overtakes you.

Wonwoo is unrelenting on your core, groaning and eating you messily, and it only makes the whole situation more erotic.

You’ve been to Heaven, but nothing has ever felt like this.

“Wonwoo!” you scream when the pleasure begins to feel like it’s too much, like you can’t contain or sustain this type of ecstasy anymore.

The demon pulls away immediately, looking up at you.

“Angel,” he breathes, “you’re glowing.”

“What?”

“You’re glowing,” he repeats. Wonwoo grabs your hand from the bed, lifting it so you can see that your skin is literally aglow.

“Is this normal?” you gasp in panic.

“I’ve never seen it.”

“And you fuck a lot of angels?” you snap.

“Not really,” he laughs, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “I find most of you to be too high-strung.”

“I’m high-strung.”

“But it’s endearing on you.” His thumb gently rubs your glit, and you jolt, releasing a gasp. “Glowing can’t be harmful.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure it’s just pent-up energy,” he muses. “Should I give you more?”

You take all of one second to consider his words before nodding. “More.”

Wonwoo nuzzles against your inner thigh with a laugh, and then he teases a digit between your pussy lips, gently sinking it into you.

You groan, your inner walls having never been touched before.

“So warm,” Wonwoo breathes. “So tight.”

He gently finger fucks you, teasing your hole open, and he brings his mouth to your clit again.

His pace is slow, and you know he’s letting you acclimate to the stimulus. 

You can feel yourself dripping on his digit, and the slick is making it all too easy for him to work you open. Soon, he adds another finger, and you groan desperately, loving the slight stretch.

“Gonna make you cum on my fingers before I give you the real thing,” Wonwoo explains.

“Okay,” you whimper.

He returns to sucking on your clit, but he’s not being as gentle as he was before.

You can feel that tension building again, and with each slick sound of his fingers fucking into you, you know you’re getting closer to the edge.

Whimpers escape your lips, and you gasp when he crooks his fingers, hitting a spot that has your whole body coming alight with pleasure.

You’ve heard Wonwoo talk about the ‘g-spot’ before, and you’re pretty sure he just found yours.

Your toes are curling, muscles getting incredibly tight as his pace quickens.

“I’m close!” you cry out, grabbing the bed sheets again, your heart racing in your chest.

Wonwoo groans a sound of affirmation, and again, his noise of pleasure is what sends you over the edge.

Just like the first time, he works you through your orgasm, unrelenting, while the pleasure courses through you. You’re a throbbing, whimpering mess by the time Wonwoo pulls away, and you watch with shy delight as he licks his fingers clean, moaning at your taste.

“How did that one feel, angel?” he asks. 

“So good,” you whimper. 

Wonwoo stands up, looking down at your nude form.

“Ready for the real deal?”

“I’m scared,” you admit, seeing the outline of his cock through his pants.

“That’s natural,” Wonwoo breathes, undoing his belt. “And if you still want to change your mind…”

“No.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “Let’s do this.” 

Wonwoo pulls his pants down, and suddenly, his cock is slapping up against his stomach.

Your jaw drops at the sight of him. He’s long… well, you’re pretty sure he’s long, not that you have much to compare it to. 

“That’s going to fit inside of me?” you ask.

“Angel, your pussy is wetter than a slip and slide, it won’t be a problem,” Wonwoo laughs.

“Just… go slow.”

“Not medium?” he teases.

“Wonwoo…” you groan.

“I’ll go slow,” he promises, now fully nude as he climbs on top of you. “Don’t worry.”

Wonwoo presses his lips to yours, and you wrap your arms around the back of his neck, pouring all of your attention into the meeting of your mouths.

Wonwoo slowly begins to rut, teasing his cock through your wet pussy lips and bumping your clit. The grinding feels phenomenal, and soon you’re a moaning mess beneath him, your core aching to be filled.

As if he can read you, the demon reaches for the base of his cock, lining the tip up with your wet hole. His mouth moves to your throat, giving you space to speak if you need him to pause or slow down, but as his tip slips inside of you, you realize there will be no need for breaks.

Sure, the stretch is new, but it’s not bad.

In fact, your pussy is trying to swallow him up, and with each inch after inch, you feel more and more complete.

Wonwoo truly is your opposite, the yin to your yang, and it feels phenomenal to finally be connected like this.

“You okay?” Wonwoo asks, and you can see his muscles feathering, as if it’s taking every ounce of self-control for him not to let loose and fuck you stupid.

“Feels good,” you groan, wrapping your legs around his hips to pull him further into you. 

Wonwoo moans deeply, and a moment later, he’s fully sheathed in your wet core.

You both release sounds of pleasure together, and your lips meet in a fiery kiss.

You love tangling your fingers in his hair, and it makes him kiss you harder. He’s still fully inside of you, unmoving as your walls adjust, but soon, your own hips are rocking, and he takes the cue to begin to thrust.

The first movement is shallow and slow, and you revel in the drag of his cock against your inner walls.

You cry out, throwing your head back, and Wonwoo latches onto your throat, sucking and nibbling.

Your pebbled nipples press against his chest, and each movement toys with them.

You can feel Wonwoo everywhere. He’s completely commanding every one of your senses, and not a single thought is going through your mind except for one word: more. 

His pace is increasing, and you get the sense that he’s reacting to your sounds, figuring you out based on your whimpering and whining.

You pull Wonwoo away from your throat by his hair, and you open your eyes, looking up at him.

God, he truly is the most beautiful being you’ve ever seen. 

He’s truly a vision, lust-blown pupils and all, his hair a mess from where you’re tugging on it. 

You breathe in each other, lips almost meeting but just separate, and the teasing makes everything more seductive.

Wonwoo pulls out of you suddenly, flipping you onto your side. He moves behind you, a cold big spoon as he enters you again. His breath is hot on your shoulders, and he takes the opportunity to gently bite your neck, making you gasp. You reach behind yourself, grabbing his hair again, which earns you a groan of pleasure. 

His hand is on your hip, and he fucks into you desperately, adjusting your body ever so slightly, opening your leg a little so he can hit deeper.

“Wonwoo!” you whimper when his hand slips from your hips to your core, his fingers teasing your clit.

“That’s it, scream my name,” he grins, biting your earlobe and making you shiver.

“Wonwoo!” you say it louder this time, unable to contain yourself as he works you closer and closer to the edge again.

“Gonna cum on my cock, huh, angel?” he chuckles. 

“Yes, I’m so close,” you whimper, pussy tightening around him.

“Not yet.” Wonwoo pulls out of you suddenly, and you whine, only for him to adjust you. 

Now you’re sitting on top of him, with Wonwoo propped against the headboard.

“Why am I on top?” you ask, confused.

“Oh angel,” he licks your nipple, “just because you’re on top doesn’t mean you’re the one who is in control.”

His hands are on your hips again, and he lifts you slightly, allowing him to plow up into you.

You cry out from how deep his cock is hitting you, from the way he’s using you like a ragdoll.

You throw your head back, and his mouth latches onto your nipple. Your hands fly to his hair, tangling in the dark curls as he fucks you stupid.

Each smack down of your core on his cock has pressure on your clit, and you can feel that orgasm bubbling again.

You feel drunk, or, what you think being drunk would feel like. It’s a pleasurable dizziness, a mind numbing euphoria and a tingling that flutters through your entire body.

Wonwoo growls, and you know it’s a sound of affirmation, a sound to push you toward the edge.

A few more rough thrusts have you tumbling into ecstasy, your entire core clamping down on Wonwoo’s cock. Your head falls forward, your lips making contact with the crown of Wonwoo’s head as he also groans. He pulls off of your nipple, panting desperately as he holds you down, his cock burried in your throbbing pussy.

You know he’s cumming too, and feel his muscles twitching, his shoulders tight with tension.

And his sounds… nothing in Heaven or on Earth sounds the way Wonwoo does when he’s wrapped in pleasure.

Your entire body sings with delight as the two of you hold onto each other, jolting with the aftershocks of your extreme highs.

The two of you hold each other, breathing in one another.

Wonwoo leans his face against your breasts, and you cradle him.

You’ve never felt this close to anyone.

For a moment you can forget that he’s a demon and you’re an angel.

None of that matters right now.

Finally, Wonwoo pulls away with a sigh. “This changes things.”

“It does,” you agree.

“We’re bound together for as long as Mingyu lives, so… you better not decide you hate me tomorrow.”

You laugh. “You irritate me, but I don’t hate you.”

“I’m not going to stop telling Mingyu to pursue his sexual desires.”

“I never expected you to,” you admit with a sigh.

“And you’re… okay with it now?” 

“As long as it’s consensual, fine, he can be as dirty as he wants to be.” 

Wonwoo laughs, cuddling close to your chest again. “See, in this day and age, some sins like premarital sex are outdated.”

“We could debate that,” you laugh, running your hands through his hair.

“I think I would like that.”

“I feel like it would be a case of unstoppable force meets immovable object.” 

Wonwoo chuckles, and you love how beautiful he is when he smiles. “Sounds like us.”

“But we can’t let our sexual escapades get in the way of doing our job for Mingyu,” you declare.

“I wouldn’t dream of taking you away from your work,” Wonwoo groans. “You’d probably bite my cock off if I tried.”

“Consider yourself warned.”

“Consider yourself worshipped.”

“Huh?” you blink down at him.

“You’re still glowing, angel.” Wonwoo plays with a piece of your hair. “It’s been a long time since a demon like me has had anything to look up to.”

“You look up to me?”

“In some ways, but don’t make this more of an embarrassment than it already is.” Wonwoo lets out a sigh. “You’ve reformed me… slightly.”

“Don’t tell me it’s the power of good pussy.”

“Great pussy,” Wonwoo corrects. “And no. If I’m being honest, I think you’ve been changing me for the better for a while, bit by bit.”

“I’m happy to hear that.”

Wonwoo smiles. “And I’m just happy.”

“I can live with that.” 

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! this one was fun, it was a little late to be posted because my puppy has a tooth infection and it's been a hell of a week. reminder! Patreon charges on the FIRST of every month, so if you're going to get my Patreon, just be aware of that, or wait until June 2nd :)

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🔮 preview. Your core tingles as you test the bindings on your wrists. There is truly so much he can teach you about the darker side of sex, the pain that turns into pleasure, the freedom of being completely immobilized and at the mercy of someone you trust to take care of you. 

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, bdsm themes, wrist bondage, pleasure dom!Wonwoo, oral/pussy eating, wonwoo has powers in this… including a long demon tongue, overstimulation, finger fucking, body/breast worship, squirting, dacryphilia (arousal from tears/crying),  dirty talk, praise, multiple reader orgasms, etc…   I petnames. (hers) angel. 

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.6k I teaser wc. 140

🌙 starring. Wonwoo x afab!Reader

bonus

To your shock, Wonwoo isn’t pushy with you the way he’s pushy with Mingyu. He hasn’t said a word about the soft sex the two of you have continued to have for months now, and he hasn’t made you feel lesser than him for being vanilla either.

Wonwoo treats you very differently than he treats Mingyu, but you know that every time Wonwoo brings up rough sex in Mingyu’s ear, it’s because Wonwoo himself has an interest in it.

The demon has talked about being a sexual pleaser, and your need to please him has grown too. Can you really hold Wonwoo and yourself back from reaching another level by dabbling with the BDSM themes he’s so fond of?

Can you… condemn him to vanilla sex for as long as the two of you are connected through Mingyu?

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[ashlinxloves]

—1(800)WRN6-NMB3R—

Summary: Somebody had been texting you about some group project and kept calling you “Cheol” for three days straight. You told the stranger he probably had the wrong number, but the stranger insisted he had the correct one. With that, the two of you started exchanging things about each other, unaware that neither one of you was as far away from each other as you originally thought.

Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x Fem!reader

Warnings/tags: 18+ MDNI, eventual smut, fluff, smidge of angst, romcom, college au, non idol au, best friend!Joshua & Wonwoo, Joshua calls the reader pipsqueak, strangers to friends to lovers, sexting, phone sex, masturbation, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking weed, shotgunning, having sex while high (but it's consensual), protected & unprotected sex, dom!Jeonghan, pussydrunk!Jeonghan, multiple sex scenes, oral sex (f receiving), multiple positions, couch sex, face sitting, they text a LOT, Jeonghan is a horny bastard.

A/N: LOL YOU GUYS THOUGHT I'D POST IT MID MAY. I lied. anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this fic, and I'm sorry it took me a month to write... wish me luck for my exams tomorrow, and as always, this is not how I depict the idols in real life! This is fiction!

Word count: 19.1k (I yap too much)

Dividers from @saradika-graphics & @chrisssiren

Your phone had been buzzing every two minutes, a message notification coming from an unsaved number appearing on the top of your screen. Your best friend glanced at the device before looking back at you. “Aren’t you gonna check who’s been blaring your messages for the past twenty minutes?”

“We’re in the lab right now, Shua. I’m not going to check my phone while I’m in the middle of perfecting a blood smear. Speaking of which, give me your finger, I’ve jabbed myself enough times already.”

You grabbed his hand only for him to swat yours away with a soft hiss. “Take Wonwoo’s hand, I’m not sacrificing myself for your experiments.”

“It’s a blood smear. We’re supposed to do this in pairs. And you’re my pair, by the way,” you deadpanned, grabbing your friend’s arm as he whined when you pricked his finger for some blood. You carefully placed the small drop of Joshua’s blood into the glass slide, grabbed the second slide and placed it at a 45-degree angle before your phone buzzed again, causing you to lose your focus and fail to do your task once more.

Taking a deep breath, you tried not to crash out and scream as you grabbed your phone, unlocked it, and checked your messages from the unknown number.

???: Cheol.

???: Cheol, check this out.

???: [sent 1 attachment]

???: I got sushi from that one place just outside campus. I was thinking we could go.

???: Cheooooooooooooooool

???: dude, stop ignoring me 😐

You: I’m not Cheol, and you have the wrong number.

???: There’s no way you’re not Cheol. This is literally the number he gave me.

You: You must’ve saved the wrong number then. Please stop texting me.

???: Why?

You: Uhhh, because I’m not your friend?

???: I mean, we could be :)) 

You snorted at the logic the stranger you were texting was showing. Glancing around, you continued to text the unknown number while your PI was busy with other undergrads.

You: How?

You: For all you know, I could be a 64-year-old creep.

???: You see, you wouldn’t be saying that if you were actually that old.

???: Plus, no old man would be able to text as quickly as you do.

You: Fair enough.

You: Still, you don’t know me, and you shouldn’t really be spamming a random person’s number.

???: I thought you were my friend, so 🤷

???: Anyway, new friend!

???: What are you up to?

You: I’m in a lab right now, actually.

???: As in you’re a scientist?

You: Undergrad in the Biology department.

You: How about you?

???: Now, now… It won’t be fun if I reveal everything about myself now, will it?

You: You’re so strange.

You: I’m gonna block you now. Nice meeting you, stranger.

???: WAIT WAIT

???: I’m a journalism major. I’m assuming we’re from the same uni?

You: Why would you assume that?

???: Idk, hunch.

You: Okay… I need to go. I don’t want to get in trouble with my PI.

???: Does that mean you won’t block me?

You: I’ll think about it.

You turned off your phone, shaking your head as you grabbed Joshua’s arm again. “One more time.”

“You pricked my finger in the same spot like four times! How consistent can you be?!” Joshua complained as he held his “tortured” finger, as he called it, after you had pricked him four more times during lab. The two of you were walking from the lab towards the exit of the Biology department building to grab lunch at your usual hangout spot, which was the campus cafeteria.

As you shrugged, you shook your head at your best friend and his antics. Your thoughts were too preoccupied with the stranger whom you had texted earlier, wondering what they were up to at the current moment. Deciding to pull out your phone, you checked if they had texted you, but there was nothing.

“Waiting for prince charming to message you?” Joshua peered over your shoulder, which he immediately regretted when you elbowed him.

“I don’t even know if he’s a guy or not.” You rolled your eyes as you pocketed your phone, walking ahead as your friend followed. 

Joshua grabbed your phone from your pocket with ease, unlocked it, and checked your messages. “Totally a guy. No girl would message like this.”

“How do you know?” You muttered as you snatched your phone back from your best friend, smacking him gently as you looked through the messages again. He was right. A girl would typically not text like this, and it was just pretty obvious that a guy was texting you, but you didn’t want to assume.

The two of you continued to banter until you got to the cafeteria to meet up with Wonwoo, who had to leave earlier because of a student council meeting. Once all of you had your food, you sat down by the windows and placed your trays on the table. That’s when your phone buzzed, prompting you to check, only to get disappointed when it was an email from your professor about your data analysis report for Statistics.

Wonwoo raised his eyebrow at Joshua, who just shrugged with a fond smile before digging into his food. You noticed the glance your four-eyed friend was giving you and gave up on staying quiet.

“A random number kept texting me these past three days,” you grumbled, taking a bite out of your food. Chewing and swallowing, you continued, “And I just replied to them today during lab.”

Wonwoo raised his brows, intrigued by your situation before speaking. “So… You just ignored them for three days straight?”

“...yes?” You sounded uncertain as Wonwoo hummed, thinking before shaking his head. “What? You thought of something, tell me!”

“No, nothing. I just thought it was strange that you’d ignore them rather than just block them.” He shrugged, and you blinked at his words, realising what he meant.

Right. You usually did block random numbers, but that was when they called! And this guy did not call, so you didn’t feel obligated to block him. Plus, you were pretty curious about the mysterious texter who wanted to “befriend” you.

“Do we know any journalism majors?” You suddenly blurted out, causing Joshua to look at you with a cocked eyebrow.

“Uh, Seungcheol is a journalism major with his friend—what was his name…” he muttered, trying to recall the name of Seungcheol’s friend. “I don’t remember his name, but why?”

You shook your head, trying to dismiss Joshua’s growing suspicions. “Nothing, nothing… It’s just that he said we might be from the same uni.”

Joshua groaned at that, and you knew what that sound meant. You chuckled awkwardly, knowing it was probably a bad idea to meet up with this person without getting to know them first, but hey, at least you were trying to socialise, right?

“You are not going to meet him! What if he’s some serial killer?” You rolled your eyes at your friend’s tendency to exaggerate everything, but Wonwoo seemed to agree with him. A sigh left your lips before raising your hands, as if to say you were forfeiting the idea. For now.

“You should get to know this guy first before meeting him. Stranger danger and all,” Wonwoo murmured while cutting his pork katsu into bite-sized pieces. “We don’t want you to get into unnecessary danger.”

Your eyes softened at your friend, understanding that they were only looking out for you. Taking another bite of your food, your phone buzzed once more. Expecting another email, you unlocked your phone only to see that the unknown number sent you a picture.

???: [sent 1 attachment]

???: Lunch 😋

You: Huh.

???: What?

You: We are from the same uni, after all.

???: So, my hunch proves to be correct!

???: What are you up to?

You: I'm also in the campus cafeteria, with some friends.

???: OoOoh

You: ??

???: Nothing, nothing.

???: I'd say let's meet, but that's a little too early for that 😉

You: My friends and I were actually just talking about that.

You: Stranger danger, so… what's your name?

???: Wouldn't you like to know? What's yours?

You bit your lower lip as you looked up from your phone to check any students in the surrounding vicinity who were on their phones—almost everyone. A sigh left your lips before you typed out your name and hit send.

???: Cute name

???: I'm Jeonghan. At your humble service.

You: Jeonghan, huh? You know I could just search you up in the student files on the uni website, right?

Jeonghan: But what would be the fun in that, sweets?

You: ‘sweets’?

Jeonghan: You sound sweet, so sweets 🤷🏻

Jeonghan: Anyway, let's set up some rules!

You: For what???

Jeonghan: Since we're from the same uni and all, we're bound to bump into each other.

You: The journalism department and biology department are on opposite ends of campus.

Jeonghan: We could share classes, you never know, sweets.

Jeonghan: Anyways, rules! One, you're forbidden from searching me up on the school website and vice versa. It's more fun if we don't know what we look like for now.

Jeonghan: Two, no asking around people on campus if they know who we are. That'd be cheating. 

Jeonghan: Three, we update each other on our day-to-day to get to know each other better until we're ready to meet. And wanting to meet needs to be mutual, so if one doesn't want to, we can't meet.

You: So, you want this to be like a game?

Jeonghan: Kind of? It'll be fun :)

Jeonghan: So, what do you say, sweets?

You: What if I say no?

Jeonghan: Then I will never text you again, and we will go on with our lives as strangers.

Jeonghan: But I know you're interested, so please say yes.

You: Whatever, sure.

Jeonghan: Perfect. I knew I could count on you 😗

You: Don't ever send that emoji again, or I'm blocking you.

Jeonghan: Got it 🫡

“Having fun texting the stranger?” You almost jumped out of your seat when Joshua spoke up, prompting you to smack him.

“His name’s Jeonghan.” You glanced back at your screen to check if he had sent anything else, but there was just a gif with confetti. A soft snort left your mouth at that before you shook your head. “He's strange, but I'm only a human, and humans get curious.”

Joshua rolled his eyes, finishing his lunch as he stole a fry from your tray. “Just eat your food, you've been texting the guy for the past ten minutes. We have Statistics after this.”

A groan left your lips at that, disliking Statistics out of all of your lectures for the day. You'd rather have lab all day with your strict PI rather than Statistics with your notoriously annoying professor. You finished your lunch quickly and said goodbye to Wonwoo, who had a different lecture from you and Joshua.

“Who's got you smiling like that, dude?” Seungcheol sat across from Jeonghan as the latter cleared his throat before pocketing his phone.

“No one, what are you talking about?” Jeonghan shoved a couple of fries into his mouth, pretending like he wasn't just giggling to himself like some moron after texting you. His best friend raised his eyebrows, unimpressed as he sighed.

“You were texting her, weren't you?” Seungcheol noted the way Jeonghan glanced away, neck and ears burning as he sighed. “Dude, I gave you her number so you could introduce yourself! Not that you could convince her you had the wrong number.”

“I did introduce myself, kind of…” Jeonghan muttered, looking back at Seungcheol with a pleading glance. “I made this whole thing—I'll get to know her through texting, and we'll meet each other once we're ready—”

“Or you could just stop complicating this for yourself and introduce yourself to her like a normal human being?” Seungcheol deadpanned, crossing his arms as Jeonghan groaned. Only if it were that simple.

Jeonghan didn't have the guts to approach you and talk to you as he usually would with other people. He wasn't sure why, but something was stopping him from acting like himself—maybe it was because he didn't want to give you the wrong first impression? He couldn't figure it out, but what he did want was to get to know you better, and this was one way to do it.

He was so surprised when Seungcheol mentioned that he knew you, having taken some classes together during freshman year. He was even more surprised when Seungcheol told him he had your number. That's what got him into the situation he was in—texting you without you knowing that he was just one person away.

“Seriously, Hannie… She'll like you. You're funny, and she's a simple soul, she's practical, and if you play your cards right, she might agree on a date.” Seungcheol looked at his best friend with a sympathetic smile, but Jeonghan was convinced his way was better.

And he'd go through with this plan until he was ready to actually reveal himself.

Statistics was as boring as ever, but you promised yourself you'd actually focus this semester. While writing down your notes in your notebook, you couldn't help but feel someone's gaze on you. You turned your head in the direction you could feel the gaze from, and met someone’s eyes before they hurriedly looked away. Strange.

That’s when you noticed the person he was sitting next to. Seungcheol.

You turned back to your notes, curious about the guy sitting next to the friend you had made during freshman year. They were both probably journalism majors, so maybe they knew Jeonghan. Not like you could ask—it was a part of the rules of the game your next textmate decided to make up.

When the lecture ended, you decided to walk up to Seungcheol and his friend, telling Joshua to go ahead, and that you’d catch up with him later. 

“Hey, Seungcheol…” You greeted awkwardly, not having seen him in quite some time due to your busy schedule. 

The man in front of you immediately perked up when you came up to him, greeting you back with a hug. “Hey, it’s been a while! This is my friend Jeonghan—augh…”

“He meant Jung Han. My name’s Han. Hi,” Jeonghan murmured after elbowing his friend in the rib before shaking your hand with a smile. You gave him a small one back, letting go of his hand after a beat.

“Nice to meet you, Han. I guess, uhm… I’ll see you guys around? I still have to head to the lab to check on my samples—”

“Hannie can walk you there! He has, uh, he has a class not too far from there, yeah.” Seungcheol nudged Jeonghan forward, making you blink at both of them. You weren’t really against the idea, and Jeonghan was quite the looker.

You decided and hummed, nodding. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

The two of them looked at each other, as if they were communicating with each other telepathically, before Jeonghan smiled at you and offered his arm. “Shall we?”

The bold action caused you to snort and take his arm, telling yourself that you could get out of your comfort zone just this once.

“So, Han,” you started, and he hummed, looking down at you as the two of you walked arms linked with each other. “How’d you and Seungcheol meet each other?”

“Hmm, I think it was kindergarten. Why?” He asked back, and you just shrugged, seeming to be curious about the guy you were currently walking with. Jeonghan had this charm to him that you couldn’t place, but he seemed to be a little awkward, even when he was just walking with you.

You wanted to talk to him. You wanted to ask questions you normally wouldn’t have. Jeonghan was just that type of guy you’d want to actually get to know for some reason. Usually, you wouldn’t even be this touchy with a person you just met, putting them at arm’s length, but he just made it a bit easier to open up to. 

So, you talked. Asked questions about him like the curious researcher you were, noting everything down mentally as you listened.

When you got in front of the Biology department building, you unlinked your arm from his before smiling. “This is me… Thanks for walking me here. You really didn’t have to.”

“Nah, it was my pleasure. It was fun talking to you, swee—I mean, uhh… yeah, fun talking to you.” He scratched the back of his ear, giving you an awkward chuckle. “See you around!” 

Jeonghan gave you a salute before he turned and hurriedly walked away. You faltered, wanting to call out for him to ask for his number, but he was already out of earshot. A soft sigh left your lips before you decided to head into the building to check on your precious samples in the lab with a giggle.

“Stop fucking giggling like an evil scientist,” Joshua muttered from behind you as he smacked you with his clipboard. You frowned, rubbing the back of your head as you glared at your best friend. “So, who was the guy you had your arms linked with~?” 

You rolled your eyes, knowing Joshua would want to know about what he saw. “Nothing, Seungcheol offered him to walk me, and I agreed.”

“Just like that? You? Agree for some guy to walk you all across campus?” He raised an eyebrow, and you sighed. “What’s the guy’s name?”

“Jung Han,” you murmured, and Joshua’s eyes widened.

“Jeonghan? Like the guy you’re texting?”

“No, no—Jung Han. Two separate people. His name’s Han.” You explained, and your best friend made an ‘O’ shape with his mouth before furrowing his brows and grumbling to himself. “What?”

“I was sure Seungcheol’s friend’s name was Jeonghan, though, but eh, I must’ve misheard.” Joshua tilted his head to the side, clicking his tongue softly before dragging you into the lab room, where a few people were already conducting their research in their own workbenches. You didn’t linger on your friend’s words, focusing on the bacterial samples you had in the small lab refrigerator instead.

Twenty minutes into conducting research and writing your thesis, your phone buzzed, distracting you from your task as you glanced at the device before looking back at your laptop. You contemplated whether it was worth getting distracted, glancing around as Joshua seemed to be preoccupied with sending you random memes on Instagram. So, you decided to abandon writing your thesis to check whatever Joshua might’ve sent you before seeing a message from Jeonghan.

Jeonghan: [sent 1 attachment]

Jeonghan: The sunset’s pretty.

Jeonghan: Like you probably.

You: Are you flirting with me?

Jeonghan: uhhhhhhhhh

Jeonghan: If I am, would you let me?

You: I don’t know.

Jeonghan: wdym you don’t know? :( 

You: If you send me one more sunset pic, I’ll consider saying yes.

Jeonghan: [sent 7 attachments]

Jeonghan: Are these enough?

You stifled a giggle, covering your mouth before replying to his message. You found Jeonghan entertaining, so you indulged in whatever he was trying to do.

You: You’re weird, you know that?

Jeonghan: Yes, you’ve called me strange before, I know

You: [sent 1 attachment]

You: I’m in the lab conducting research right now.

You: Lowkey bored :// My best friend keeps sending me reels instead of helping me.

Jeonghan: That’s cute

Jeonghan: The Sanrio sticker on your laptop, I mean

Jeonghan: Who’s your fav character?

You: Cinnamoroll.

Jeonghan: Noted 😉

You: For what?

Jeonghan: That’s a surprise for the future, sweets.

You: What if I don’t like surprises? What then?

Jeonghan: Ehhh, I think that you do like surprises, you’re just trying to throw me off my game

Jeonghan: But that won’t work! Because I can foresee the future.

You: And that future is?

Jeonghan: You and me on a date :)

You: Right. I’m blocking you.

Jeonghan: NO— WAIT PLEASE

Jeonghan: I was too forward. I apologise.

Jeonghan: One more chance, I beg of you, sweets.

Jeonghan: No date. Unless you change your mind.

Jeonghan: Sweets?

You decided to leave him on read with that, wanting to cackle to yourself. Instead, you settled with a slightly off-putting giggle, prompting the people around you to send you side glances, which also happened to be your best friend. Joshua threw a pipette at you, hitting you square in the forehead, pulling you out of your weird state.

“Stop giggling to yourself like that, weirdo. You’re creeping me out.”

You flipped him off, grumbling to yourself as you dove back into your research with a soft smile on your lips when you glanced at the Cinnamoroll sticker on your laptop.

It was late when you got back home to your apartment, tiptoeing inside so as not to wake your roommate—Minghao—up. It had been a long day, and you were exhausted, so instead of scurrying to your bedroom, you crashed on the leather couch you and Hao had bought last year, deciding to invest in a good couch instead of keeping the old, ratty one that was provided by your landlord.

Your phone buzzed, surprising you. It was 1:04 AM. Why was he still up? You unlocked your device and pressed the notification.

Jeonghan: u still up?

You: Why are you up?

Jeonghan: Couldn't sleep 🤷🏻

Jeonghan: You?

You: Just got back from the lab.

You: I worked on my thesis and didn't realise it was late.

Jeonghan: Ahhhh, I see..

Jeonghan: Do you wanna play 20 questions?

You raised your eyebrow at that, sitting up and leaning against the backrest as you thought about it. Jeonghan was a complete stranger to you—but you just continued indulging him because he was interesting. You thought about the other Jeonghan—or Jung Han, as he insisted, but you couldn't really take it seriously. Probably coincidental that they had the same name.

You: What the hell, why not?

You: Who starts?

Jeonghan: You can :)

You: Were you serious about that date?

Jeonghan: Oho, straight to the hard questions, huh? I can't say I don't like it.

Jeonghan: Maybe… Why?

Jeonghan: U interested? 😉

You: Those two count as two separate questions, so I'll answer them and get two questions myself.

You: Nothing in particular, I was just wondering if you were serious or not, and no, I'm not interested. Not yet anyway.

You: What’s your favourite colour?

Jeonghan: 👀

Jeonghan: Woah, woah— backtrack, little lady

Jeonghan: wdym “not yet”??

You: I don't know you, so.

Jeonghan: Fair enough..

Jeonghan: Oh, and my favourite colour is black.

You: Hm.. why would you want to go out with me? You don't even know what I look like.

Jeonghan: Does it matter if I do?

Jeonghan: Don't count that as an actual question; it was rhetorical

Jeonghan: And to answer your question—why not? You're interesting, and I find texting you quite fun, even when you threaten to block me or text like a robot sometimes.

You: I do not text like a robot! 😡

Jeonghan: Sorry to break it to you, sweets, but you do, painfully so. But it's part of the charm that tugs me towards you 😉

You: Your turn.

Jeonghan: Right. Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Jeonghan: Oh! What's your favourite movie?

You: I, uh… 27 dresses. And How to Lose a Man in 10 days. Both romcoms, yes.

Jeonghan: That's cute

Jeonghan: Will be sure to watch them and tell u what I think about them

You: What are your hobbies?

Jeonghan: Hmmm.. That’s a difficult question. But I like playing football (not the American one, I'm a little too unqualified for that), sleeping and taking care of my pet rock ^^

You: You have a pet rock?

Jeonghan: That's two questions, sweetheart, but yeah, I do.

Jeonghan: [sent 1 attachment]

Jeonghan: Its name is Doljjong :)

You: That's…

You: That’s cute.

Jeonghan: Thanks

Jeonghan: How about you? What are your hobbies?

You bit your lower lip at that, contemplating whether or not to share something so close to your heart with a stranger. Deciding not to linger on it, you typed out your answer.

You: I like to read.

Jeonghan: Just that?

You: And, uh, I guess I like to draw sometimes.

Jeonghan: Okay, okay, cool

Jeonghan: Can I ask a more personal question?

You: Uh, sure.

Jeonghan: Do you have a boyfriend?

You: No.

Jeonghan: Why not?

You: Too busy.

Jeonghan: Would you like to have one then?

You: Good night, Jeonghan.

Jeonghan: Worth a shot

Jeonghan: Night, sweets.

You sighed, chickening out before the questions got too intense, not wanting to reveal too much, too soon. Your cheeks couldn't help but warm at the incessant flirting from Jeonghan, unsure why he was so interested in your love life when he barely knew you.

“He's so weird…” You muttered to yourself as you lay back down on the couch.

“Who’s weird?” You shot back up when you heard Minghao’s voice, seeing him getting a bottle of water from the fridge.

You shook your head, dismissing his question with a wave of your hand. “Nothing, just muttering to myself.” 

That seemed to satisfy Minghao's fleeting curiosity as he padded back to his room, leaving you alone once more, your head hitting one of the throw pillows while you thought about your new contact and Jung Han.

“Seriously, you’ve been texting the guy for five days now, and you're thinking about meeting him already?”

Joshua shook his head, still disapproving of the idea of you meeting your phone pen pal. You had been texting Jeonghan for almost a week, and you enjoyed talking to him more often than you didn't. You found yourself liking his free personality, the way he seemed to just be himself through the phone, open with you as he shared little moments of his life without revealing too much. And you did the same; you gave him a piece of your peaceful life, sharing small stories about your experiences at the lab or just talking about your day-to-day, just like you agreed upon.

You found yourself truly befriending the guy who accidentally texted your number.

A groan left Joshua’s lips as he sighed. “Give it more time, get to know him better before you actually agree to something serious. I don't want you coming home crashing out because he wasn't the guy you expected him to be.” 

“What guy?” You suddenly hear a voice behind you, turning to see none other than Jeonghan Han. Your expression seemed to change when you saw him, your face a little brighter as he sat down beside you.

“Oh, uh, nothing. Just the guy I’ve been texting.” You shrugged as he rested his arm around the backrest of your chair before stealing a fry from your tray. 

You and Jeonghan had also been spending some time with each other, getting to know each other as you talked through Instagram DMs. He sent you funny memes and made sure to remind you to drink water. He was friendly and charming, but not in the same way as the Jeonghan you’ve been texting over the phone.

Jeonghan felt bad for lying to you like this, wanting to come clean, but he was in way too deep within his two personas he was showing—the strange charmer over the phone, aka the real him, and whatever this ‘Jung Han’ persona was. It was baffling how you couldn’t connect the dots. He shook it off as he glanced at you with the usual look he always sent your way—yearning and admiring. Even Joshua could notice it, your best friend clearing his throat and coughing.

“I’ll leave you two alone. I don’t feel like third-wheeling. See you during lab.” Joshua got up from his seat, giving the two of you a wave before leaving with his tray. Jeonghan chuckled awkwardly at that, while you just hummed and continued eating your food in soft silence.

“Tell me about that guy you’re texting.” Jeonghan suddenly blurted out, prompting you to pause and look at him. He seemed curious, his eyes darting around before looking back at you. 

“I… I mean, he’s nice. I like talking to him. He’s a little strange, but I guess that’s the part of his charm,” you murmured, smiling as you took a bite of your food, chewing and swallowing before continuing, “He’s asked me out about three times, but I turned him down since it’s only been five days. But we do have a few things in common.”

“Yeah? Like what?” Jeonghan’s heart seemed to clench at how enthusiastically you talked about him to him, feeling jealous of his own self for knowing more about you and not being able to voice it out. It was ridiculous.

“I know I shouldn’t want to meet up with him, but I really want to. I want to see him and talk with him about all the things I talked about. Do you… Do you get what I mean?” You fidgeted with the napkin on your tray, glancing at Jeonghan as he nodded. You didn’t seem to notice how he tensed up, his jaw clenching before he relaxed.

Jeonghan then decided to tuck a few strands of hair away from your face, making you blink and flush when he leaned in. “You like him that much?” He sounded a bit hurt, eyes softening as he continued, “What about me?”

“Wh–what about you?” You mustered out, not moving away as his fingers found your shoulder, gently touching.

“Nothing, nevermind…” He chuckled, but it sounded strained as he moved back, ruffling your hair. “I have a lecture soon, pretty, I’ll see you later, okay?”

You faltered, confused as he got up and grabbed his bag, leaving you all alone at your table, your thoughts filled with nothing but his words. What about me?

Jeonghan wanted to scream into his pillow—well, Seungcheol’s pillow. He was currently in his best friend’s dorm at Beta Sigma Tau’s fraternity house. They were supposed to be writing an article about some topic Jeonghan had already forgotten, focused on his phone instead.

“You should just tell her, man. Stop being a wimp.” His best friend turned to Jeonghan as he sighed at his whining.

“I tried, Cheol… But something in me just flaked out, and I couldn’t bring myself to break it to her. What if she hates me for it?” He sat up, hugging the pillow as he checked your messages—both on Instagram and on his number. Nothing. He wondered if you had figured it out and decided to actually block him—

Ding!

Jeonghan immediately unlocked his phone to see that you had sent him a picture.

He almost fainted on the spot.

It was you in a pretty, baby blue sundress that ended at your mid-thigh, the sleeves puffy, making you look like a modern-day princess. Your face was covered by your phone, obviously not wanting to reveal it yet, even if he knew what you looked like, but this was the first time you’d sent anything remotely involving your looks.

You: Does this dress look okay?

Jeonghan: Yes.

You: Woah, that’s a serious response.

Jeonghan: Sorry, I was just so uh

Jeonghan: Surprised, ig?

Jeonghan: But you look very pretty, sweets

Jeonghan: Are... are you going on a date, mayhaps?

You: Maybe.

You: Jk, I’m not, I just wanted to know what you thought of the dress.

Jeonghan’s heart almost dropped when he saw that first message, before you followed it up with the second one. He didn’t realise he was holding in his breath as he let it out, making Seungcheol side-eye him, but he was too focused on texting you.

Jeonghan: I think the dress is lovely

Jeonghan: Will you wear it on our first date?

You: Maybe.

Jeonghan: You and your ‘maybe’s, just say yes or no, baby

You: Pffft

You: Ask me out again.

Jeonghan: Are you fr right now?

You: If you don’t do it in the next 10 seconds

Jeonghan: Sweets, sweetheart, will you go out on a date with me?

You: Yes.

Jeonghan got up from Seungcheol’s bed, startling his best friend as he re-read your answer before screaming, “SHE SAID YES—”

“What?” Seungcheol grimaced when Jeonghan’s voice cracked as the latter started jumping around like some madman.

“She said yes, dude, I’m going out on a date with her—fuck.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, already thinking of the plethora of things he wanted to do before coming up with a whole idea of where to bring you and whatnot.

This was going to be the perfect date.

Your heart was beating out of your chest. You said yes. You said yes. To a date with Jeonghan, a stranger you just met five days ago. Usually, your instincts told you to run in the opposite direction, but this time, it was telling you not to run away. Like this was meant to happen.

The two of you had agreed that you’d see each other on Saturday, which was four days away, giving the two of you some time to prepare. Prepare for what exactly? You weren’t sure, but you definitely needed the time.

You were currently on your way home, listening to music as you managed to bump into Jeonghan. He seemed as surprised as you were; his face was slightly flushed as if he was in a rush. He murmured your name as you took your headset off.

“Hey—”

“Hi—”

The two of you said in unison as you paused and smiled with a soft giggle. Jeonghan scratched the back of his ear—something he did when he was nervous, as you noted a couple of days prior. 

You spoke up first, your expression full of wonder. “Where were you headed from?”

“Oh–uh, from Cheol’s place. We were supposed to do this one article, but I forgot the topic.” He chuckled, standing there as he put his hands in his pockets awkwardly. “I’m guessing you were going home from the lab?”

“Bingo.” You did finger guns, also pocketing your hands into your jacket. Your thoughts lingered on that moment you had in the cafeteria earlier that day, but you didn’t bother mentioning it.

Jeonghan seemed to hesitate, but spoke up after a beat, “Do you want to come over to my place?”

He blurted out, prompting you to pause. You checked your watch before looking at him apologetically. “I’m sorry, but I’m running late. My roommate wants me to eat dinner with him and his friends. We’re having Chinese. Maybe next time, though?”

“Oh—uh, yeah, sure…” Jeonghan smiled, hiding his disappointment and understanding that you had prior plans. That’s when he remembered about the party that was going to be hosted at Seungcheol’s fraternity.

“Hey, wait,” he managed to grab your wrist before you could leave. “There’s a party at Cheol—I mean Seungcheol’s fraternity this Friday.”

You blinked at him, pursing your lips slightly before cracking a soft smile. “I’m not really the partying type, Han.”

“I–I know! But we don’t have to stay downstairs. I’m sure Seungcheol won’t mind if we stay in his room. We could play Uno, or something.” He rubbed his neck, looking at you hopefully. 

You thought about it for a second before sighing softly and nodding, “Yeah, I’ll go. Just don’t leave me alone there, alright? I’m sacrificing my precious Friday lab plans for this.” You joked as Jeonghan let go of your wrist, letting you leave as he found himself groaning when you were out of earshot.

You, on the other hand, were groaning for another reason. Not only were you sacrificing your precious time at the lab, but you were also juggling between two guys at this point! You felt guilty, but at the same time, it wouldn’t hurt to go, right? You were going there as his friend.

Shaking your head, you decided to stop thinking about it as you headed back to your apartment so you could eat with Minghao, Jun, and Soonyoung.

“I’m home!” You shouted from the front door as you slipped your shoes off, padding over to the kitchen to see Minghao cooking, while Jun and Soonyoung were trying to beat your record in Mario Kart in the living room. You could smell the aroma of the food Hao was cooking, going over to the stove before grabbing a spoon from one of the drawers and trying the soup. 

Your roommate smacked your hand before you could grab another bite of the meat. “It’s not done yet, you impatient—”

Soonyoung, who called your name from the couch, cut Minghao off from cursing you out, and you smiled innocently at him before heading over to where your roommate’s friend was. “I beat your record! Give me the crown!”

“Oh yeah? Watch me beat your record—” You were about to grab the console from him when your phone buzzed. It was Jeonghan. An involuntary smile formed on your lips as you sat down on the armchair, not too far from the couch, before unlocking your phone. Soonyoung looked at Minghao, who just rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Jeonghan: [sent 1 attachment]

Jeonghan: I miss you, sweets

You: Are you in the bath, Jeonghan?

Jeonghan: Uhhhhhh

Jeonghan: Yes?

You: I—Okay…

You: Also, you can’t miss me.

Jeonghan: Why not?

You: We haven’t met yet?

Jeonghan: I can miss my future girl, yk

You: Bold of you to assume I’ll be your future girl.

Jeonghan: You already agreed to go out with me.

Jeonghan: No take-backsies

You: Yeah, yeah. I know.

You: Have you planned out the date or…?

Jeonghan: Ofc I have, sweetheart

Jeonghan: Don’t worry your pretty little head abt it

You: If you say so.

You: I trust you.

You then contemplated whether or not to tell him about the party he Han invited you to. Shrugging, you decided to tell him, not thinking much of it. 

You: Also… There’s this party I’m going to.

Jeonghan: Oh?

Jeonghan: My sweet geek is going to a party?

You: I am, yes. Surprising.

You: A friend invited me, so.

You: Would you like to come?

Three dots appeared and disappeared as Jeonghan typed, making you feel anxious. Was it a good idea to invite him when you were supposed to hang out with the person who invited you? You shook your head, focusing when Jeonghan finally replied to your message.

Jeonghan: Sorry, sweets, but I’ll be busy this Friday ://

Jeonghan: As much as I wanna meet you faster, I’d rather see you during our date, having fun instead of getting wasted

You: Valid point.

Jeonghan: I do hope you have fun with your friend though :))

You: I mean… we’re probably going to his friend’s room and play Uno or something since I’m not a party person.

Jeonghan: So your friend is a him. 

Jeonghan: Cool.

You: Jeonghan, it’s not like that.

Jeonghan: 🙁

You: Jeonghan, you can’t be serious.

Jeonghan: MY FUTURE GIRL IS ALREADY CHEATING ON ME 🙁

You: I AM NOT.

Jeonghan: Gotcha

Jeonghan: You agreed that you’re my future girl 😍

You: I’m literally gonna block you.

Jeonghan: No you won’t <3

You sighed and shook your head, unable to stop yourself from smiling as Soonyoung gently nudged you with his foot. “Yah, why are you smiling like that? It’s creeping me out—Hao, why is she smiling like that?”

“She’s got a boyfriend.” Minghao rolled his eyes as you glared at your roommate. “Tell me I'm wrong.”

“He's not my boyfriend!” You argued, huffing softly as your roommate scoffed out a laugh.

“Right, and you don’t text him almost every day when you have free time.” He deadpanned, causing you to groan and threaten to throw a pillow at him before he sent you a glare back. “Plus, you bought that new dress when we went out, which means that you’re probably going to meet him soon—I’m presuming Saturday?”

“I—” You sputtered before clenching your jaw, kind of expecting this from Minghao. He just knew things, forces of the universe or whatever. Before you could even linger on the fact that he knew about your date, Soonyoung and Jun were tackling each other over the last pocky stick.

When dinner was ready and served on the table, the four of you dug in, but not before you took a picture of it and sent it to Jeonghan Han’s DMs.

You: [yourusername sent a photo]

You: Dinner with the goofs :)) 

Hannie 🩷: Have a good dinner, pretty :) 

You: thank you, Hannie :3

You: Have you had dinner yet?

Hannie 🩷: Yeah, I just got out of the shower and made some ramyeon

You: I’d say you should have more than just convenience store ramyeon, but we are broke college students.

Hannie 🩷: Exactly, pretty

You: What time should I come to the frat house?

Hannie 🩷: Oh! I’ll just pick you up from your place, if that’s okay with u

You: Yeah, I don’t mind :)) 

Hannie 🩷: Perfect :)) I’ll pick you up at 8, since the party starts at 9

You: Alright, I've got to go, my roommate is glaring at me.

You turned off your phone before you could see Jeonghan’s reply, and avoided eye contact with Minghao before he spoke up again. “Who did you send the picture to?”

“Han from Journalism…” You grumbled, and your roommate’s eyebrow cocked in confusion.

“You mean Yoon Jeonghan?” He asked, and you shot him a puzzled look. “That’s the only Han I know from Journalism. You know, Seungcheol’s friend?”

That made you pause. Jeonghan. Han. Seungcheol. Cheol. Cogs turned in your brain until everything clicked. Han was Jeonghan. You agreed to go on a date with the same person who asked you if you wanted to go to a party with him. That’s why he declined your invitation.

You groaned at not being able to realise it sooner, but you didn’t want to do anything about it for now. Jeonghan must’ve had his reasons to keep this from you, so you let it be for the time being. 

You got up from your seat, Jun perking up and furrowing his brows slightly. “Did Hao say something wrong?”

“Oh—no, I just figured something out,” you murmured, tilting your head slightly as you muttered to yourself. Before Soonyoung could add anything, your roommate shushed him.

“Leave her be, she probably figured something out about Jeonghan.”

You decided to call Joshua about this about three hours later. It was late—11:09 pm—and you couldn’t sleep. You were wearing a face mask, typing along on your laptop, when your best friend answered your call, also in the middle of his skin care routine.

“Jesus Christ, I thought you were a ghost,” he muttered, and you rolled your eyes at his eccentric comparison. “What is this about? You said it was important, but you just seemed bothered by something.”

“Jeonghan is Han,” you mumbled, and your best friend made a face, not being able to understand you.

“What? Can you repeat that? You literally mumbled it, and I’m not Superman, by the way.” He sassed, putting on his moisturiser. “Jeonghan is who?”

“He’s Han! Like—Like Han, Seungcheol’s friend!” 

You explained everything to Joshua, filling him in on everything, and by the time you were done with your rambling, your best friend was done with his skincare routine, and you were removing your sheet mask.

“That’s a lot to unpack, pipsqueak.” He sighed, shaking his head as he sat down on his office chair, propping his phone up against something while probably opening his laptop to write his thesis, just like you. “What do you wanna do about it?”

“I don’t know! I mean, I like him, but which one is the real him, you know?” You groaned softly as you buried your face into your hands without realising what you had just said.

“Wait, go back. What did you say?”

“Which one’s the real him–?” You looked at your phone screen, confused.

“No, dumbass, the other thing.”

“That I liked—oh. Oh.” You finally got what he meant, realising that you liked Jeonghan. 

You weren’t sure which version of him you liked more, but you liked him all the same. It made you realise that in the past few days, you’ve known Jeonghan as Seungcheol’s friend and as your phone pen pal, you’ve liked talking to both versions of him. The awkward dork side and the more flirty side of him.

“So, what are you gonna do about it?” Joshua repeated himself, looking at you with a knowing smile.

“I’m gonna go to that party and tell him how I feel?” You sounded unsure, feeling your insecurities grow. Jeonghan knew what you looked like all this time, but you still felt like you weren’t going to be enough for him. You also felt a bit betrayed at the fact that he knew who you were, but you didn’t know who he was—not fully anyway. But that didn’t really matter right now, your priorities set on the fact that you’d confront him during your date and not during the party, not wanting to ruin your chances with Jeonghan by cornering him.

Joshua noticed your conflicted expression and sighed. “You’re going to spiral if you overthink this, pips. And damn right you’re gonna tell him how you feel. If you get cold feet, you have to buy me those Prada sunglasses I told you about for my birthday.”

“Dude, your birthday just happened!” You whined, knowing there was no getting out of this. Not unless you wanted a dent in your bank account anyway.

Sometimes you felt like you called the wrong person when asking for advice, but Joshua was always real with you, and so was Wonwoo. But you didn’t want to impede the latter with your love life problems when all he did was game when he had the time with his busy schedule as both a biology and engineering major. It was surprising that he had time to get lunch with you and Joshua every time.

You continued to talk to Joshua until you finally decided to head to bed, bidding your best friend goodnight and ending the call. A soft sigh left your lips as you took a quick picture of your desk and sent it to Jeonghan’s phone number.

You: [sent 2 attachments]

You: Shit.

You: That second picture wasn’t supposed to get sent.

Jeonghan: Fuck, sweets

You: DON’T LOOK AT IT??

Jeonghan: YOU LITERALLY SENT IT??

Jeonghan: You look hot, though

You: I—thank you.

Jeonghan: Is it weird to admit that I got hard?

You didn’t reply to that, as you wanted to scream your lungs out into your pillow, but it was late, and Minghao would smother you with said pillow if you didn’t shut up. You were experimenting—it was supposed to be something you kept in your gallery and then deleted when you looked too hard at it. 

It was you, after your shower, posing a little too riskily for the camera, on your knees in front of your full-length mirror, wearing nothing but a tank top with thin straps, and shorts that were a little too short for your liking. Your face was covered by your phone, but it was obvious that it was meant to be for Jeonghan. You were just too much of a wuss to send it to him now that you knew who he was.

You looked back at your messages, groaning at the fact that you couldn’t turn back time and be more careful with sending pictures from your gallery.

You: That’s rather a bold statement.

Jeonghan: Okay, good you’re back

Jeonghan: Thought you died from embarrassment

Jeonghan: Though there’s really no point in being embarrassed, pretty girl

Jeonghan: [sent 1 attachment]

Oh, fuck. It was a picture of Jeonghan—wearing his sweats and a loose t-shirt that rode up from the position he was lying in. Bulge prominent in his pants.

You: Is that a current pic?

Jeonghan: Yeah

Jeonghan: I don’t send shit like this to anyone else, pretty

You: Do you really think I’m that hot…?

Jeonghan: Don’t do that

You: Do what?

Jeonghan: Belittle yourself. You’re pretty, hot and everything I could ever want, sweetheart.

You: Stop—

Jeonghan: You got me hard for fucks sake

Jeonghan: Do you want me to send myself jerking off just to prove it to you?

You: …

Jeonghan: Too far?

You: Send it.

Jeonghan’s breath hitched when he saw the message. Send it. Fuck. Were you really serious? He bit his lower lip as he palmed himself while looking at the picture you had sent, feeling like some creep for planning to jerk off to such a pretty photo of you. But he’d rather be sure as he typed on his phone with one hand.

Jeonghan: U srs?

You: Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?

Jeonghan: Idk, ppl usually don’t ask for dick pics, let alone someone jerking off…

You: You offered, I accepted it. Now send it, coward.

Jeonghan: You’re so mean to your boyfriend 🙁

You: Future boyfriend***

Jeonghan: I’ll take it

Jeonghan: Brb

Jeonghan shimmied his sweatpants and boxers down, freeing his throbbing cock as he hissed softly at the cold air hitting his sensitive tip. He bit his lower lip as he opened the camera app, his cheeks flushed behind it as he hit record. 

He touched his cock, stroking it gently as he rubbed the leaking precum all over his thick girth, grunting and whining softly as he imagined it was you and your pretty mouth sucking him off. Jeonghan groaned out your name as he closed his eyes before they fluttered open once more, so he could focus on recording himself fucking his fist, imagining your breasts that almost spilt out of your tank top and the short shorts that probably barely covered your ass.

“Fuck—” He grunted, feeling himself get closer as he teased his tip, but ended the recording before he could cum, just so he could edge himself. He quickly wiped his hand with a tissue from his nightstand before nervously sending the video to you.

Jeonghan: [sent 1 attachment]

Jeonghan: There—

You: Holy fuck.

Jeonghan: ?

You: Nothing…

Jeonghan: Sweets, I just sent myself jerking off to you, speak up

You: It's embarrassing!

Jeonghan: More than me sending a video of myself?

You: …

You: I'm soaked

You: Like, I didn't know I could secrete so much slick

Jeonghan: Abandoning the punctuation marks, that's a sign

You: Aren't you gonna ask me for anything?

Jeonghan: Not unless you're comfortable with it, sweets

You: [sent 1 attachment]

Jeonghan physically groaned, seeing the picture that you'd sent—bent over, your ass facing the mirror as you took the picture from your bed. He could see the cute posters and knick-knacks you had in your room, but he was zeroed in on your panty-covered mound, slick coating your inner thighs and your panties were soaked.

Jeonghan could feel his cock twitching, and more precum leaked out of his tip. A strangled grunt left his lips as he went back to stroking himself, and making sure he reached his release with the sight of you.

Jeonghan: so fucking pretyy 

Jeonghan: gnna bust a nut

You: Jeonghan, I wish you were here…

That was what unravelled him, a choked-out moan leaving his lips as spurts of hot cum shot out of his shaft, coating his lower abdomen and his hands. He embarrassingly snapped a quick photo of it before sending it to you in a post-nut haze.

Jeonghan: [sent 1 attachment]

You: Is that because of me?

Jeonghan: yws

You: ??

Jeonghan: Sorry, yes, I was typing with one hand

Jeonghan: Did you really mean it?

You: Yeah… I'm soaking wet, and I don't know what to do.

Jeonghan: fuck.

Jeonghan: Call me.

You bit your lower lip as you read his message over and over. Call him. Your stomach fluttered at hearing his voice through the phone, even if you knew what he sounded like, but this would confirm everything.

You hastily slipped off your panties, getting comfortable in your bed as you dialled Jeonghan’s phone number. He answered almost immediately, sounding strained and breathless.

“H–hello…?” You murmured, your phone pinched between your cheek and shoulder as you worked on teasing yourself, rubbing your inner thighs with one hand and tweaking your nipples with your other.

“Fuck… you sound so pretty.” Jeonghan's voice sent a jolt to your clit. It was him. Your theories were confirmed, but all you could do was whimper softly when you brushed your fingers against your slippery clit.

“Jeonghan—” You mewled, earning a soft groan from him as you teased yourself. “Need help…”

“I know, baby, I know… What are you doing?” He rasped out, hearing him shift on his bed. 

“Teasing myself,” you mumbled, and Jeonghan hummed, listening along with your soft gasps when you rubbed your clit. “Rubbing my clit—”

Another soft grunt left Jeonghan’s lips as you started hearing soft fap fap sounds coming from the other side of the call. “Okay, baby, keep teasing your cute little clit, spread your slick…” 

“Okay—hngh…” You mewled, eyes rolling back as you teased and rubbed yourself, your hole fluttering around nothing. “ I feel so empty, Jeonghan—”

“Fuck—put… put your fingers in, fuck yourself with two, scissor yourself, baby. Imagine they're my fingers trying to stretch you out for my cock.”

You whimpered at the command, doing as he said as you inserted two fingers into your sopping cunt, your toes curling as you started pumping your digits in and out and scissoring yourself as he told you to. You imagined him being in your room, talking you through it like he was now, touching you and whispering into your ear. 

“Curl your fingers up for me, sweetheart. Come on, it’ll feel good, I promise,” he cooed, and you listened, curling your fingers up to that spongy spot inside you. Your legs trembled, and you gasped, wanting to squeeze your thighs together as you continued to fuck yourself with your fingers. The heel of your palm grazed against your clit, making you whine as you felt the knot in your lower belly forming.

“I'm close, Jeonghannie—” You whimpered out, while Jeonghan grunted over the other side of the line, the slick sounds of him stroking his cock getting faster and a bit louder. It made you imagine the video he had sent—how big and pretty his dick looked, how he moaned out your name. It was dizzying.

“Keep doing what you're doing, baby, you're doing so well for me,” he murmured, praising you as you got closer to your orgasm. “This really wasn't the way I was expecting us to do this, but fuck, this is hot. You're hot.”

You flushed, mewling his name once more before the band in your stomach snapped, and you let out a whiny moan as your walls convulsed around your fingers, coating them with your release. Your legs trembled as you panted, your vision blurry.

“Baby, you still there?” Jeonghan crooned, and you let out a soft “uh-huh”, still recovering from the intense release you had just gone through.

“I… holy shit—” you gasped as you pulled your fingers out of your slick hole, feeling how soaked you were everywhere; you probably ruined your sheets from coming so hard just now. “I—I think I soaked through my sheets.”

“Fuck, don't say that when I'm not there—” Jeonghan sounded whiny, hearing his pout through the phone as you giggled tiredly.

“It's… It's nice to finally hear your voice,” you murmured, your eyes softening as you closed your trembling legs. Jeonghan hummed, shifting in his bed as he put his sweats back on. You moved to the less ruined side of your bed before grabbing some clean panties from your wardrobe and putting them on.

Feeling slightly awkward, you were unsure of what to say to him now that you were done getting off. “Uhm…”

“Sweetheart, you sound tense. Is it awkward to put a voice to the text message?” Jeonghan chuckled, and you let out a soft huff in reply. “As I said earlier, I… I didn't expect to do it like this.”

“Do what?”

“Have phone sex? I'm more of a hands-on person.” He admitted blatantly, causing you to inhale sharply as you imagined Jeonghan’s hands all over you. He caught on to the silence on your end, a soft chuckle leaving him as you trembled at the sound.

“Now, now… Pump your brakes, little lady. We'll get to that point. Let me buy you dinner first.” He teased, and you whined, rolling your eyes but smiling either way. 

You fiddled with the hem of your shirt, listening to his soft breathing before speaking up, “I'll see you Saturday?”

“Yeah, pretty. I'll pick you up, hm?”

“Mhm… goodnight, Jeonghan.”

“Goodnight, sweets.”

After that, you hung up, still trembling, but not because of your orgasm, but because of the excitement of seeing Jeonghan on Saturday and the dread of seeing him on Friday, pretending that you hadn't had phone sex with him. You groaned, the post-orgasm haze wearing off as your logical thinking came back. 

Friday came faster than you’d expected. You were pacing around your living room like a worrywart while Minghao and Joshua played old maid. You were wearing a baby blue blouse and a white denim mini skirt with white sneakers, wanting to somehow look pretty to the party you were going to without overdressing or looking like a hooker.

Joshua groaned when you kept walking back and forth, having had enough of your worrying. “Dude, stop worrying. You'll confront him about it when you're ready.”

“What if he figures out I know?! What if I blurt it out or something—”

“You're worrying about the stupidest of things, you know that?” Minghao deadpanned, drawing a card from Joshua as the latter groaned when he lost. “The two of you are fucking idiots.”

“Hey—” you were about to argue, but the doorbell rang, prompting you to pad over to the front door and check the peephole to see Jeonghan. Unlocking and opening the door, you greeted him with a smile and a quick hug.

“Hi,” you squeaked, earning a raised eyebrow from him as you grabbed your purse and keys. “I'm leaving!” 

You called out to your friends, and they bid you goodbye. “Don't get her near alcohol, she's a lightweight!”

Joshua warned Jeonghan, and you groaned, flipping your best friend off as you closed the door and started walking. Jeonghan offered his arm, and you gladly took it with a soft laugh.

“You look pretty,” Jeonghan murmured, his eyes softening as you flushed under his gaze. Was he always this handsome up close? Your heart couldn't help but flutter, and your body heated up a bit. 

You could handle this. Maybe.

The two of you got to the frat house about fifteen minutes later, entering the loud establishment—music boomed from the speakers, and the place was packed with drunk college students, dancing and shouting at each other to hear what the other was saying. Jeonghan led you up the stairs, opening the door to what seemed like Seungcheol’s room.

“He lives in the dorm by himself?” You looked around, surprised to see only one bed, the rest of the vast space filled with a beanbag and a small couch, along with a desk in the corner by the windows.

“I mean, we used to live together before I decided to move out. And since he's the chapter president, he gets to have a dorm to himself.” 

Jeonghan shrugged, humming uncommittally as he sat down on the bed, patting the free space beside him, causing you to gulp. Act natural. 

You sat down beside him, pretending like the brush of his knee against yours didn't just ignite your skin on fire. He was acting fine, so you should too, right? You technically didn't know Jeonghan was Jeonghan, after all. Your hands were on your lap, and you sat there as Jeonghan looked around the room to see what the two of you could do while the party got crazier downstairs, the music getting louder, and students got rowdier.

“Do you have anything we can do—”

“We can play Uno if you want—”

The two of you said in unison, looking at each other before bursting into soft laughter, and that seemed to break the ice almost immediately. You nodded at the idea of a game of Uno.

“What does the winner get?” You asked, and Jeonghan looked up as if he thought hard about it.

“Hmm, how about a kiss on the cheek?” He offered, and you squinted your eyes at him playfully before he added, “And snacks.”

“You drive a good bargain, Han…” You murmured, touching your chin as you thought about it, humming and making a face that made him laugh.

“I'll take it. The winner gets a kiss on the cheek and snacks!”

At the start of the game, you seemed to have been taking the lead, managing to get to one card first before Jeonghan just smirked and shook his head.

“You underestimate my skills, sweetheart,” he cooed, the nickname sending a jolt down your spine as the memories of last night came flooding back before it got cut short when Jeonghan placed a wild draw four card on the deck. 

You groaned, pouting slightly as you picked four cards from the deck, not having any colour Jeonghan had announced as he placed a blue eight. You picked another card, managing to place a red eight as he clicked his tongue. Your body froze when he shook his head again, placing a red skip card before a red draw two card, which caused you to retaliate with a yellow draw two card, and he clicked his tongue again.

“You sure you wanna play this game, pretty girl?” He tutted, and you looked at him with growing dread as he placed a blue draw two card, forcing you to pick up six cards, leaving him with five cards and you with ten.

Both of you went back and forth until you managed to get three cards left while Jeonghan had two. You bit your lower lip as you looked at your cards—a blue four and a red draw two card. The deck currently had a red eight card, and you were thinking whether or not to place the draw two card or to just pick another card from the deck.

Deciding to take a risk, you place the draw two card, glancing at his reaction. He kept a straight face before sighing. “Sometimes, I wonder if the forces are working against me.”

“Uno, Jeonghan. Your move.”

He picked out the first card from the deck before pausing and glancing at you. You held your breath as he picked out the two cards, having nothing to place in retaliation. He had five cards while you had one. Not like you could place the one you had, so you had to pick another card. A yellow stop card. You wanted to groan, but kept it in as you watched Jeonghan’s moves.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He looked at you with a pensive expression before he apologised, making you look at him confusedly.

“Huh–?” That’s when he placed two wild draw four cards, two wild cards and a blue reverse card, ending the game with your loss.

You just lost.

You lost Uno—the only card game you were probably good at—to Jeonghan.

“A kiss on the cheek is owed to me, my lady,” he teased, grinning as you groaned, rolling your eyes before leaning in and kissing his cheek. Jeonghan hummed at the action, and you couldn’t help but linger in his vicinity as you looked at him up close.

Jeonghan seemed to notice how you were looking at him, and his grin softened to a soft smile. “Careful, sweetheart, I might think you have a thing for me.”

That made you reel back with a flush to your cheeks, hitting his shoulder as he snorted out a laugh. That’s when he stood up, confusing you before he motioned towards one of Seungcheol’s drawers.

“He keeps his snacks here. We can eat them since he’s probably just hoarding them for when he feels like it.” He took out a bag of chips and a box of strawberry pocky. You grabbed the pocky and opened it, while Jeonghan continued to snoop in Seungcheol’s drawer before whistling lowly.

You looked at him with a quizzical brow, and he took out what looked like a blunt of weed. “Is that—”

“Sure looks like it…” Jeonghan murmured, glancing around the room before finding a lighter. “Wanna smoke it with me?”

The question hung in the air as you looked at Jeonghan. He seemed chill about the whole thing, probably had smoked weed before, but you never tried to in your four years of uni. He sat back down on the bed, leaning against the headboard, tilting his head to the side before offering you the blunt.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t smoked weed before.” 

“I haven’t.” You admitted, and Jeonghan’s eyes softened. “But I’d like to try.”

Jeonghan lit the blunt soon after your approval, taking a drag out of it and handing it to you to try. You awkwardly held the blunt between your fingers, taking a drag before you started to cough, handing the weed back to him as he patted your back while you tried to recover from the burn down your throat. 

“I—fuck, I underestimated the strength of it. Sorry,” Jeonghan apologised softly, still rubbing your back. “How about I shotgun you? It’ll be easier on you, but the effect will be weaker, so…”

“Y-yeah, I think that’ll be better.” You nodded, looking at him with teary eyes after practically coughing your lungs out. “How do we do it?” 

You asked, and he glanced away awkwardly before patting his lap. “You’ll have to get close, sweetheart. I will be exhaling smoke into your mouth after all.”

Ah. That made sense. Something in your stomach flipped as you looked at his lap before back at his face, and you made your way to straddle him, slightly hovering. 

“Inhale when I exhale into your mouth.” Jeonghan took another puff out of the blunt, taking your chin between his index finger and thumb, prying your mouth agape before blowing the smoke into your mouth. You did as he said and inhaled, taking in the smoke as you felt the weed affecting you already due to its potency.

With a couple of more exchanges, and you could feel yourself getting high, sitting snugly on Jeonghan’s lap while he talked about something random from his childhood, while you fed him pocky. The two of you had probably gone through half of the blunt before Jeonghan decided to place it down on the ashtray he had found earlier. His hands found your hips, and you didn’t mind the touch one bit as you fed him another pocky stick.

“Play the pocky game with me,” he murmured, his eyes half-lidded as you hummed and agreed without a second thought. You placed one end of the long pocky stick between his teeth while you started biting the other end, getting closer and closer to his lips. 

When your noses bumped against each other, and you were about to take the last bite, Jeonghan took the rest of the pocky stick into his mouth before stealing a kiss from you, prompting you to gasp. He didn’t seem to be sorry as he bumped his nose against yours.

“Was that okay?” Jeonghan whispered, and you nodded gently, already leaning in for more as his grip on your hips tightened. “Tell me, baby.”

“Yeah, Hannie, I liked it…” You murmured back before pressing another kiss to his lips, forgetting all about the pocky as your hands travelled to the back of his head and you tangled your fingers in his hair.

A groan left Jeonghan’s lips as he kissed you back, his hands roaming around your waist down to your thighs, pushing your skirt higher. “Fuck, is this okay?”

He muttered against your lips, fiddling with the hem of your mini skirt, his eyes searching your face for any hint of disapproval. There was none, and you only tugged gently on his hair.

“Touch me, Jeonghan…” you murmured, and a soft noise left him as you said his name. He was too high to realise, and too focused on pushing your skirt up to your hips to care.

When you ground yourself against him, he panted, his dick stirring in his sweatpants as he watched your panty-clad cunt grind against his growing erection. A curse left Jeonghan’s lips when you ducked your head down, kissing his neck as he guided your hips.

“Just like that, sweetheart, mnh…” He grunted as he saw the wet patch forming against his pants, and your panties were probably soaked from the stimulation. He leaned his head back against the headboard, dizzy with pleasure and the weed working through his system. “I want to fuck you so bad, but I can't—”

He choked out, and you whined. “Why not?”

Jeonghan's hazed brain cleared for a moment, knowing that he didn't want this to happen this way—not when you didn't know who he was yet. Not when he was pretending to be someone else.

“Jeonghan, please…” You nosed his jaw, and that's when he realised that you were calling him by his name.

“I– how did you—” He faltered, groaning when you ground down against him once more, his grip on your hips tightening once more to halt your movements. “Baby, tell me.”

“Minghao told me… I kind of confirmed it when we called that night.”

Jeonghan grunted, moving your head from his neck as he made you look at him. “You're… you're not mad?”

“Why would I be?” You murmured, a puzzled expression forming on your face. “You probably had your reasons, and I'm not going to get mad over you hiding your identity. I'm more mad at myself that I didn't figure it out sooner.”

You pouted, moving your hands from Jeonghan’s hair to his face, caressing gently. “Can you fuck me now?”

A choked-out noise came out of him as he faltered and got flustered by your blunt request. He shook his head in disbelief before shifting slightly to sit better against the headboard. 

“You're something else, sweets…” He muttered, stealing a quick kiss from your lips as his hands travelled to the gusset of your panties and tugged them to the side to see your glistening slit. His cock throbbed at the sight, wanting nothing more than to be inside your sweet cunt.

Jeonghan opened the nightstand drawer to grab the box of condoms Seungcheol usually kept, seeing that there were two condoms left. He gently lifted you so he could shimmy his sweats and boxers down to his mid thigh, his cock leaking and hard.

You watched as he clumsily opened the condom and put it on himself. Once he was done, he tossed the empty foil and tugged you closer, positioning you above his aching dick. He paused as his tip teased your entrance, looking up at you with half-lidded eyes.

“You sure you want—” Jeonghan cut himself off when you sank down on his shaft without warning, a moan leaving his lips as your wet heat clamped around him snugly. 

He watched as your thighs trembled when he bottomed out, your hips pressed against his as he raised you up and gently slammed you down, causing you to make such sweet noises that had him immediately addicted.

“Jeonghannie—” you whined, riding him slowly as he guided you, rolling your hips just right as his tip nudged against spots you wouldn't be able to reach with your fingers. “S'good—”

You looked down at him as he seemed to be focused on watching his cock disappear into your warm cunt, a groan leaving him before looking up at your face. You looked so fucked out, and Jeonghan loved it, his hips starting to meet your downward motions, thrusting up into you.

“You're perfect, sweets… everything I ever wanted—fuck, you're squeezing me so tight. You like that? Being everything I want?” He panted as he pressed soft kisses to your jaw and neck, slamming you down harder on his cock as he fucked you faster, not being able to help himself.

You felt wrecked, getting fucked so good by the same person you’d texted for over a week in his best friend’s dorm room. It was something out of a fantasy, and you couldn’t help but whimper when Jeonghan’s thumb found your clit, rubbing tight circles around the nub as he tried to lead you to your first orgasm.

“Jeonghan, fuck, I’m gonna cum—” You squeaked, feeling how your cunt got slipperier and the knot in your abdomen got tighter. 

Jeonghan only grunted at that, his assault on your bundle of nerves not stopping as he kept thrusting up into your tightness. “Cum for me then, milk my cock for what it’s worth, hm? Come on—”

You cried out when his hips snapped just right, his tip kissing your cervix as your orgasm came crashing down on you like a wave. Your thighs trembled, but you continued to bounce on Jeonghan’s cock until he blew his spend into the condom he was wearing.

“Too hot…” You grumbled, tossing your blouse onto the foot of the bed, leaving yourself in your black lace bra. Jeonghan also shed himself of his hoodie and t-shirt, revealing his lean body. He pulled out of you as he tossed the condom into the box before grabbing another one. You were surprised how quickly he got hard again, not expecting it at all.

Jeonghan flipped the two of you over, so that he was on top of you this time, kicking off his pants while undoing your skirt to toss it into the small pile of clothes that you had made on the floor. Your bra and panties joined the pile soon after, leaving both of you naked. You panted softly as he ground his cock against your slippery folds, his cockhead nudging your pudgy clit before he pushed into your wet hole once more. His grinds were slow and lazy, but Jeonghan filled you up just right as he took one of your legs and hooked it over his shoulder, managing to hit deeper spots from this position.

A soft grunt left him as he watched you mewl and whimper under him, your arm covering your eyes as your breasts bounced back and forth with each thrust. “You look so pretty,” he murmured, moving your arm and pinning it above your head, seeing your eyes glazed with tears as he cooed.

“Why are you crying, baby? Is it too much—” He almost sounded panicked, and you shook your head, not wanting him to stop.

“No–no, it feels so good, Hannie, I just—fuck, it feels so good—” You whined as your back arched off the bed, and Jeonghan couldn’t help but lean down and press soft kisses to the valley of your breasts, worshipping your body as he continued to fuck you slowly.

Jeonghan relished the way your pussy clamped around his thick shaft, sucking him in and milking him with your gummy walls. Soon, his hips started to move a bit faster, feeling his release building up with each second of being inside your needy cunt.

“I’m gonna cum,” he rasped out, his pelvis rubbing against your clit with every rock of his hips as your velvet walls continued to spasm around him with increasing vigour, signalling that you were close as well. 

It didn't take long for the two of you to reach your orgasms, with yours hitting you first and triggering Jeonghan’s as the two of you moaned softly.

“One more time, Hannie—” You keened out a whine when he pulled out, noticing how sweat sheened from his skin. He was softly panting, still holding your leg over his shoulder as he pressed a gentle kiss to your calf.

“Can't… We don't have any condoms left—” He crooked out, but you only tugged him closer when he threw the used-up condom into the box once more. His cock was still half-hard, and you were aching for more. Jeonghan murmured your name softly, chiding you when you angled your hips, so that your entrance would nudge against his bare tip. “We can't—”

“Hannie, please… I'm on birth control, I just need you inside me one more time, please.”

You begged, and Jeonghan was weak for you. He probably always had been, even when you didn't know him back then. He sighed, praying that his stamina would last one more time. “One more time, and we're done. I'm not gonna last much longer…”

He admitted, and you just nodded. He didn't have to last long, you just wanted to feel him—feel what it was like to have him raw and creaming your pussy instead of a condom. Jeonghan clenched his jaw as he pushed his tip into your bare hole and hissed softly at how wet and snug you felt without any barriers.

“Oh, fuck… I'm definitely not gonna last—” He grunted, filling you up with ease from how slick your walls and inner thighs were. “Fuckfuckfuck—”

Jeonghan groaned, his pace hasty as he drove his cock into your spasming cunt, gripping and sucking him in like a vice. His cock molded your insides, his cockhead abusing your cervix with each thrust as you squealed. 

You could feel your release building up once more, the heat in your abdomen unbearable as you clamped down on Jeonghan’s shaft, the band snapping and releasing hot slick around his length. The pleasure felt like hot lava against your skin, burning you as your back arched off the bed, making a mess out of Seungcheol’s sheets. Your pussy milked him, a milky ring forming around the base of his cock, and Jeonghan couldn’t hold it in anymore.

A guttural groan left his lips as his hips stuttered, movements stilling as he came inside you in hot spurts. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, not being able to hold in your keen whine as he filled you up to the brim until both of your mixed releases were leaking out of your used cunt to your ass down to the already messy sheets.

Once Jeonghan recovered, he pressed a soft kiss to your throat, pulling out as he watched his cum and your juices leak out of you before pushing it back in with his fingers. The action made you whimper, but you let him do what he wanted, watching him with lidded eyes.

“We made such a mess…” He grumbled with a soft chuckle, “Cheol’s gonna kill me for fucking you on his bed.”

“Future us’s problem,” you murmured, groaning deliciously at the ache of your body as Jeonghan grabbed some tissues to clean you up before crashing on top of you. “You’re heavy—”

You complained, but Jeonghan was out like a light, his breathing heavy and rhythmic as you sighed with a soft smile, drifting to take a nap as well.

At about 3 in the morning, you could hear banging outside the door. Jeonghan stirred first as he groaned, grabbing his pants from the floor before tossing his t-shirt for you to wear. You put it on, along with your panties, and when Jeonghan saw that you were fully covered, he opened the door to see a disgruntled Seungcheol.

The disgruntlement immediately switched from shock to disbelief at the sight of his bedsheets. “Dude.”

“Cut me some slack, you invited me to this party. Plus, I didn’t expect we’d fuck…” Jeonghan murmured, sheepish as he glanced at you with a soft smile and a wink that made you flush in embarrassment.

“You smoked my weed!” Seungcheol hissed, groaning as he looked around his room, noticing the half-eaten snacks, the almost-smoked blunt and the messy sheets you were currently sitting on. “Man, I was saving that pocky…”

He sulked as you looked at him apologetically. “Sorry, Seungcheol.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s his—” He pointed at his best friend with a glare before rubbing his face. “I’m crashing at Mingyu’s. I’m not going to sleep in my room for the next week. It reeks of sex and weed in here.”

Seungcheol grumbled as he grabbed a few clothes from his drawer and opened the window before muttering something along the lines of “unbelievable” and “fucking in my room”. He closed the door after himself, leaving you and Jeonghan alone once more. 

You pressed your lips into a thin line, stifling your giggles as Jeonghan covered his hand with his fist. “We should clean his room and head back.”

Jeonghan nodded at that, and you put your skirt on, still wearing his t-shirt, while he put on his hoodie before the two of you started tidying up his best friend’s room. Once you were finished, you held your blouse in your hand, leaving the room with a ‘sorry’ note with it.

Walking back to your apartment, you and Jeonghan had your arms linked together, giggling and talking about random shit. When you got to the bottom of your apartment building, he unlinked your arms, but didn’t let go of your hand just yet. 

“I’ll see you later for our date?” He asked, looking at you hopefully, and when you nodded, he sighed in relief. You cocked an eyebrow at that before he spoke up again. “I thought you wouldn’t want…”

“Jeonghan, I just had the best sex of my life. I think I’d want to still go on a date with you.”

“Just because I’m sexy? Or because you actually want to date me?” He pouted, teasing you as you rolled your eyes.

“Can’t it be both?” You compromised as Jeonghan hummed and pursed his lips, pretending to think about it before nodding.

He pulled you closer, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips before pulling away. “Both is good, sweets. I’ll see you later.”

You smiled softly, letting go of his hand before waving him goodbye and heading up to your apartment, still wearing his t-shirt.

“That’s one hell of a fashion statement.” Minghao deadpanned as you jumped once you closed the front door. You turned around to see your roommate, your two best friends, and Jun in the living room, visibly waiting for you.

“What does it say?” You entertained Hao’s sarcastic remark as you tossed your blouse into your room before coming back to where they were.

“It says, ‘I was clearly laid, ask me about it because I’ll definitely brag’. It’s quite obvious.” Joshua chimed in, watching as you grabbed a pillow and tossed it at his face. Your best friend let out an ‘oomph’ sound before throwing the pillow back at you.

You huffed at them, irked at the fact that they were all gathered in your apartment. “What are you guys doing here anyway? I get Hao, he’s my roommate, but you three? Wonwoo, how’d you get dragged into this?”

Wonwoo shrugged, pointing at Joshua, “He told me what happened, and as your friend, I came for support. So, are you going to tell us what happened during the party or what?”

“This is my sex life we’re talking about.”

“And? You’ve shared worse stuff, pipsqueak. Spill the tea.” Joshua seemed the most interested in the gossip, while Minghao just sat there, looking unbothered when he was lowkey listening. Jun and Wonwoo were too busy fussing over a game on the latter’s phone, but they were tuning in as well.

You sighed, sitting down on the free armchair by the sofa, before you started telling them about what had happened during the party. Deciding to leave out the three rounds of sex, Joshua was awestruck, Minghao was subtly judging, but at the same time, he was happy for you, while Jun and Wonwoo were still busy with the game on their phones.

“Now, get the fuck out of my apartment. I need to get some sleep before my date.” You pointed at the door, and Joshua whined but dragged your Wonwoo and Jun out of your apartment, but not before Wonwoo could say something.

“I hope he doesn’t break your heart, or he has four guys to deal with.” Your best friend offered you a smile before closing the door. You smiled at the thought of your friends beating up Jeonghan if he ever fucked up, and it warmed your heart, thankful to have such good friends.

After 6 hours of sleep, you woke up around 9 am, your phone buzzing being the reason why you woke up. You checked the notifications bar, seeing Jeonghan’s name on top.

Jeonghan: Good morning :)) 

Jeonghan: Can you come downstairs? I have something for you, sweets.

You: How are you downstairs???

You: We literally saw each other six hours ago.

You: I’m still in my pyjamas.

Jeonghan: Perfect. Could I come up then?

You: Yeah, I’ll open the door for you.

You got up from your bed with a soft grunt, looking at yourself in the mirror as you felt the soreness between your legs. A soft sigh left your lips when your intercom rang, prompting you to rush towards it and open the door for Jeonghan downstairs.

When he finally got upstairs, you opened the front door, seeing him holding two cups of what seemed like coffee and tea in one hand and breakfast from your favourite bakery. “Surprise?”

“You didn’t have to—” Your eyes softened as you let him in, closing the door as he took his shoes off after handing you the bag with your favourite pastries from the bakery. “How’d you know I liked these?”

“Well, uh…” He trailed off, his cheeks dusting pink as he strided towards your couch, looking around your space a little better. “I might’ve had a crush on you before the whole wrong number ordeal.”

You blinked at him, surprise filling you as you connected the dots further—the way he seemed to be awkward and nervous around you during the first few meetings when he was pretending to be Han and his flirty behaviour over text.

“No way—” You shook your head, sitting down beside him, surprise evident in your tone. “We didn’t even know each other back then!”

“Well, you didn’t know me, I knew you. We took Statistics together last year, too.” Jeonghan scratched his cheek awkwardly when you continued to look at him with an astonished expression. “I didn’t know Cheol knew you until a few weeks ago, and that was when I gained the guts to ask him for your number and message you, pretending that I had the wrong number.”

The explanation baffled you, but it made sense at the same time before you scoffed out a laugh.

“Jeonghan.”

“Mmm?”

“You couldn’t have made it any harder for yourself.” You snorted, and he groaned before laughing softly along with you. “Like, seriously. You could’ve walked up to me and talked to me.”

“It wasn’t that simple!” He covered his face, embarrassed, but he kept smiling, a little glad that you found the situation humorous. Jeonghan sighed softly when you finally stopped giggling, shaking his head at how cute you were before noting that it was quite quiet in your apartment.

“Is your roommate not home?” He asked as you hummed, taking a bite out of the pastry in the bag.

“Minghao usually goes to the gym before going for a three-hour nature walk around the campus park. He also takes his time to meditate by the lake, so he’ll be gone for a while. Why?”

Jeonghan just shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee as he watched you enjoy your food. He could get used to seeing you like this—dishevelled after sleep, face bare and hair sticking out from multiple ends. It was cute, and he’d been dreaming of this day.

You noticed his soft gaze on you, making you feel a little self-conscious. “Is there something on my face?”

“Huh-? No, no! I just… I’ve been kind of dreaming of this day, he murmured, smiling softly.

You tilted your head to the side, puzzled, before Jeonghan continued. “You know, uh, seeing you like this—dishevelled and whatnot. Just you.”

You swallowed the food in your mouth, blinking at him. “So, my usual grouchy morning self?”

“Yes.” He nodded, leaning back against the sofa.

“You’re even weirder in person, you know that?” You grumbled but cracked a soft smile. “I can’t say I hate it. Being my boyfriend and all.”

Jeonghan blinked at the words you just said, causing you to look at him with a confused expression once more. “What?”

“Say that thing again.”

“I can’t say I hate it..?” You furrowed your eyebrows, unsure, before Jeonghan shook his head and made a circular motion with his hand as if telling you to rewind.

“No, the other thing.”

“Being my boyfrien—oh.” Your cheeks flushed, looking down at your lap as you tried not to explode on the spot for saying that. “Is… Is that okay?”

“Is— Is being your boyfriend okay? Are you hearing yourself?” Jeonghan huffed softly before grabbing your shoulders and shaking you, “Of course, it’s okay. More than okay, actually—perfect, more so.”

You grabbed his arms and stopped him from shaking you, “Okay, okay—I get it!”

Jeonghan let you go and sat back down on the couch, grabbing his coffee from the coffee table before taking a long swig from it, and placing it back down as you finished your food. Once you were done, you crumpled the paper bag, and he wiped off the leftover crumbs from the corner of your lips.

“So…” You started, curious about what he had planned for today’s date, “What are we going to do today?”

Jeonghan only smiled, winking at you as he leaned back, “That’s a secret you’ll have to unfold later, sweets. I’m not fond of ruining surprises.”

A groan left your lips, too impatient, but knowing Jeonghan, he’d stay true to his word and not reveal anything until the date. You pouted slightly before taking a sip of your tea, humming at the hot beverage filling your system.

“Not even one hint?”

“No. Not a chance, sweetheart. Stop trying to ruin your surprise.” He squinted at you before flicking your forehead, prompting you to retaliate, but he didn’t let you as he grabbed your wrists.

“What if I don’t like surprises?” You argued and tried to tug yourself away from his grasp, and he rolled his eyes, keeping you close.

“Not my problem, sweets, you’re not getting any spoilers.”

Even with your insistence on having Jeonghan give you at least one hint, he only gave you one, very vague hint, which went somewhere along the lines of “you’ll love it” and “it’s something you really like”.

That hint didn’t really help, since he asked you to wear something casual yet pretty, so you were stuck between a white sundress adorned with tiny pink flowers or a loose V-neck sweater and jeans. 

Deciding on the former, you put on the dress, matching it with your white shoes, before heading back out to the living room, where Jeonghan was waiting. He was scrolling through his phone when he glanced up and saw you standing there, your hands behind your back as you awkwardly rocked back and forth.

“Stop staring like that—” You huffed, feeling awkward as he gaped at you before snapping out of it.

“Sorry—fuck… I, uh… You look pretty.” He got up from the sofa, walking over to you and grabbing your waist. “Like, really pretty.”

Jeonghan leaned down, nosing your cheek. “Wondering if we should go on that date right now or—ow, okay, okay, sorry.”

He snickered when you smacked him, grinning as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. That's when you heard a groan behind you, prompting you to turn around and see Minghao with squinting eyes.

“The two of you better not fuck on the couch,” He muttered accusingly before heading to his room, leaving you and Jeonghan alone once more. A giggle left your lips before you patted his chest.

“Let's go on that date, shall we, my lady?” He offered his arm for you to grab, and you smiled as you took it before heading out the door.

The two of you walked to one of your favourite bookstores near campus, which you hadn’t expected for your first date with him. “Bookstore date?”

“That’s not all, sweets.” Jeonghan grinned, opening the door for you as he let you enter the establishment. “I decided to ask the staff… And they let me rent the place out for two hours.”

Your eyes widened at his words, surprised at the fact that Jeonghan managed to rent the bookstore for a whole two hours. When you entered, you saw Kimmy—one of the workers in the store—by the register, winking and giving you a thumbs-up before waving a small green flag she held by the counter to promote books with green-flag men.

A soft giggle left your lips as Jeonghan led you to the small reading nook the owners of the store had agreed to make for you since you came by so often, and it was far from the main hall of the bookstore itself, so you had some privacy. The table you had there was set with a candle, and some food—takeout from your favourite Chinese joint that you frequented with Joshua.

“You thought of everything for this date, haven’t you?” You looked at him with a fond smile, and he hummed before grabbing a baby blue bag from behind one of the chairs.

“That’s not all. Sit down and open it.” He pulled the chair back for you, prompting you to giggle once more as you sat down comfortably and pulled out what seemed like a cinammoroll plush keyring. You glanced up at him with a slightly ajar mouth before he added, “Oh, there’s also an envelope, open it.”

Without another word, you grabbed the envelope and opened it to read, “Here’s my card. You have ten minutes to look around the store and five minutes to grab the books you want. Winky face, your boyfriend.” You looked at him, dumbfounded as he only chuckled.

“We’ll do it after we eat, it’s better to eat Chinese when it’s still hot.”

The two of you ate and conversed, giggling about the stupidest things as you reminisced about the things that happened a couple of hours prior. Jeonghan seemed to notice your flushed expression, grinning slightly. “You’re thinking about what happened last night, did you?”

“Shut up—” You squeaked, stealing a dumpling from his container, and he let you as he leaned his chin on his palm, looking enamoured by the sight of you. Feeling flustered, you took a sip of your drink before clearing your throat. “I’m full, so let’s do that thing, hm? I have a few books I’ve been eyeing, and I know the layout of this building like the back of my hand.”

“I’m going to be broke, aren’t I?” Jeonghan sighed with a soft laugh when you nodded, taking one last bite of his food before getting up and taking your outstretched hand, excited for whatever activity you had planned.

After the timer ended, you managed to snag about 8 books, two of which were textbooks, which made Jeonghan raise an eyebrow at you, but books were expensive as fuck, so if you had the chance to monopolise someone else’s money, you’d use it. The other six paperbacks were romance novels, with genres ranging from romantasy to standard romcom tropes.

“You sure like romance novels, huh?” He teased, looking through one of the books’ synopses, curious about the contents of the paperback, and opening a page where the main characters were having rough sex. Jeonghan whistled softly as Kimmy snatched the book from him, rang it up and put it in the paper bag. You thanked her as you waved goodbye while your boyfriend held the bag with your haul. “Are you sure you’ll manage to read all of these? Six novels are a lot, you know?”

You snorted out a laugh, shaking your head. “It’s the weekend, Jeonghan. I have a whole Sunday free, and my Mondays usually consist of theoretical science that I can miss because the professor sends video versions of the lecture anyway. I’ll manage to binge these in a day.”

That’s when you noticed Jeonghan’s slight pout, prompting you to raise your eyebrow at him before he sighed dramatically.

“Why are you pouting?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawled, still pouting. “My girlfriend would rather spend time with books for the whole weekend instead of her boyfriend—” You smacked him, cutting him off as he stifled his chuckles. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I mean, I could kick Minghao out for the day, and we can hang out in the living room without him side-eyeing us.” You shrugged, not thinking much of it, as the two of you walked towards the cafe, where you bought your tea from and bought some drinks before heading to the park to sit down by the small pond.

“How are you enjoying our little date so far, sweets?” Jeonghan asked, looking at you with a hopeful gleam in his eyes. You shrugged, causing him to gently nudge you. “Come on, tell me.”

“Honestly?” You looked at him with a soft yet happy smile, “It’s the best date I’ve been on in a while. You’ve outdone yourself, boyfriend.”

Jeonghan grinned, clearly happy with the praise, before he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, surprising you. “Perfect. How many boyfriend points do I get?”

“Boyfriend points?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, like… If I get enough of them, I get a prize or something.” He shrugged, making you blink at him.

“Jeonghan, we are not doing that. What are you, a toddler?” You snorted, and he made a face which you almost smacked him for again, but refrained. “We are not doing that.”

“Worth a shot.”

After your date, Jeonghan walked you back home and gave you a goodbye kiss that made you feel like you were on clouds. You felt all giddy, and you were giggling to yourself on the way up to your apartment.

Once you entered the apartment, you saw Minghao lounging around in the living room, watching something on the TV. He glanced at you before sighing, “How was the date?”

“Perfect,” you chirped, still smiling, which made your cheeks hurt. “I think he’s actually not real from how perfect the date went.”

“I’m sure you’re itching to tell someone the details, so spill.”

“You’re the best roommate ever, do I ever tell you that?” You sat down beside him after placing your paper bag with your new books on the dining table. 

“I’ve been told once or twice, yes.” He rolled his eyes, but Minghao was genuinely interested, wanting to know how your day with Jeonghan went.

“Okay, so…”

After talking about your date with Minghao and Facetiming Joshua and Wonwoo in the process, you managed to get some good night’s sleep. You couldn’t kick Minghao out for the day, so you had to cancel your plans with Jeonghan, but the two of you called for about three hours before you had to end the call because you needed food in your system.

While you prepared dinner, you found yourself texting your boyfriend, sharing memes or just talking about random messages.

Jeonghan: Whatcha cooking, good looking?

You: Just some cream pasta.

You: Reading was quite slow today. I only read 50% of the first book.

Jeonghan: That’s still a lot, sweets

Jeonghan: It’d take me about 3 days to get halfway through a book :/

Jeonghan: So, be proud of yourself for reading so much in one day

You: If you say so 🤷

You: Anyway, what are YOU up to?

Jeonghan: I’m playing video games with Cheol

Jeonghan: Kinda boring ngl

Jeonghan: Would rather talk with you ;)

You: Pfft, okay.

You: Play your silly video games with him.

You: And apologise about the weed.

Jeonghan: Just the weed?

You: And the pocky.

You: I don’t regret the sex, you know.

Jeonghan: Oh, I know ;)

Jeonghan: I’d so do it again even if we weren’t high

You: You’re evil.

Jeonghan: You like me so 🤷

You: Fair enough.

Jeonghan: I gtg

Jeonghan: Text you later?

You: If I don’t get immersed in reading, then yes.

Jeonghan: Okay, love u

You reread the message, trying to make sure you weren’t seeing things before turning as red as a tomato. He didn’t mean it like that, right? He meant it as a goodbye and not an actual ‘I love you’? You screamed into your hands, confused and flustered as hell.

On Jeonghan’s end, he was also screaming into his hands after sending you that last message, Seungcheol, looking at him with an ‘Are you fucking serious right now?’ expression. “Dude, you’re overreacting. It was just a text.”

“You don’t get it, Cheolie…” Jeonghan groaned as his best friend was more focused on the game he was playing rather than Jeonghan’s insistent whining. “I said ‘love you’ and not ‘I love you’ because I’m a fucking coward. And I wanna say it to her face, not over text.”

“Then do that?” Seungcheol paused his game, sighing softly.

Jeonghan only groaned, throwing his phone on his bed before rubbing his face from slight frustration. He wanted to do it so badly, but he felt like he’d be pushing it. “It’s too early for me to do it! I don’t wanna scare her off.”

He grumbled, and his best friend could hear his pout without even looking at him. “When did you become such a loser, Hannie?” 

Seungcheol teased, and Jeonghan glared at him, throwing a pillow at his friend.

“Shut up.”

A few days passed, and everything between you and Jeonghan was going smoothly, going on quick cafe dates in between classes, sharing lunch with your friends, or just spending time together in general. 

You were getting used to the whole boyfriend/girlfriend ordeal, not being used to having someone in your space besides your roommate. But you found yourself enjoying it more than you expected, liking the comfort of having someone to lean on for once. It felt lighter to have someone who could carry your burdens with you and vice versa.

It was a Friday afternoon, you had finished most of your lab work early and decided that Minghao had to go for the day because you wanted Jeonghan to stay over, and he just gave you an obvious look that meant ‘I know what you’re planning to do and I’m letting it slide’.

You were huddled up in a blanket, cuddling with Jeonghan on top of you while you played with his hair with one hand and read a book with the other, occasionally moving your hand from your boyfriend’s hair to flip a page. 

A soft grunt left your lips an hour into reading, prompting Jeonghan to move his head from your chest. “What is it?”

“Nothing… I mean, not nothing, I just don’t wanna move at the moment,” you grumbled softly as your cheeks burned. You didn’t want to ask him for it. No way.

“Do you need to pee or something—”

“No, no! It’s just…” You trailed off, your cheeks and ears dusting red as you tried to spit it out. “There’s a sex scene I don’t really get.”

“Ah,” Jeonghan murmured, causing you to flush further from embarrassment, before he tutted softly, “Well, that can’t do, can it? What’s the scene? Read it for me, baby.”

“O–oh, uh, okay…” You cleared your throat. “Harlan angled my hips, spreading my legs wide, teasing his cock against my slit before pushing in—”

“Okay, I got the gist of it, geez. I forgot most of those romance books of yours are in first person,” he grumbled before taking the book from you and placing it down on the coffee table before shifting slightly between your legs. “That’s just simple missionary, sweetheart. Why are you so confused?”

“Because there’s more, Hannie. Let me finish, will you?” You huffed, grabbing the book once more, and he chuckled before nodding. 

You cleared your throat again and continued, “Pushing in with one easy thrust, my pussy squelched from how wet he’d gotten me. I whined, trembling like a leaf as I pawed my enemy’s chest—”

“They’re enemies?” Jeonghan cut you off, gasping dramatically as you rolled your eyes and continued reading.

“—looking up at him so fucked out and dazed. He pumped his shaft into me a couple of times before flipping me around to my stomach without pulling out, burying my face into the pillows of my bed. He grabbed my hips up and started fucking me harder while muttering the lewdest things into my ear.”

You finished reading the part of the page, Jeonghan’s eyes half-lidded as he licked his lips. “I got the gist of it. You wanna…?”

Your thighs clenched around his hips, signalling him that you indeed wanted it. A soft groan left his lips as he slipped off the blanket from your bodies, his hands starting to roam along your hips and waist, pushing up the t-shirt you were wearing to reveal your bare breasts. He expected it, since the two of you were home, but he still enjoyed the sight. 

A whine left your lips when he leaned down, latching his mouth onto one of your nipples, suckling and gently biting while he rubbed your other nipple with his thumb, switching between them so neither would feel neglected. Jeonghan continued his ministrations until you were panting and your nipples were wet, coated with his spit and aching with pleasure.

“Gonna fuck you better than what that dumb book described, mmkay?” Jeonghan crooned against your neck, yanking your shorts and panties down your legs, and throwing them on the floor. His hand ghosted over your wet slit, teasing you as he spread your pussy lips open, watching as your tight hole clenched around nothing and gushed with slick that drooled down to the leather of the couch.

“Hannie, please…”

“Hmm? What is it, pretty baby?” He cooed. “You need to be patient. I wanna take my sweet time with your sweet little cunt this time.”

“But–but, you were gonna show me—”

Jeonghan shushed you softly. “I said I’m going to fuck you better than what was described in your book. So, be a good girl and take what I give you, hm?”

You moaned at that, nodding as he touched you with reverent caresses, whispering sweet nothings into your ear before pushing two fingers into your wet heat, scissoring your sopping cunt as it squelched lewdly at his movements. Jeonghan stretched your inner walls, feeling them snugly flutter and wrap around his digits. His palm grazed your clit just right, pulling soft whines out of you as your thighs tightened around his hips.

Once he was satisfied playing with your sweet pussy, he pulled his fingers out before shoving them into his mouth and let out a groan. When he finished sucking off your juices from them, he smiled at you. “So sweet…”

Jeonghan didn’t waste any more time, shoving his sweatpants down, freeing his heavy, leaking cock. He looked at you, begging and reaching out for him, so he decided against looking for condoms, and it wasn’t like he had any with him to begin with.

Lubricating himself with your slick, his cockhead nudged against your bundle of nerves a couple of times, causing your legs to tremble and twitch before Jeonghan finally lined himself up against your entrance. Due to how slippery your hole was, he easily slipped in, a guttural groan leaving his lips as he felt your raw cunt around his cock once more.

“Fuck, fuck—you feel so good… Your pussy is sucking my dick in so good, sweets.”

“Hannie—Jeonghan, fuck—I, I, hngh—”

You whined out, grasping the material of the oversized hoodie he was wearing before he quickly shed it, so that he could feel your nails against his skin. You nailed his upper back, causing Jeonghan to hiss in both pleasure and pain from the sharp sting. He then started gently rocking his hips into you, each deep thrust knocking the air out of your lungs. 

Your boyfriend’s eyes darted down to where the two of you were connected, and the sound of his cock bullying into your cunt was enough to make him grit his teeth and think of basketball statistics to prevent himself from coming way too quickly inside your spasming hole.

Jeonghan groaned your name softly, peppering soft kisses all over your neck and jaw before he flipped you onto your stomach without pulling out, just like what you had read in your book. Something about him easily manhandling you made your stomach flutter and your walls to squeeze around his dick as he pulled your hips up towards him, your ass up, while your face got buried in the throw pillows.

“This is what you wanted, right, baby? Getting fucked from behind like a pretty little thing in heat—” Jeonghan grunted softly as he grabbed the globes of your ass, the fat dimpling under his grip as he spread your cheeks apart to watch how his thick length filled you up. 

You could feel how his dick twitched inside you when he saw the messy white ring forming around the base of his cock, his thrusts getting slightly sloppier and harder as he licked his lips. Your moans were muffled but still loud enough to spur Jeonghan on and made him drive his cock deeper into you—hitting spots you couldn’t reach yourself. The way his tip grazed against your cervix made you squeal and push yourself back against him, your back arching slightly from pleasure.

One of Jeonghan’s hands let go of your ass cheek, moving down between your legs to rub on your neglected clit, making you keen out a whine and your hole to clench around him tightly. Your toes curled as the heat in your gut expanded and licked at your tingling nerves.

“Jeonghan—I’m… I think I’m gonna—”

“Let go, baby, let go for me.” 

You whined at that, letting go as you let your orgasm crash through you, making your back arch further as you pushed yourself closer to him, as Jeonghan’s hips stuttered when your velvet walls milked him for his cum.

A choked grunt left his lips as he stilled his motions, burying himself deep inside you as he spilt hot, thick spurts of cum into your messy cunt. Air was knocked out of your lungs as you recovered slowly, hearing your heartbeat in your ears as your vision was slightly blurred from the overwhelming pleasure.

You whined in protest at the loss of Jeonghan’s cock when he pulled out. Turning your head, you saw him panting softly, watching your leaking hole as he pushed his cum back into your used cunt. That was when he tugged you, turning you around as both of you were leaning against your heels. He caressed your cheek and kissed you softly, leading you to sit on his lap as he leaned back against the couch until he was lying down, before pulling away.

“Sit on my face.”

The request caught you off guard, unsure about sitting on his face after he had just come inside you. But he seemed set on you sitting on his face, gently yanking your hips, causing you to grind on his abs accidentally. Your sensitive clit grazed his skin, and Jeonghan moaned at the mess you were making on his abdomen.

“A–are you sure-? I don’t—”

“I’m sure, sweets, ride my face. Let me clean that cute little pussy up.” His grip on your hips gently tightened before letting go, so that you could crawl over and hover your dripping cunt over his face. Before you could even stabilise yourself, Jeonghan pulled you down, his mouth latching onto your sensitive cunt immediately. He didn’t care about your mixed juices, only wanting you and your sweet wetness.

A moan left Jeonghan’s lips as he lapped you up, tongue flat against your slit as he messily made out with your cunt. You grasped onto his hair, tugging and gripping for support as you started to grind yourself against him, his nose nudging against your clit just right, your release building up faster than the last as soft mewls left your lips as your boyfriend cleaned you up. His grip on your ass tightened, eating your pussy out with increasing vigour as he felt you clench around his tongue.

Your orgasm hit you like a wave, toes curling as you wailed in pleasure, your eyes fluttering closed as your hips stuttered against his face. Once Jeonghan was done with drinking up your juices, he easily lifted you from his face, shifting you onto his lap before pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“I guess we broke the rule about fucking on the couch.”

The two of you went over to your room after the situation on the couch. Jeonghan was peacefully napping on your bed while you were silently admiring your boyfriend, playing with some strands of his hair. Noticing your sketchbook on your desk, you decided to grab it along with your pencil and eraser before you started to sketch.

Before you knew it, you had a sketch of Jeonghan with some details, smiling to yourself, and not noticing him stirring awake.

“Whatcha smiling about?” He rasped, his voice groggy after his nap. “Are you drawing?”

He seemed curious, so you showed him the sketch. Jeonghan’s eyes softened at the sight, in awe of the piece of art you had done in such a short time. “You’re talented, sweets.”

“Thank you… It’s something I took from my mother.” You smiled as you flipped through the pages, showing him more sketches, mostly of him, which surprised Jeonghan, but he was secretly very pleased.

After giving him a glimpse of your sketchbook, you closed it before placing it on your nightstand and huddling close to him. 

Jeonghan pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, happy in your arms. “I love you.”

The confession was soft, but full of meaning, and you couldn’t help but hug him tighter, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

“I love you too, Hannie.”

“No take-backs. You love me.”

You could feel his grin against your skin, which made you roll your eyes before giggling.

“I do.”

FIN~

Taglist: @joshujin @wonushy @imissmyseventeen @bramos91

Likes and reblogs are appreciated!

[hanwooz]

why take the SAT when you can write lyrics for lee jihoon

[ashlinxloves]

—Han to the Sol—

Random texts between you and your boyfriend—Vernon!

A/N: like I said Vernon has been climbing my ranks and I can't stop with the smaus so you get one of him! Also dedicated to my moot eia ( @noniesgummysmile ) I hope you enjoy this :))

Warnings: none! Fluff and silliness

Taglist: @imissmyseventeen @joshujin @bramos91

[belovedgyu]

wrong side - kim mingyu and lee dokyeom

⚬ pairing: lee dokyeom x fem! reader x kim mingyu ⚬ word count: 10 k ⚬ warnings: loads of sexual tension, intimacy, nsfw language, distress, smut, nicknames for the reader (bunny by dokyeom and sweetheart by mingyu), MDNI ⚬ genres: mfm, throuple, friends to ???

songs recommended: - acid by felly and max schneider (!!!!) - the boy is mine by ariana grande - pillowtalk by zayn

This wouldn't exist if it weren't for my glorious queen rae @nerdycheol matching my freak! thank you for listening to my brainrot in the lounge diva!! 🩷

another messy love triangle by belovedgyu who else is surprised??

author's note: (extended a/n at the end <3) pardon any grammatical errors because this is unbeta-ed because i dont like people correcting me (jk, i didnt have time to heh) umm...idk man, i just had a vision and whipped this up in the last 24 hours for my fellow seokgyu girlies, now its your duty to thank me by praying for me that my very important exam next month goes well or else i'll delete my blog istg

Tonight, the October wind bites deeper than before. 

Another piece of fabric swooshes down on your bed, discarded by your overtly enthusiastic mother. By your side, your dog Hero, flopped on his belly and utterly exhausted by the sight of so many colors and sparkly accessories, lets out a mournful sigh. 

“Mom, quit it.” 

You press your feet harder down on the soft rug, pretending to read a random short story from some mystery anthology you don’t even remember the name of. 

“Hush,” she scolds, glancing briefly at you over her shoulder before diving back into your closet again, “sure there might be something you’d feel comfortable wearing—”

“Even if there is, I’m not going.” Your clipped words land like a verdict. 

“But you always used to spend Halloween with him.” Is the argument.

“It was all before he went off to his fancy private college and began throwing these themed costume parties, mom.”

You slide your glasses over your hair, pushing your bangs up and effectively avoiding looking at the dejection on her face, “he didn’t even invite me.”

“Invitations?” your mom gapes like you’ve demanded Dokyeom’s hand in marriage, “when I was your age, during this time of the year, we’d just stroll into whatever party was thumping around the block with nothing but a witch’s hat and a bottle of cheap beer. And Dokyeom is your best friend, not some random guy in the neighborhood.”

“I don’t know if he wants to see me mom, he would have at least called if he cared.” Your words come out more rushed and insulted than you intended them to. 

The soft, pink glow visibly begins draining off your mother’s face. It is an instant jolt in your chest. She’s standing there, by your open closet in her Morticia Addams’ attire—one she couples with your father for your aunt’s annual halloween dinner tonight—trying to encourage you to come out of the slump you’ve been rotting in since this summer. She should be giving herself some finishing touches…a sheen of gloss over her lips, one final curl of mascara, rechecking if your dad bought the right kind of pie. Not tending to your depressive rut. 

“It’s okay mom, I don’t mind not having any plans tonight.” You lie softly, “you should enjoy yours. Go.”

Your mom hesitates for a moment, it's evident she’s debating staying back for one last attempt at convincing you that just a few splotches of red over your white silk dress when paired with her wedding veil would make a good haunted-bride costume. 

But then, when your identical eyes meet and she remembers just how insistent you can be, her ambition simmers down into a shaky sigh. 

“Fine, honey. As you wish.” 

She neatly folds the dress over her forearm, smoothing down her palm over it once. Then twice. Almost as if she’s ruminating over the image of you wearing the scarlet splotched dress just for the fun of it and laughing with people your age at the party two houses down. 

“Mrs. Lee told me he’s here with his friends from Uni, mom.” You mumble, “I don’t think he needs me.”

“You know him better than I do,” your mom mutters more to herself than to you, shutting off your closet with a soft click, “but what I know is that not needing someone doesn’t mean not wanting them either.”

You shut your book a little too hard.

⸻

Up until four years ago, Halloween used to be the time of the year you’d look forward to the most. 

Golden slants of mellow warmth kissing your skin from between the cross-knits of your cardigan as you spent your entire days in your backyard reading classics and waiting for the bone-chilling winter to fully set in. The smell of baked treats topped with powdered sugars, nuts and cinnamon that’d melt into a sticky goo between your fingers. The evening walks down the road to your best-friend Dokyeom’s house—your chin shivering under your scarf and your boots crushing the crunchy, browned leaves. He’d accompany you for your October festivities of exploring the local woods and cabins with your loyal pup Hero in tow. 

But as the years went on and days turned from the hustle of school hours and homeworks to the bustle of high-school parties and cliques, your autumnal excursions had shrunk by a significant amount.

It started small. A missed pumpkin trail here, a canceled bonfire there. Dokyeom would text you an apology—always too warm, too kind—and you'd reply with a thumbs-up, pretending it didn’t sting. You told yourself it was normal, just growing up. 

But growing up, turns out, feels a lot like growing apart.

By the time senior year rolled around, Halloween had stopped feeling like yours.

Dokyeom started hanging out more with guys like himself—tall, broad-shouldered, all sunshine and spirits, voices too loud and confident and cheery. The kind who’d just nod at you in the hallway whenever you hesitated around Dokyeom at school, just a polite dip of the chin, the ‘go ahead’ like you needed their permission to talk to your friend. 

You didn’t blame Dokyeom. Not really. They had the same classes, same after-school clubs, the same glowing futures ahead of them. They looked good side by side—sharp minds, steady hands. The golden boys. Everyone said so.

Rather you blamed yourself for being so meek and docile. For never being able to keep up with the pace with which everyone around you was advancing. Even Dokyeom. 

Especially Dokyeom. 

You relive every single evening of high school still very vividly. The college applications he’d send out with a confusing balance of nerves and confidence while you struggled by his side to form a list of schools that you had a chance with. 

“You’re selling yourself too short with this essay.” Mingyu, one of Dokyeom’s many golden friends, had remarked when your too busy friend deferred to him the task that you had asked Dokyeom’s help for—helping you proofread your applications. 

“Don’t remember asking you.” 

The speed at which you snatched the printout away from Mingyu was almost humiliating, but you were too busy trying not to let the tears prickling at the corner of your eyes slip out to care. 

Mingyu simply rubbed the back of his head, like he hadn’t anticipated to clarify himself for crossing some boundary he didn’t know existed. 

“Dk’s busy, but he really wanted to help you… so he asked me.” 

You remember the way your chest tightened at that. How even the good intentions in Mingyu’s voice felt like splinters. That was the moment you knew you were slipping out of Dokyeom’s orbit.

And he wasn’t reaching out to pull you back in.

“Hey, I wanted to—”

Mingyu had begun saying something that day, soft yet distant as always, perhaps another diplomatic attempt at smoothing things over.

But you just ran.

And to this day, you hadn’t let him finish. 

⸻

By the time your parent’s car rolls out of the driveway, the moon hangs soft and silver in the star-splattered onyx. You clutch Hero’s leash tighter in your hand, looping the soft rope tighter over your hoodie clad wrist. The large, shabby, old dog shoots you a wary glance, like he can easily see through your act of 'just taking him on a walk' when your underlying intentions are as clear as a hot summer’s day in this chilly night. 

Nearly every front yard is costumed in some eerie Halloween finery—pumpkins carved into jagged-toothed grins flicker with the soft glow of candlelight, their insides dripping wax like melting ghosts. The air is thick with the scent of autumn, of decaying leaves and caramelized apples. A sharp, crisp bite in the breeze makes you zip up your hoodie even further.

You don’t walk towards the direction of Dokyeom’s house at first. 

You don’t have the guts to. 

Even as Hero tries to nudge you towards the house thumping with neon lights, loud house music and drunk laughter, you steer him in the street opposite to the one where people your age are milling in and out like insects. 

But you can only resist for so long. 

Because once you’ve completed one partial lap of the block, you spot a car too familiar to ignore pulling in the Lee’s driveway. 

The mint cadillac. 

Dorothea Morris. 

Something hollow slips from between your ribs and shatters in your gut with a loud crash. 

She gets out, flips her curls over her denim clad shoulders, plasters on her usual practiced ballerina-poise and enters the house like she’s one of the names on the lease. 

Wow. 

Dokyeom had the time and thought to invite a girl he dated for less than four months back in high school. 

But not you. 

A question pops up in your head…one which wonders about the fate of the framed photograph of the two of you clad in your black graduation robes, grinning cheeks pressed against each other. 

Does it still hang on his bedroom wall?

Or did he remove it to make space for something more important now…

You push the thought away just as the door to the Lee house opens once again. 

Someone familiar steps out. Shoulders as broad as the doorframe, a cigarette pinched in one hand and a glass bottle swishing with amber in the other. He halts for a brief second to lean down and greet the sweet brunette who just reached out to ruffle his hair and tug at his collar to call him back into the heat of bodies and music. 

Before he can turn around and see you lurking on the street, body twisted towards your house but eyes glued onto his friend’s window, you’re already pushing in through your front door—fingers fumbling around the metallic keys and the nylon leash, confusing the two vastly different materials as you try your best not to lurch and slam your body against the wood. 

As soon as you’re in, you secure every lock and latch in place. A nervous double check. A shivering sigh. It comes out broken. 

Hero tries to rub his body against yours. But he’s too tired from his unusually late night-walk. His eyes droop as he abandons your icy knees in barter against the warmth by the fireplace and nuzzles his nose deep into his paws on the rug. 

By the time air returns to your lungs, you walk slower, shoulders hunched, your scattered scarf doing little to keep the cold out. 

Halloween is next week, but you haven’t carved a single pumpkin. 

Hero’s leash hangs by the door, untouched. Your own bedroom feels like haunted ground.

You used to believe October was magic. 

Now it just feels like mourning with glitter on top.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re not ready to see the ghost of a boy who was always larger than life to you—especially not when you’re still learning how to live with the graveyard within you.

⸻

When the doorbell shrills, signalling the arrival of your parents back home, you find yourself jolting up not in your bed, but on the rug that cushions the floor by it. 

The book you dozed off reading lies by your side, digging a red imprint over your soft skin. You’re not even surprised at the state of you, turning days into nights reading and then waking up in weird places has been a new norm ever since your graduation this summer. 

You don’t bother pulling a cardigan over your short, silk cami-dress as you make the trek from your room to the front door, the sleep humming deep under your skin being too heady to give way for the cold to even register. 

A few fumbling seconds later, the front door hinges open with a creak when you’re finally able to undo the latch on your tip-toes. 

Instantly, you regret being too lazy to take a look through the peep-hole. 

Because the shadows that fall over you when the door creaks open are too tall and muscular to belong to either of your parents. 

You blink your bleary eyes slowly at the first form, lashes fluttering and your exhale cracking in the middle when his big smile deepens. Your gaze darts away from his hard, chiseled body rippling under his white t-shirt, then back to his friendly eyes. 

“Hey bunny!” Dokyeom chirps, making you jump at the nickname only he got to call you by. “Were you sleepin’ already?” 

When the initial shock wears off, your brain is able to detect the slur on his tongue, but he doesn’t seem drunk…just relaxed.

The first thought, and perhaps even a movement, that your body tries to convince your mind to follow is to throw your arms around him and hug him until all the jagged memories of the past years are cushioned by the natural softness that exists between the two of you. Innocent and caring. Juvenile. The kind of bond that exists between two hearts whose seeds sprouted at the same time and whose roots twisted and fibered so close that it’s nearly impossible to ascertain where one life ends and where the next begins. 

But you fist your fingers until you feel your nails puncture the sweat-slicked skin of your palms, severing the root of the delicate flower that is ripped out first from the ground. 

You file in the sharper lines that mature his face now—a sense of manhood that his Instagram has been unable to capture over the years. 

And his glimmering eyes that rake over the rumpled up hem of your short silk dress. 

And his friend who’s standing there too, just a step below, his expression somewhere between amusement and genuine concern. 

Mingyu. 

“Dokyeom,” you clear your throat, shifting your attention back to the smirking idiot before you, “what are you doing here?”

The boy pushes the door wider for himself, causing your weak grip to slip off the panel, as he enters. Like this isn’t the first time in the last four years since graduating high school that you’re in the same vicinity as him. 

His smile is too sweet, his walk too unfazed and his air too cool as he walks into your house, jerking his head at his buddy to get in. 

Mingyu, although not nervous in the slightest, hesitates for a beat. 

His eyes flick down to you. 

And for the first time in… perhaps, forever… you stare at Mingyu, eye to eye. 

There’s a strange half-smile on his face. Almost inquisitive. 

He knows he can come in just like Dokyeom. 

He knows you won’t stop him. 

But it seems like he wants to test you out. To see how you’d react when instead of being a social doormat, you’re put in a position to decide for yourself. 

Mingyu sincerely waits for your permission to be let in, then why does the tension between the two of you thicken like it's a challenge?

Behind you, Dokyeom is kneeling by the fireplace and petting Hero, blissfully unaware of the roulette of heated nerves and unspoken words between the two of you. 

Your wide eyes hold Mingyu’s darkening ones for another long moment until your lips part. But he leans in against the doorframe at the same time, slouching like he has the entire night to wait here for your permission, and that little gesture alone makes you forget what you intended to say. 

When did Dokyeom’s stupid, lanky friend get so intense?

You clear your throat, “do you… are you going to come in?”

“Do you want me to?” 

This man standing in front of you—broad shouldered, lips dipped somewhere between a smirk and a scoff, mischief glinting in his flirtations—is so fucking far away from the boy you remembered being glued to Dokyeom’s side throughout high school. 

He used to be so quiet with a gaze like frostbitten glass, transparent but cold to the touch. The type of guy who never said much unless it was necessary, but who always seemed to understand everything. 

Now he spoke in circles and lingered long enough to make you squirm. 

Your eyes slip down from his face, to the sculpted curve of his neck, down to the hard muscles of his chest straining his plain black tee. Your grip tightens on the door, like it was the reason behind the tingling sensation thrumming in your nerves all of a sudden. 

Meekly, you step aside, feeling the need to use your legs before they collapse from the strain you are applying to keep them clenched tight under the silk slip. 

Mingyu’s eyes sweep all over you, not to memorize, but more like in revision of what he had learnt a long time ago. The same soft, nervous energy in your body. The constant squirming and fidgeting. The refusal to hold the gaze of anyone who wasn’t Dokyeom for longer than five seconds without panicking. 

You. 

So you. 

His steps falter for a beat but he enters your house regardless, helping you close the door with his elbow effortlessly because you seem to be glued awestruck in your spot, staring at God knows what on his chest. 

You hear him put the latch back in its place, the shallow snapping sound of metal hitting wood making you jolt. 

“You’d get cold.” He explains, like he wants you to know he’s not intending to trap you in your own house. “You’re barely wearing anything.”

Instinctively, you tug at the hem of your night-dress, suddenly too aware of the goosebumps dotting the soft flesh of your thighs and arms, or how it takes everything within you to not shiver each time a gust filters in through the cracked windows. 

“I wasn’t expecting company.” You mutter, lips pressed into a thin line.

What is happening—is what you want to ask. But that would make you seem too naive, too defenseless…out of control, even, in this situation. 

So you try to assert authority. “Why are you guys here?” 

Your voice comes out quieter than usual. 

Mingyu doesn’t answer, just looks in the direction of where Dokyeom was supposed to be, next to Hero. 

Except for the fact that he isn’t anymore. 

Strange. 

You crane your neck to see if he’s anywhere around…in the kitchen? The drawing room? Where did he disappear so suddenly?

“Dokyeom?” you call out, beginning to walk towards the fireplace. 

Mingyu trails behind you. You would see him roll his eyes with utter boredom if you turned around.

But you don’t.

Because when it comes to looking for Dokyeom, your vision and attention always pinholes. 

“Dokyeom?” You call out again, your voice carrying just a trace of irritation now, echoing through the half-lit living room. 

The only response is the faint cackle of a new, blue flame swallowing wood and Hero’s curious little whine from behind the couch.

You frown, turning slowly on your bare heels. The soft rug tickles your toes. Mingyu’s quiet footsteps pad close behind, his presence like a shadow that doesn’t quite touch you but still feels tangible enough to raise the fine hair at the back of your neck.

“Maybe he—” you start, glancing over your shoulder, but the rest of your sentence dies on your tongue.

Because suddenly, someone grabs you from behind, locking your wrists tighter with each other. You shriek out so loud that it alerts Hero who is now pawing at your attacker from the side. 

But Dokyeom doesn’t care, only laughs at your predicament, winding his free arm around your abdomen as you impulsively arch away from him, and slams you back against his rigid chest. Even Hero calms down when he recognizes the familiar face slotted over your shoulder. 

His warm chuckles lick the exposed curve of your neck as you try to catch your breath which comes out in short, broken, cold spurts. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” You squirm in his hold, trying to break free while Dokyeom only tightens his grip over your significantly shorter body.

“Happy Halloween, bunny.” He smirks down, giving you one last squeeze—an act which sends something red hot to shoot through your entire system for a split second—before finally letting you go. 

“Halloween isn’t until the weekend.”

The glare you send his way is lethal and full of rebuke, it gives you an excuse to blame the flush on your skin on the faux anger instead of whatever the hell you just felt in your chest. 

“But my party was tonight,” he sighs, leaning against the back of your couch and crossing his arms. “Why didn’t you come?”

You blink at him, incredulous. Rubbing the wrist that’s comparatively more sore than the other, you try to step away— not because you necessarily have to, but because you’re afraid his presence is meddling with your sensibility a little too much.

But as soon as you lift your feet, your ankle bumps into something large and hard. Something that isn’t supposed to be behind you in the room. Or someone. 

Oh. 

Mingyu.

You almost forgot he was here too. 

Why didn’t he intervene when Dokyeom nearly spooked the shit out of you? 

This diplomatic piece of shit. 

Your anger surges even higher than before when Mingyu doesn’t budge even after you bumped into him, almost deliberately territorial of his space in your house. He only shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his hoodie and tilts his head slightly to the side, looking down at you like you’re a kid’s puzzle. 

He verbalizes your name for the first time in the entire night like a question, his voice low and smooth.

And then, “tell us, why didn’t you come?”

Despite the lack of space the boys have rendered you in, you try to hold your ground—even when your voice shivers at how their shadows loom over you in the dim lights. 

“Because you didn’t invite me.” 

You hate how pathetically small that sounded, so you instantly bite your bottom lip. To prevent tears? To avoid giving them more humiliating reminders? You don’t know. 

The nonchalance in Dokyeom’s stance vaporizes almost instantly. He straightens up to his full height, his arms slowly falling back to his sides. Behind you, Mingyu softens too, no longer looking down at you in that pseudo-mocking manner. The two exchange a glance. 

“I did,” Dokyeom forces a laugh like that could fix this, sobering up enough to pull his phone out. 

A few twitching taps of his thumbs against the slick screen later, he flips the mobile towards the two of you to take a look. 

“See, I did!”

You squint your eyes to get a better look, but Mingyu is quicker. He retrieves the phone from Dokyeom’s drunk grasp before it clatters on the floor and takes a second look at it before shoving it back to his friend’s face. 

“You texted Bonny,” Mingyu says, “not ‘bunny’, dumbass.” 

“Who’s Bonny?” You interrupt. 

“Someone from uni,” Mingyu dismisses, before turning back to Dokyeom, “seriously dude, how drunk have you been since morning?”

Dokyeom snatches his phone away, rechecking the text and the name of the receiver like he believes Mingyu’s playing some prank on him. 

“I texted her after doing shots with you, man,” he mumbles, “did Bonny show up?”

Mingyu rolls his eyes for what seems like the hundredth time tonight, “she’s in her hometown, how would she—”

“Hello?” You interrupt the two of them, pulling their attention back to the root of this discourse—you. “The ‘bunny’ you were supposed to invite is right here. And very confused.”

Dokyeom blinks at you like your presence has just been reintroduced into his reality. 

“Oh, right,” he says, drawing the words out with a sheepish grin. “My bad. The autocorrect thing—”

“—doesn’t explain why you showed up at my door at midnight,” you cut in, rubbing a hand down your face. The exhaustion from your nap and the adrenaline from his little “Halloween prank” are now crashing into each other, leaving you equal parts irritated and dazed.

The silence that follows is thick, only broken by the faint ticking of the clock above the mantelpiece. 

Then, in a sudden burst of his usual carefree charm, Dokyeom pushes off from the couch. “Okay, fair. My bad, again.” 

He steps closer, placing his hands together in a prayer motion.

“Consider this a peace offering? We brought snacks. Well,” he pats the side of his jacket, something glossy rustles underneath it, “I brought snacks. Mingyu brought… whatever that face is.”

A playful smile finally crests Mingyu’s mostly stoic demeanor so far into the night. “Well your ex would certainly categorize this face as a snack too…”

“Low blow, man, low blow.” Dokyeom interrupts too urgently. 

And just like that, you’re forgotten news again. Expected, when it comes to these two. 

You contemplate throwing the bickering duo out. It's a tempting thought, but equally as imaginary when you consider it requires you to twist the collars of two men almost twice your size and drag them out of the door. 

Well, you could try, you don’t think either of them would resist that with strength. 

But you don’t want to cross any lines which have been blurred and re-etched into tighter boundaries in the last four years. 

So you just step away, intending to quietly slither back to your room, lock the door, ignore their banter and immerse yourself back into your book until you fall asleep again, trusting them to either see themselves out or be thrown out by your parents whenever they return. 

Only if—

“Ow!” You yelp as soon as the half chewed, jagged edge of one of Hero’s many wooden toys penetrates the sole of your bare feet, sharp white pain flooding through your leg when your ankle twists as well. 

You would have injured yourself further by losing your balance had it not been for a strong muscled arm wrapping around you in a blink. 

Dokyeom steadies you, pulling you into his body for the second time tonight. And again, it’s a sensation too nerve-wrecking for you to be ever able to familiarize yourself with. 

“Careful bunny.” He whispers, still not letting you go even though your legs are stable on the cold hard floor. 

You try to suppress it, but a wince breaks apart from your pursed lips when you try to put your weight back onto your injured foot. It's a hiss too soft, but the pain swirling under it doesn’t go undetected by your friend. Not when he has half your body practically mashed into his own, your proximities so close that you can feel his heartbeat thumping against your cheek and smell the faint, malty beer fading away in his sobering breaths. 

“Lemme see,” Mingyu is already crouching down on your other side without allowing you any window to react. 

He holds your injured leg gently a few inches above the ground, careful eyes searching deep for any sign of some serious cuts or bruises. 

While Dokyeom keeps pouncing upon you every chance he gets—he’s always been touchy-feely since the start—this is the first time Mingyu’s skin brushes against yours.

And God, it shouldn’t feel so electrifying. 

What crests that pulsating tremor surging through your veins even more is when Dokyeom’s fingers over your ribs tighten, dangerously close to the swell of your breasts that lay naked under your silk slip, at the same time as when Mingyu’s palm smooths from your ankle all the way up to the back of your knee, lingering with maddening heat over your calf on its way up. 

“You twisted it pretty bad,” Mingyu mutters looking up at you, “but nothing some good old ice can’t fix.”

You’re barely making sense of his words, for all your neurons are bunching up in knots and erupting with the revelation that his thumb is right there, so close to the hem of your little dress, rubbing circles on the back of your thigh. 

There’s no right reason as to why they are touching you the way they are. 

But reasonability has never been your strongest suit. Not when it comes to the boy in whose embrace your body sighs in like his warmth is your homecoming. 

You’ve long realized just how deep your devotion and yearning has been when it comes to Dokyeom. Even right now, you should be mad at him for barely ever reaching out, for ranking your worth in his life so low to a point that a stupid autocorrect could erase your presence.

But you find yourself sighing in his hold. 

There’s no longer that familiar, nervous flutter in every inch of your skin—one that pacifies only with him. 

And it is scandalous…no, it is blasphemous that you’re letting some other guy on his knees make you squirm like this while Dokyeom’s right there. 

You should tell Mingyu off. 

You should worry about what Dokyeom thinks of you right now—watching you allow his best friend to cradle your leg even though it's completely unnecessary.  

You should definitely tell Mingyu off. 

But before doing so, you steal one last glance towards Dokyeom. Like you’re seeking some permission you don’t need.

Dokyeom doesn’t own you, after all. 

However, when your eyes meet, Dokyeom only smiles down at you, almost…proud? 

And before you can say anything—

“Dokyeom put me down!” 

You shriek as he hauls you up clumsily. 

You can see his alcohol induced light-headedness catch up to him as he closes his eyes for a second, sways a little when your full weight settles on his forearms and stumbles back for a moment. 

“You’re hurt, bunny,” he muses, regardless, “can’t let you walk all the way up to the stairs on a broken foot.”

“My foot isn’t broken!” 

Your arms tighten behind his neck, you tell yourself it's because you’re scared he’d drop you down. But deep down, under the mounting concern of it all, thrums an unmistakable thrill in your very bones—one which acknowledges just how tight his other palm is pressed over your naked legs. And how good it feels. 

When Dokyeom attempts to take another step, he almost repeats the same mistake as you—stepping on that wretched toy. But just before he can, and just as you snap your eyes shut waiting for the impact of your body meeting the floor, there’s a movement so swift yet so sure that it might’ve just been the air’s doing. 

Mingyu kicks the toy away, grabs hold of Dokyeom’s bicep in one palm and snakes his other hand beside Dokyeom’s to settle under your knees, sandwiching you between two, hard, male bodies yet again. 

God, you’re definitely dreaming. 

That’s the only right explanation, isn’t it?

But instead of letting you dream some more, Mingyu tugs at your body towards his own, pulling you from Dokyeom’s arms and into his own. 

“You’ll both fall this way,” he explains to no one in particular. Dokyeom just nods, loosening his grip over you and letting you go. 

Oh. 

Getting passed around like this was certainly not on your bingo card for the night.

But your arms unwrap from around Dokyeom’s neck to settle rigidly over Mingyu’s shoulders instinctively. 

Unlike with Dokyeom, you don’t deliberately press your body into Mingyu’s. In your head, you try to keep it strictly platonic. Your eyes are zeroed on the fabric of his shirt more than on the curiosity on his face as Mingyu stares down at you. 

“Is this okay?” He asks once. 

Delirious, you simply nod. 

“I can walk though,” you attempt, still refusing to look up at him, “I think.”

“You can’t,” he keeps his voice low and soft as he begins carrying you up the stairs, “besides, DK won’t let you.”

You glance over his broad shoulder to find Dokyeom following the two of you with that same, self satisfied, smug grin lilting his lips—one which hasn’t left his face all night. 

You want to brush it off as mischief. But your gut tells you that ‘strategic deceit’ is the better adjective to describe this entire triad. 

It feels so weirdly treacherous. And heady. 

You wonder if Mingyu can sense the space you’re trying to etch between your bodies when you shift a little, or how your nails dig just on the expanse of his shoulder, refusing to move up to his neck or slide down to his chest—a soft sheen of sweat dampening your palm as you try to maintain that stiffly polite grasp on him. 

You try to restrict your nose from inhaling too much of his scent and then memorizing it because you know that whatever is happening right now is an unfortunate mirage at best or a heartless prank at worst. Yet you still find yourself learning the feeling of his fingertips on your skin regardless. 

You always imagined what it would feel like to be touched by Dokyeom in a manner that would mean something. 

But you never introduced Mingyu into any of those daydreams, let alone expect your body to weep the way it does when he finally severs the intimate physical connection off as he lays you down on your bed. 

He doesn’t leave you, not instantly at least.

His body hovers above yours, palms planted on either side of your head as he makes you hold his gaze. Each time you try to shift your eyes away, this strange anticipation tickles you…like any moment now, he’d just grab your face and force you to look at him. 

But he doesn’t, because doesn’t need to. 

You’re staring at him, voluntarily. And a realization that you’ve dreaded for all these years—perhaps which is the reason why you never really looked at him before tonight—slams against your chest like an unmanned truck on slippery asphalt. 

Kim Mingyu is beautiful. 

From the curve of his face to the honeyed undertones of his skin, the freckles on his face—each one so perfect as if carefully placed, the low dip of his lips…

Wrong. 

Wrong. 

So fucking wrong. 

And as if right on cue, Dokyeom walks into your room like a reminder of everything warm and sugary that has ever harbored a place in your heart. Like an explanation of why admiring Mingyu like this is wrong.  

Brilliant and bright—this is the guy your heart has known. One who doesn’t have to get you vulnerable and pinned down to look at him, but looking at whom is basically a second nature of yours. 

Dokyeom plops by your side on your bed while Mingyu pretends to fluff the pillows up for you, acting like he wasn’t holding you hostage in this haze of heat and heartbeats just a few moments ago. 

“Bunny you don’t mind us crashing here tonight, do you?” Dokyeom’s words are muffled as he rubs his face into the warmth of your freshly washed sheets, “too tired from the party.”

Your eyes stretch wide at the idea. “Dokyeom, you need to go home.” 

“Why?” he whines, “we used to crash at each other’s all the time.”

“That was back when we were kids!” you argue, “you can’t stay in my bed now.” 

“You’re making it sound more scandalous than it is, bunny…you dirty…dirty girl,” he sighs, blinking so slowly until his half lidded eyes shut down fully. 

“Dokyeom!” you whisper yell, but do nothing that would actually wake him up. You turn back to Mingyu who’s standing on the edge of your bed now, “did he just…did he just pass out?”

He answers you with a shrug. 

“Oh God.” 

The heels of your palms dig deep into your eyes, your sighs too exhausted. 

“I…uh, I’ll wait in the living room until he sobers up.” Mingyu offers. 

You shift on your bed a little, “no, it’s too cold down there.”

Something unmistakable and hopeful shines in his glassy eyes. 

But before it can fully settle in, you interject, “besides my parents might come home anytime now and I don’t want my dad to shoot the stranger in the living room.”

“Right, right…that would be tough to explain.” he runs a palm through his hair and you notice just how better this recent length suits him than whatever the hell was going on on top of his head back in school. “I’ll just take the rug then?”

Dokyeom chooses that exact moment to hog up your blanket and this time, you don’t stop yourself from doing what you’ve been wanting to do the whole night, even before he showed up at your doorstep. 

You slap him across his face. 

It isn’t something too violent or spiteful, just an irritated manifestation of all of your frustrations—light enough to not leave a mark but hard enough to make him whimper in his sleep. 

From the foot of the bed, a warm, short-lived chuckle emanates through the otherwise cold room. 

Mingyu fetches you another blanket from your wardrobe and just as he hands it over, you verbalize an offer before it can finish processing itself. 

“It’s cold… just come to bed, Mingyu.”

⸻

You expect to wake up with clarity next morning, but the moment your eyes adjust to the soft morning gold streaming in through your half cracked window, it's only a hazy daze. 

There’s so much that’s not supposed to be. 

Like the multiple metallic chains currently weighing you down, restricting any movement that’s not a desperate wriggle. Or the sweltering bursts of heat scorching your skin like some unseen force is floating you above a furnace, an occasional flame licking your skin. The silk that was supposed to be a barrier between your body and the world has completely melted into you, becoming one with your flesh to a point it is impossible to ascertain what fibres are your body-hair and which ones are the threads of your dress. 

Well, okay that was a bit dramatic. 

But the limbs curled over you are sturdy and rigid, even heavier with the weight of sleep. You blink, drawing strength from nothing before you can get yourself to take a look and identify what arms and what legs belong to whom—afraid that the revelations might be too gut-twisting for you to be able to cope. 

Craning your neck a little, you take a peek.

Mingyu’s arm is curved under your chest, causing your breasts to be squished against his veiny forearms, while his palm cradles the side of your head, tilting your face closer to himself. He’s lying on his stomach, body twisted towards you as he faces you. Eyes shut, lashes fluttering, lips just slightly puckered giving him a blip of a pout. The fingers of your left hand, you realize, are bunching up the fabric of his t-shirt almost tentatively—like they couldn’t decide if they wanted to tug him closer or keep him at that distance. 

The heat from the burning furnace you dreamt of earlier, you realize, was actually the warmth of his shallow breaths grazing your face. 

You turn to your right, to Dokyeom.

Just like Mingyu, he’s lying face down, but facing away from you. His limbs are more territorial, though.  One arm wrapped tight over your waist, binding you down to the bed, while his leg is thrown across your thighs, sealing the deal.

But none of that matters when your eyes have something better to focus on, something far more exhilarating. The swift movement of his toned muscles under the skin of his back with each rhythmic breath is a sight you had only ever imagined so far. But here, existing in real time, it’s more raw and aching. Sometime during the night, he must’ve sleepily removed and tossed his shirt in the dark as it now lays abandoned half over your laptop, half on your messy desk, leaving Dokyeom shirtless, half naked, in bed with you. 

When you open your mouth, it’s only to let the upsurge of air threatening to burst your lungs out. But along with that exhale, a sound—low and devastated—flutters out too. 

“Mornin’...” Mingyu gruffs from your other side, pulling your attention to him as he rubs his scrunched up face into your sheets. 

You hear the low sounds of his achy muscles cracking when he unwraps his arm from around you and shifts a bit further, allowing you more space to breathe.

Movement returns to your neck. But your predicament is far from over. Because you’re still imprisoned in Dokyeom’s unforgiving embrace. 

Mingyu, with his big frame crumpled uncomfortably in the corner of a bed too small and soft for him, beams at you so harmlessly, watching you struggle. Despite still having all his clothes on—even his hoodie—he looks so stripped down this way…doused in relaxation, lacking all his sharp lines and obvious display of enormity. 

Amused, he watches you struggle some more before finally having mercy. He kicks Dokyeom’s leg off of you and wounds his own arm above Dokyeom’s unguarded one on your abdomen—and tugs, effectively jerking you away from Dokyeom and into his own chest. 

One of your palms inadvertently comes up before your chest can meet his, a thin barrier of shivering flesh and air warmed by bodyheat separating you both. You’re both lying on your sides now, facing each other as his fingers absentmindedly trace patterns over your lower back. A position surprisingly more intimate than whatever was going on earlier. 

Your dress is certainly bunched higher than it should under the blanket. But you don’t seem to care, too lost in the dizzying nearness of him. And that underlying sense of wrongness—one which screams so loud yet so forced down as though originating from underwater every time Mingyu comes closer to you than he should. 

A faint scent of clean cotton and his fading, Earthy cologne rises like fumes between you both. 

“You look like you fought for your life in your sleep.” He chuckles, voice still smoky and rough around the edges like a dream broken. 

“Maybe I did.” You mumble, “you both treated me like a pillow.” 

He only smiles fondly at your complaint, still not letting you go even though there’s no reason for him to be cuddling you like it’s the most natural thing for the two of you. 

But who’s complaining? 

Not you, for sure. Not until Dokyeom wakes up because with him, you’re sure your guilt would too. 

But they’re both lying dormant right now… and a sick, twisted part of you wants to do nothing to disrupt this moment. 

“Your hair looks so good in the morning,” he blurts out of nowhere, the twinkle in his eyes hidden under a curtain of his messy hair aging him down significantly.

“I’m sure it’s messy.” your cheeks flame up with consciousness, your fingers now twitching to feel a hairbrush between them or just fix your bangs for once. 

“No,” he argues, and begins describing you as if he’s reciting his favorite poem just from memory, “it's soft. You look soft. Delicate…like a petal. You always do, but even more so right now.”

Your mouth falls open, a breath forgetting it’s way inside your throat, making you choke on nothing. 

He gages your shaken reaction for a moment before continuing, “you should have come to the party yesterday, y’know? I missed you.”

He doesn’t stop, even when your skins begin to flush. 

“You were there, almost. Weren’t you? I saw you. Lookin’ so fucking cute in that big ass scarf and those earmuffs. But then you ran away… and it only made me want to come after you more.”

You close your eyes, a brief image of a rabbit…a bunny… being chased by a wolf flashes behind your closed lids. 

Last night, when you invited Mingyu to your bed, you didn’t think much of it.

Honestly, you panicked more about Dokyeom being there.

You assumed it was because you never thought of Mingyu as someone you’d even remotely dream about getting intimate with. 

It was Dokyeom. 

Always has been. 

So it was only natural for you to panic more about the subject of your wet dreams sharing the pillow you concocted those said dreams on rather than worry about the quiet presence of someone who only ever followed him around like a shadow. 

But who knew shadows can scorch you too with buried desires and overshadowed longings when they finally catch up to you?

Eyes still cinched close, you feel Mingyu’s palm slide up from your lower back painfully slow all the way up to the nape of your neck, his long fingers getting tangled in your mussed up tresses and the chain of your locket.

For a few moments, that’s all he does—caress. And when you open your eyes, just a slit to let the reality of what’s happening before you sink in not just through touch but also through vision, he sighs. 

Maybe you’re hallucinating. 

Or maybe, his face is indeed getting closer, his heartbeat clearer as it thumps under your curling fingers, his lashes fluttering like they can’t decide between staying open to take you in or falling shut to feel you in. 

His palm on your neck doesn’t jerk you closer or restrict you in any way. Just cradling. Gentle and pliant. A sort of quiet support that eases your nerves when his fingers rub circles on your skin. 

And then, like a prayer murmured at one altar but answered at the other, his lips meet yours. Tentative. Reverent. Impossibly soft. 

Your natural reflex to a kiss this sweet should be to melt, but you only turn frigid. An icicle buried between two boys. 

Your eyes go wide. 

Fingers frozen over his shirt. 

Lips? Unresponsive. 

There’s frost in your lungs, spreading so rapidly that you can physically feel your blood beginning to thicken and slow down in your shrinking veins.  

The only parts of your body that still feel alive are the goosebumps on your skin which stand alert as if guarding you from getting caught in this sin, this debauchery.

But there’s another part of you that flutters with life, a part you don’t want to acknowledge—your lower abdomen.

Something begins to bubble in there, something which was slow and sluggish till now. Almost like lava triggered by a single pindrop. 

It does the work your heart is supposed to do—pump heat throughout your body. 

But before that warmth can reach your face—

Mingyu pulls away. 

You never responded to his kiss.

He looks uncertain…almost, apologetic? 

Like he just misread something sacred and doesn’t know how to revise it. You watch him waver the way a candle flame does before succumbing to the wind. He doesn’t say anything, but disappointment hangs around him, delicate and invisible as mist. It clings to his lashes, to the corners of his mouth where a smile almost used to be.

And you hate that. 

That’s the last thing you wanted. 

And the first? Well… him!

“I–” he begins, and you can only imagine what he was about to succeed it with. –am sorry? –didn’t know? –crossed a line?

Alas, you’ll never know. 

Because you swallow that succession right from his mouth when you lean in and slot your wet, hungry lips against his open ones. 

Your hand finally gets the permission from you to stop knotting and unknotting his shirt and just explore him. His skin feels like an unfamiliar territory but that only exhilarates your ever curious heart. Your leg moves up to wrap around his waist—a gesture he responds to by using his hand to secure it there by grabbing hold of your soft thigh. 

The fervor with which he begins deepening this kiss when your fingers tug at his hair is maddening, but what tips you off the point is when you feel him. Really, fully, feel him. Not just his scent melting into yours or his muscles pressing against your curves, but his growing hardness settling into the space between your thighs.

A seductive flame leaping on coal. That’s what it is. 

You both respond to each other eagerly–muffled groans, stolen sighs, playful pinches and what not. But there’s something far more severe under that eagerness, something more hurried — urgency. 

You kiss Mingyu like he’s a guilty pleasure, an indulgence. A piece of the most sugary candy ever while being on the strictest diet. You're trying to squeeze all the pleasure from each bite you savor before a flash of rationality unavoidably takes over and holds you back from reaching for more. 

You’re well aware of the promise you’re breaking with yourself, a promise you didn’t even know existed. 

‘This isn’t Dokyeom,’ that nascent rationality screeches, rapidly growing in size. 

‘I know, I am only imagining that it is him,’ you lie. Not because you don’t want to kiss Dokyeom—the amount of times you’ve prayed for that is only between you and God. But because right now, you want to kiss Mingyu. 

This is wrong. So wrong. Wrong guy. Wrong side of the bed. 

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. 

But you don’t want to stop… you can’t stop. 

So you kiss him furiously ensuring that by the time you part, there’ll be deep maroon crescents on top of his lips. Bruises you'll leave as reminders, warnings, threats to never mess with your plans like this ever again. 

Mingyu, in turn, only smirks and slows down, letting you assault his lips with your teeth and the fierce movements of your tongue. He’s enjoying this. Like he’s not afraid of getting caught by Dokyeom, like he couldn’t care less about disappointing his friend. 

Well, technically, he has nothing to lose in this situation. He isn’t doing anything wrong.

Dokyeom has never laid a claim on you with a title beyond that of a “friend.” 

Then why does it feel like you’re cheating on him?

Perhaps, the only one being cheated on right now is the part of you that devoted your mind and soul to him even though he never asked for it. That stupid, naive, juvenile girl within you who believed in endgames and soulmates. 

Mingyu’s touch…this moment…it's all her undoing. 

And you don’t know if you should be thanking him or suing him for murdering her. 

There’s sweat on your bodies like lust made visible. Your breaths get rougher and heavier. But none of you pull away, like sleep and dream clinging on to each other even when the alarms blare and the sun shines. 

“Mhmm, you guys got started without me?”

He sighs from behind you—the owner of your heart. 

You nearly shove Mingyu away, but not before giving him a little kiss on the corner of his lips. So contradicting, so confusing. 

In the last minute or so since you’ve been making out with his best friend, you didn’t ponder much about what Dokyeom’s reaction would be if he woke up to this scene unfolding before him.

But his hand snaking over the curve of your ass, his nose nuzzling in your neck while he plants little kisses all over your exposed shoulders isn’t how you expected him to deal with this. 

“D-Dokyeom?” you whisper, hoping that short, one-worded question will give you all your answers. 

But he only chuckles low, cups your face and makes you mash your lips against his own—shamelessly swiping away whatever remnants of your kiss with Mingyu remained there. 

One of your palms still rests over Mingyu’s face, and perhaps it’s your imagination, but you feel his sharp jawline tense for a brief second. 

You care about him as much as you care about the changes in the menu of a cafe you never go to, though.

How can you when it seems like angels themselves interfered here to solve all your predicaments? Dokyeom’s not mad at you for kissing his best friend in the same bed as him. There’s no rifts being stretched or assumptions being made. If anything…he only seems pleased? Strange. 

But it all shrinks before the vastness of this moment, the sheer significance of it. 

Lee Dokyeom, your best friend of over twenty years, is finally kissing you. In your bed. After a full night’s worth of hugging and hogging. 

It’s perfect. 

He’s perfect. 

Unlike Mingyu, Dokyeom kisses you not like a test but like a challenge he has already won. Palms secure over the nooks of your body, he tugs you closer. You use one of your arms to wrap around his neck, matching his passion by squeezing him close. Though, your other palm stays buried under Mingyu’s cheek—you tell yourself it's because you feel bad for him. 

Dokyeom doesn’t care that he’s taking away whatever air is left in your system after your feverish kiss with Mingyu, he just plunders. Hurried, desperate, nearly savage. 

And when he nips at your lower lip, you realize that he’s brandishing you with the same bruise of teeth on skin that you left on your previous companion just moments ago. 

By the time you pull apart—or rather by the time your perked up breasts catch more of his attention than your broken breaths do, you feel impossibly heated, wet and ruined. 

“What…what is going on?” you stare at Mingyu’s war-torn eyes, the only pools of mirror you can look in because the only other person who holds answers has his face buried in your cleavage. 

Shame should be shadowing your entire existence at this moment—Dokyeom biting, sucking, tasting you while someone else watches. But you only feel yourself blooming brighter than ever. Craving more of whatever this newfound thrill is. 

“God, bunny, you always smell so sweet.” Dokyeom ignores your earlier queries before diving in to lick another trail across your sternum all the way up to your chin. “Still using that strawberry perfume, hm?”

Ideally, you should just jerk them both away and demand answers. 

Is this something they both planned before you even let them in your house last night? Or are they just reacting to the succession of circumstances like you are? 

What are they—the master strategist of this game of desire and undeniable lust, or just two victims of their impulses who lost all control in your presence?

But before you can pull that dramatic bit off, Mingyu’s mouth is back on yours. This time, more adamant than before. 

Dokyeom’s lips are still buried somewhere between your neck and chest, murmuring sweet nothings. 

And you? Writhing, moaning, trying to suppress your greed to see what unfolds further and failing miserably at it. 

“You let Mingyu sleep in your bed, too, bunny?”

Dokyeom rests his jaw over your breast while Mingyu begins peppering your cheek with small kisses, allowing you room and sanity to answer. 

“Y-yes…” you whisper lower than you should, as if confessing to some crime. “It was cold everywhere else.”

“So considerate and helpful.” Dokyeom hums, nuzzling his nose in the valley of your breasts, “You’ve always been like that, haven’t you? My caring, sweet, little bunny.”

You don’t know how to respond to that, so you just close your eyes and tighten your grasp over his hair and on Mingyu’s. 

Dokyeom lifts his head, shifting up a little. Closer, a bit higher. 

“Would you help me with something, too?” He asks. 

Before you can finish your hitched nod, you feel it—the unmistakable hardness, all length of him poking against your plush hip. 

“Dokyeom!” you keen when you realize just what he wants help with. 

Softly but surely, he secures your palm into his own. Fingers slotting so gently against yours as he guides you under the blanket. 

“You’ll help me bunny, won’t you?” His warm breath lands on the shell of your ear. 

Gingerly, you nod. 

He wastes no time after that to have you slip your palm under his sweatpants, little fingers wrapping around the velvety hardness. His own hand stays above yours almost as if in guidance until the surreality of this moment sinks into your skull and you’re able to grasp at least some control over your body. 

Dokyeom sighs when you begin moving your palm across his length. Short, jerky movements alternating with longer, languid ones as you turn your head to give some attention to the guy on your left as well. Absent-mindedly, all three of your bodies begin slotting closer and closer until the two boys are physically hogging each half of you. 

Someone’s fingers grab your breast, another’s are kneading the flesh of your bottom as you continue to jerk Dokyeom off while making out with Mingyu at the same time.

Dokyeom makes peace with biting and sucking the skin of your neck instead, decorating it with patches of maroon. Sometimes, his teeth sink deeper than what you’re used to and you whine which only motivates him to wilder on you, get rougher with you. 

You really don’t know when you learned how to multi-task like that. 

But you manage.

Because this is Dokyeom. Your Dokyeom. Someone your heart has always craved to be in this position with. 

And because on the other hand is Mingyu. Someone your mind hasn’t been able to stop thinking about since last night. 

Every brush of their tongues against your skin are like confessions uttered in a confessional you can’t crawl out of. Because here, they’re your devotees. And you’re the altar. 

Dokyeom begins rutting his hips further into your grip and you find yourself buzzing with the need to relieve the fire bubbling between your legs by copying his movements on something. Or someone. 

You’re faintly aware of either of the boys’ giant palms rubbing your lower belly and you want to rip your lips apart from Mingyu’s to yell at whoever it is and tell him to just move it a bit lower. But each time you try to pull away, and mutter barely half a syllable, Mingyu’s lips chase you back down. 

You make a show of whimpering against him and desperately tugging at his roots, almost begging with your body for him to help you because judging by the volume of Dokyeom’s moans and the erratic thrusts of his body against yours, you know your best friend is in no position to relieve your ache. 

“What do you need, sweetheart?” Mingyu hums against your lips, “why are you crying?” 

You realize that he isn’t teasing you by saying that when you feel a fat pearl of liquid escape your lashes and roll down your temple, disappearing into the unending waves of your hair. 

“Touch me,” you whisper, brows furrowing deep with utter desperation. “Please touch me, Gyu.”

If the ruined wreckage of your appearance—lips swollen scarlet, teary eyes wide and glassy, breaths sputtering—didn’t convince him, it’s that nickname uttered like the world’s most needy plea, absolutely unignorable, is what seals the deal. 

You barely ever looked at him. Yet here you are, squirming in your bed and begging him for relief. 

A sound escapes his throat before he can restrain it, like he needs to do something, say something, to be able to accept the truth of what’s unfolding before him. His arm quickly slips from your breast down to the apex of your thighs like if he doesn’t hold you so close and intimate, he might never be able to hold you ever again. And that might just be the most cruel curse he has to live with.

Unfortunately for the both of you, he doesn’t have to do much—you’re so overstimulated, so overwhelmed and sensitive that the moment his fingers as much as brush over the fabric of your lacy underwear, you fall apart. Well that coupled with the fact that it is the exact moment when Dokyeom’s fingers dig deeper into your flesh as he erupts in your palm too.  

“Fuck,” Mingyu grunts low as he feels the rapidly growing warmth and wetness in your panties as you let go in waves of pleasure. 

“Fuck!” Dokyeom exclaims too, still in the throes of pleasure and clingy to the point of pain. 

“Fuck…” you sob, biting your lips and clenching your thighs over Mingyu’s palm, almost humping him throughout your orgasm while Dokyeom’s release begins thickening over your fingers. 

“That was…” Mingyu begins.

“Amazing,” Dokyeom smiles, nuzzling his face deeper into your pillow with that same shit-eating grin at the same time as when you mumble, “unbelievable.”

For several moments, none of you remove your hands away from each other’s bodies. You stay just like that—Dokyeom’s face buried into the crook of your neck while your own rests over Mingyu’s pecs. One of your hands is buried in Mingyu’s hair as you keep him close while the other is still in contact with Dokyeom’s softening girth. Legs intertwined. Dress hiked up to your waist. A mess of sweat and saliva and something far more sinful. 

You have so many questions to ask—how did we end up here? Did you guys plan this? What now? Do you both always…

But you don’t ask them because you don’t know what answer would be the one to break the limits of your sanity. 

So you stay mum, letting your labored breaths be the only sound emanating out of you as the boys begin moving. Mingyu adjusts your painfully angled body into something more comfortable, placing a pillow for you to rest your leg on while Dokyeom cleans your sullied palm with the wet-wipes from your night stand. 

“Bunny…you’re incredible,” he compliments in between, “damn, I don’t think I’ve ever jizzed in my pants like a fucking loser before. But you’re…fuck you’re so hot.”

You give him a small smile, that’s all you can manage through the dizziness that clings to you like wet leaves right now. 

Mingyu clears his throat from the corner of your bed, but that indicator isn’t meant to pull your attention, you realize as the boys exchange a look. Dokyeom nods, just a slight dip of his chin, almost invisible had you not been zeroed in on him like he’s the only thing to have ever mattered. 

Tearing his gaze away from his friend, he softens again when he looks at you. 

“Bunny, I—”

That’s when you hear it, the unmistakable sound of utensils hitting the dining table. 

Shit. 

Shit.

Shit!

Instantly, you shoot up from your bed, tugging at your dress and clawing at the sheets to remove the evidence of the last hour from your bed. 

“Is that…your parents?” Mingyu asks just watching you through the flurry.

“Who else would it be!” You whisper yell at him, stumbling through the room to toss Dokyeom’s discarded t-shirt at him. 

“But I didn’t hear them come in at all last night, I mean, the front door—”

“There’s a thing called a fucking garage door Kim Mingyu.” You argue, “get out, both of you!” 

“Wait…how—” Dokyeom begins, rubbing his eyes and stretching the fabric of his shirt over his exposed abs. God, what a waste. 

“I don’t know, just get out!” you screech, “I am not letting my parents find out that their daughter just had a weird, freaky threeway with her best friend and his best friend on her bed!”

Mingyu peers down from your window, “Uh, I guess we can…it won’t hurt, don’t you think—”

“Mingyu, don’t jump out of the window.” You deadpan, then turn to Dokyeom, “just sneak out like you used to!”

“I was half this size then!” 

“I don’t care!” 

“Bunny you’re being unreasonable—”

Your banter is cut short when your dad calls out your name, reminding you to come down for breakfast. 

“God this is a nightmare…” you slump down on your rug, utterly dejected, “we’re not making it out of this one.”

a/n:

i laughed soooooo hard writing this, esp the bunny and wolf line because girllll what are you sayingggg!!! i wasnt lying when i told you guys im sitting on a vault of fics lol, this was supposed to be a longer one heh, but i realized i didnt have the time to and i lowk wanted to release something unserious for halloween.

not entirely pleased with my writing here i wrote this super quick and tbh, i havent really been able to feel creative in the past few months but we push through because art is the cure to all burnouts!! and again, who caressss

n e ways, i might extend this story if i can find the time to, i already have sumn sumn planned in mind for these horndogs!!

meanwhile, im not kidding you fam you HAVE TO pray for me to do well in my exam if you wanna see me again!! this might be the last fic you get to see from me (for a while)

soooo, goodbye i guess , heh.

happy halloween! stay in school! stay hot!

perms: @mellowamour @novalpha @lovelylonelinesssvt @gyuguys @scoupscious

@jicheolsol-lover @sumzysworld @lllucere @seungcheolsblackcard @wakandabiitch2

@helloiliketits (special tag for the special username always!)