❥ Genre: MDNI 18+ | established relationship, angst
❥ Word count: 400+ (sorry)
❥ Notes: this is my first one shot/fic ever so please read it with grace and if there’s anything i should work on please let me know :) !
You’re doing your usual spring cleaning around the house—the normal mopping, wiping down everything, and I mean everything. You feel like being a little extra today, so you decide to dust the cabinets.
Grabbing your duster and climbing your step ladder, you swat away the dust when something catches the corner of your eye: something blue. It’s a blue box with a ribbon.
What could it possibly be? “What the hell-?” you say, wearing the most peculiar look on your face. You open the box. Pictures. There are pictures of a couple—a happy couple. You look closer and realize that one of those people is your boyfriend. Mingyu. Why would he keep these? Why would he hide them?
You rush down the step ladder and into his office.
“Baby, I was just coming—” he starts, but stops speaking when he notices the hurt in your eyes. “Y/N, what’s wrong?”
You don’t respond. He looks up from his desk, his expression shifting from focus to surprise as he sees you holding the box. His eyes widen slightly, recognizing what you’ve found. Mingyu stands quickly, a mix of guilt and anxiety crossing his face.
“Y/N... I can explain…” You cut him off.
“I’m going to ask you one question, and I’m only going to ask it once.” He waits for the words to leave your mouth, bracing for what’s to come. “Do you still love her?” you ask, a cry escaping your throat.
“Y/N it’s complicated…I-” He breathes out with a piece of guilt attached to it.
“You didn’t answer my question…” You say looking deep into his eyes but it doesn’t connect because his eyes are fixed on the box in your hand.
He closes his eyes briefly, the truth evident in his pained expression. When he opens them again, they meet yours directly. “Yes…” His admission is quiet but honest, as though it physically hurts him to say it out loud.
You can’t even make out the words; your mind is running all over the place. All you can do is cry—a sound that escapes your throat.
His face crumples at your cry, guilt washing over him. He reaches for you instinctively, but stops himself midway. “I never wanted to hurt you with this. I tried to move on completely. I really did. For you.”
Your feet start moving before you even realize it, and you slowly back away from him.
“Y/N, look at me… please,” he says, reaching for you.
Before you know it, your body hits the floor, your knees pressing against your aching chest, and your lungs feel like they’re going to burst out of your chest.
He lowers himself to your level. “You have to believe me. What I had for her is nostalgic…”
Summary: It's been a while since Mingyu and yourself have explored life outside of your busy schedules. Lucky for you, an engagement announcement leads to a weeklong vacation, and it brings a little more than just relaxation and a multitude of reasons why you fell in love in the first place.
Pairing: Mingyu x afab!reader | ft. cheol & chan
wc: ~9.2k
tw/tags: slice of life, established relationship, long-time sweethearts to lemme give u my last name, non-idol members, fluff, smut, sort of pwp?? but there's SOME plot, very needy and whiney Gyu (no surprise there), sort of dom!reader, pussy whipped gyu, semi-exhibitionism (friends are close by), blue balling, dry humping, oral fixations, TEETH, come swallowing, slight pain kink, mouth fingering, hair pulling, pet names; puppy, baby, babe, love, brat, dork, pretty boy etc...
< envy yaps: this wasn't the fic I intended to post for gyu, but since i scrapped the nearly 90% completed one, i had to make up for it in between my training / meetings at work :( anyways, i hope you all enjoy it either way + can excuse my lack of posts, i have too many scenes playing in my head but no idea or motivation to figure out how to fit it all into less than a million redundant words + phrases lol. please like, reblog and comment! it lets me know to keep posting!! xoxo
"Are you sure this is the right place?"
"This is the only address they sent. So... yes?"
"Okay... just don't hit anything on the way in. Like that log--"
"Oh fuck."
"Mingyu! Seriously?"
"I didn't see it! I swear!"
Your boyfriend holds up both palms, attempting to appease the cranky beast wearing your skin. It had been a four-hour drive. A long, winding, and gps-failing drive. And he had the inkling that you weren't too ecstatic about... well, anything at this point.
Within the first hour of the road trip, you'd managed to recreate a chaotic version of the once carefully coordinated map your friends had sent you; with loops and turns they surely hadn't suggested. And after passing the third intended exit and cursing your innocent boyfriend for being a 'passenger peasant', you forfeited the wheel to him on the side of a random, desolate highway.
Needless to say, Mingyu was far past the point of redemption. You'd made that very clear to him at the last pit stop; His breathing was too loud. He reeked of the cologne he'd practically bathed himself in this morning. His lips were too dry for kissing away your frustration. His directions were shit. He couldn't avoid any of the potholes you'd warned him of from nearly a mile back--
Then, to top it all off, he just rammed your recently-fully paid-off Jeep into a stray log you'd pointed out to him far too late. But at least you both made it to the location in one piece!
How long would that last? He doesn't know, and he isn't going to stay in the car long enough find out.
"Hey! Glad you guys made it!" Seungcheol's hair bounces while striding over to you, assisting you both with carrying bags and other miscellaneous items you'd packed into the trunk.
"We were beginning to think we should file a missing person report for you once the three-hour mark hit." He admits, tongue-in-cheek.
The glare you flash at your partner lands cooly against the side of his paled face, not once connecting with the eyes you so desperately wanted to bore every ounce of your frustration into.
Mingyu doesn't dare to face you, nor mention any true details when he responds to his friend, "Ha! Yeah.. we just made a few stops on the way to take pictures and stuff."
Thankfully, Seungcheol doesn't probe after that and instead ushers you both inside to greet everyone else inside the lake house.
It was almost a month ago when Seungcheol and his girlfriend had finally announced their engagement. And along with a congratulatory message, Chan had proposed the idea of celebrating with a weeklong getaway to the lake house his family rented out occasionally. Mingyu and yourself were invited; hence your extended travel.
With the three couples now reunited, the group ventured into the conversation regarding their well-anticipated vacation and the tasks and activities they were hoping to indulge in throughout the following days.
Despite the rocky start, you too had been eagerly counting down the days leading up to today. It'd been so long since you had requested any time off from work, let alone treated yourself to such a relaxing and well-deserved vacation.
As of late, work had seeped into your personal schedule and set things off balance for you, and in return, you'd gained a daily migraine and a newfound passion for bed rotting on the days you did have time to yourself.
However, you weren't completely at a loss. Mingyu was there to uplift you, coddle you, cheer you on when deadlines were fraying your last scraps of hope.
You couldn't possibly confine your gratitude and adoration for your boyfriend into only a few words, so when the opportunity arose for you both to spend quality time together, you were beyond elated.
You both needed this.
After a few minutes of chatting and catching up with the two couples, Mingyu and yourself plod along to the bedroom Chan had assigned to you.
Mingyu wastes no time upon entering the room, carelessly tossing your shared belongings onto one of the two full sized beds and flopping face down into the other.
"Man, I'm drained." He groans.
The same fatigue weighs unbearably on your shoulders, dampening your mood completely. Huffing, you trudge toward your strewed bags, sluggishly moving them off of the bed that Mingyu has apparently allotted to you.
You do your best to ward off your frustration with Mingyu's carelessness, opting to give him the benefit of the doubt considering he was forced to endure your irritable attitude for the majority of the drive.
You just hoped this wasn't some type of foreshadowing for the rest of the week.
"You could've at least put the stuff on the ground so I could lay down too." You complain halfheartedly.
In one moment, he's lifting his head from the comforter to peer over at you with a pinched expression, and in the next, he's bounding towards you before you can fully register it. His hands brace your waist, firm and intentional as he directs you to the now warm spot he previously claimed.
"This is our bed." He states forwardly while bending at the knee to untie your shoes. "Did you think just 'cause you're a little moody and on vacation mode meant you'd catch a break from me?"
You blow out your flushed cheeks and sigh dramatically, too embarrassed and exhausted to play into his banter. His eyes trail your features for a beat when he stands. Soon after, the warm pads of his fingers mark a path across your skin, laying delicately against your jaw.
"Tired?"
Nodding wordlessly, you watch him climb into the bed beside you. He reels you in close, caging you against him with a firm hand on the small of your back as his opposite fist props his head up.
"...'m sorry for snapping at you." You murmur coyly.
Mingyu's blinks slow. His softened stare shifting to your lips.
You notice. You always do.
"I know." He speaks. "It's been a long day, but at least we're here. You can rest up and dream peacefully about me now."
You grunt at his comment, feigning disgust to tease him. The grin on his face is stupidly endearing, and you find yourself mirroring his expression despite your eyes fluttering shut.
It surprises you at times; four years have passed and his devoted attachment to you has yet to dwindle. Or as his family claims, his puppy love hasn't fizzled out. And at this rate, you doubt it ever will.
"Don't act like you don't dream about me, baby. I've heard you calling for me in your sleep a few times."
You peel your eyes open to squint at him. "I have not! And I don't dream about you, you dork."
"You do." He smirks before flicking your forehead in retaliation with the argument of being 'even' now. "It's okay though, I don't mind. It lets me know I'm doing my job."
"And what exactly is your job?"
Leaning into your space, his entirety invades your senses. Your skin prickles under his cool breaths as he noses at your chin, chuckling when you alert him of being ticklish. As if he hasn't mapped every inch of you for years, well versed in the handful of spots that have you writhing, crying, and whimpering for him.
"My job is..." He trails off.
Unsuspecting, you're forced to endure his unprovoked attack. His touch rakes over your sides repeatedly, breaching every inch of skin beneath your sweatshirt to place featherlike strokes along your body. You struggle underneath his tortuous ministrations, clawing at his arms helplessly while begging for mercy.
Only, the pinch to his bicep, the boisterous squeal and the writhing of your torso seem to egg him on further, his grip on you unrelenting as he continues to tickle you.
He eventually pauses to chide into your ear, "My job is to love you so much that you don't ever have to wonder what anything otherwise feels like. You are my everything, and I'm yours. Whether you want me or not."
Your chest inflates with each erratic inhale you take to recollect yourself.
You're familiar with Mingyu's empowerment, his reassurance, his effortless passion for all things involving you.
But this?
This was unrehearsed. Raw. Truth right at the core.
"Gyu," Your voice wavers, cracking under the straining lump in your throat. Your chin trembles slightly at the sudden whiplash he's put your emotions through.
"Are you crying? Why are you crying? Please don't cry!" He blurts, sandwiching your face in between his palms until your lips are puckered.
Your digits wrap around his wrists, reinforcing his hold as he captures your lips in his. Dramatics be damned, your boyfriend knew exactly what to do to get his way. He was a hopeless romantic through and through, and when it came to craving your affection, he'd do and/or say anything to woo you into submission.
Tonight's situation was no different.
His laugh bounces within the four walls of your room; a sound worth bottling for later.
His hands are gone from one moment to the next, leaving you slightly breathless and admittedly dizzy from the sudden switch up.
Still hovering over you, Mingyu watches you closely, smile stretched across the dewy slope of his cheeks. He knows his wires are most likely crossed somewhere because your mere presence stuns him to near cardiac arrest every time his eyes find you.
And its moments like this, pressed in close, that he often wonders; if he gets any closer to you, would he be able to catch the sound of your barreling heart too?
With Mingyu deep in thought, you utilize the brief moment to capture his wrists and pin them above his head once you've mustered enough strength to roll him onto his back. The abrupt tackle is all it takes to throw Mingyu off his axis, landing directly underneath your scrutinizing stare.
Again, call him deranged, but he doesn't perceive anything besides love behind your crazed appearance. If anything, it's what fuels his own deepest desires; shaping his lips into the lopsided, smitten smile he wears now.
You give his hips a tantalizing squeeze between your knees, calling his name to break him out of his lovestruck trance. He responds with a feigned groan accompanied by a dramatic toss of his head.
"Spare me this once, beautiful. I can't take it, you're just too powerful."
You fend off a smile and clutch his wrists a little tighter.
The same laugh from earlier cuts through the air as he clenches and unclenches his fists under your grip, peeling one of his eyes open to assess you from his peripheral vision.
"Are you enjoying this?" You jest.
"Not yet." He quips while simultaneously escaping your restraints and locking your lips with his, moving starved and unmeasured.
You revel in the moan that coats your tongue, elated when his body responds under your grasp via the flex of his thighs and the subtle tremble in the hands curved over your ass. You're eager to get him closer to the edge of his ascending pleasure, working your hips against the front of his taut jeans with vigor.
"Guys? We're heading out to the store to pick up a few groceries for the week--"
The gasp at the door indicates a new presence and based on the sudden dip in her usual tone, you know you've officially earned yourself a lifetime's worth of apologies on both yours and Mingyu's behalf. Not only to Nari, but to Chan; who just so happened to have been tailing his girlfriend closely.
With Mingyu pinned below you and still actively holding your ass, you strain your upper half to face the couple at the door.
"I'm so sorry... um. We'll meet you outside in five minutes."
Per your boyfriend's logic, the fuss isn't significant enough to derail his plans as he proceeds to chase after your attention. He's so far gone, so nonchalant enough to wriggle his way into a seated position just to litter the side of your throat with open-mouthed kisses.
Blanching, you shove at his chest, blindly fighting him off behind you.
The embarrassment of being found in the least demure position possible sets every inch of your skin ablaze, Mingyu's suctioning mouth and ravenous nipping proving to be little help.
Nari has since turned around while Chan shuts your door with a clearing of his throat. You hang your head as he calls from the hall, "Yup! We'll be outside! Take your time."
"Finally." Mingyu grumbles, squirming from the distance your extended arm supplies against his chest. Leveling him with an incredulous stare, you shove his shoulders until he falls backwards onto the bed.
"Are you kidding me? You couldn't at least wait until they left to give me a hickey?" You seethe while marching towards the door, unfazed by his tormented cries.
"You've officially lost all pussy privileges, Mingyu."
"Wait! No!"
The atmosphere is tainted beneath the evening's burnt orange gleam, nestled into the crooks and curves of the six bodies draped across lawn chairs, just short of the lake's dock.
The bonfire Seungcheol had started an hour or so ago breezes past your exposed ankles from under the towel sitting at your waist, surfacing a layer of goosebumps across your skin.
Draped over your shoulders are Mingyu's arms, embracing you from where he stands behind your chair—mindlessly seeking the comfort of your kinship. Instinctually, your body melts into his touch, tacitly imploring for more.
Spending years essentially conjoined at the hip pays off in moments like this; when Mingyu doesn't rely on a single verbal cue to understand each and every one of your voiceless quirks, habits and requests.
It's how he's able to identify your wordless plea now; to which he honorably responds to with a feather light kiss to the crown of your head.
He murmurs a string of praise into your hair, planting another kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder and inhaling the fresh aroma of your sun kissed flesh.
"You cold?" He asks while running the tips of his fingers up and down your arms.
You lift your chin to peer behind you, coming face to face with your lover. He smiles, an authentic, exclusive gesture dedicated for your soul only. You mirror it with your own, disregarding the beer you had in your hold to cradle one of sun-tanned cheeks.
"Pretty girl." He coos.
Your head swims with pleasure, keen to exist in this intimate bubble that encapsulates you both, even if it's for a fleeting moment. Your surroundings morph into background noise as you shut your eyes temporarily, basking in his affection.
One of his hands leaves your arm, alternatively rooting yours in its place against his cheek to press his lips to the inside of your palm. He lingers there for a moment before pulling away, a faint trace of a frown splitting between his brows.
"You are cold."
You shrug nonchalantly without looking away, gauging his response curiously. He fidgets with the strap of your bikini top briefly.
"As much as I love admiring you in this cute little number, I prefer to have my girl fully bundled up and warm when I kiss her."
"I know but if I go inside to change, I won't want to come back out and I really don't want the night to end yet.." You whine, already pulling away from his hold to focus on the sea of overlapping conversations around you.
"I know, I know, but I can't risk having you catch a cold. Come on. We'll be quick, I promise."
You give a defeated, begrudging wave to the group as you finish your beer, stalling for a moment in silent hope of convincing Mingyu to stay a little longer.
Being the expert in all things regarding you, he catches on and gives you a disapproving shake of his head before taking measures into his own hands.
Supporting your thighs and head in his arms, Mingyu lifts you from your chair and makes the effortless trek back to the lodge. Your sandal-clad feet swing aimlessly from their airborne height, occasionally landing against his hip as he shuffles through the doors.
After shouldering past the final obstacle leading to your bedroom, Mingyu sets you down at the edge of the bed with a chaste kiss, then tasks himself with scavenging through your bag for a warmer outfit.
You watch the bulk of his muscles flex with his movements, grateful for the afternoon's swimming session for blessing you now with the mouthwatering sight of your shirtless boyfriend.
The soft tune he hums under his breath comes to a pause as he returns with a neat stack of clothes, claiming the space in between your legs to hand them over to you.
"I can't believe you were out there freezing your ass off. And for what? To torment me with your beauty? 'Cause it worked."
You can't help the boisterous cackle that slips from your throat, creasing your eyes into crescents as you smile mischievously.
"Let's get you out of this poor excuse of a bathing suit." He suggests sweetly. "I'll help you get nice and warm, 'kay?"
"Only if you also put a shirt on because—what was it that you said?—Oh; I prefer my man to be nice and warm when I suck his dick."
He's in the middle of unbuckling your shorts when his fingers tighten their pinched grip at your zipper. "I don't recall saying anything about that."
"Hm, maybe not, but the implication was there."
He peers up at you incredulously and you grin.
Mingyu's own fond chuckle combines with your lingering giggles, nostalgia settling deep into that familiar nook in your chest. The nook that treasured this banter, this closeness, this love you'd laid a claim on long before you both had made anything official in the beginning.
The memory manifests in your mind; of Mingyu's distant laughter when you'd rant to him about trivial situations at work until you were red in the face, or when you'd unintentionally allow your face to speak for you in awkward situations and he'd laugh throughout his reminder for you to reign it in. It being your chronic RBF.
And even during the quietest of moments, when he'd invite you to his quaint, unfurnished apartment and you'd both lay on the floor for hours, laughing at nothing and everything at the same time.
It didn't matter as long as you were together, enjoying the natural easiness of coexisting in the myriad of moments you knew to be your narrative's budding storyline.
You blink away the reminiscent tears threatening to spill over, pivoting your attention to the present Mingyu.
He's caught on to your silence, of course, and has already begun to catch your rolling tears with his thumb. He doesn't utter a word to you, and you prefer it that way. You're confident in his ability to read you and all of your feelings, anyways.
His forehead nudges yours playfully as he leans forward, guiding you to lay flat on your back with his body caging yours from above. His delicate touch ebbs away at the remnants of your overwhelming mood, supplying you with the attentiveness you accept with open arms.
Your smile gradually fades into a much softer, vulnerable simper.
"Well," You prompt, voice raspy while drawing your gaze to the rich, velvety depth of his fawn-eyed stare. "You said you'd keep me warm, so get to it, big guy."
There isn't a hint of hesitation in his movements as he dips his head to nip at your jaw. A bolt of greed strikes through you and straight to your core, sparking your sensitivity by tenfold.
You exhale a weak sigh while he works his way down your torso before parking his mouth at the hem of your swimming bottoms. Your eyes meet shortly. Mingyu pauses, awaiting the green flag. For permission.
You give him a persistent nod, and he disappears out of reach, collapsing to his knees and cradling the back of your thighs in his large hands. You're approaching the brink of impatience when his fingers remove your bottoms with one swift yank, admiring your bareness to its full potential with the barrier between him and your sweet cunt now long gone.
Your toes curl in anticipation of what's to come. Your mouth salivating at the mere idea of having him so close when you already feel so high, heedlessly plummeting yourself deeper into your crazed infatuation.
The creeping presence of his mouth on your folds is nothing but a short-lived greeting. A farewell to your libido before it even had the chance to introduce itself.
You practically howl out in protest as he curls his fingers around your ankles, guiding a new set of panties and sweats up your legs and then having the audacity to place two—emphasis on the TWO—pathetic pecks to each of your calves on the way up.
Mingyu's shoulders quiver at the expense of his breathless laughter.
Yes. He is Laughing.
Laughing at you? With you? You don't know.
And at this point, you don't bother with the details, choosing instead to dedicate the entirety of your frustration to him and his entire bloodline.
"Oh you're such a jerk." You hiss while launching yourself up into a seated position.
"You know, I'm beginning to think you enjoy having blue balls."
"You're the only horny one here, babe. I'm chillin'." He replies, smug.
"Besides, weren't you the one who put the pussy ban in place literally three days ago?"
You offer him a scoff and cross your arms over your chest as he reaches for your bikini top. His hands freeze midair when you peel it off yourself and wretch your t-shirt from the bed, grumbling under your breath while dragging it over your head.
You stomp your way towards the door before turning back, glowering.
"Don't come crawling to me when your dick is bordering falling off later."
Your snide warning weighs on Mingyu's lower abdomen as his eyes trail after your retreating form. A troubled sigh enters the room as he changes, thoughts scrambled while he sifts through his luggage for a fresh pair of socks.
His fingers graze over the distinct velvet material cradled at the bottom of the suitcase before settling on what he'd been searching for, combing through his disheveled hair with the opposite hand.
"Three more days, two more nights." He murmurs to himself.
"I can do this."
It's in the wee hours of Friday morning when your dreams depart and the discomfort of your racing thoughts replace them. There's something off, something missing, and it urges your eyes to flutter beneath your eye lids, frantic.
You hear the muffled presence of someone rustling in the hallway from beyond your door first; piquing your interest enough to jostle you out of your slumber. The second peculiarity presents itself in the chilling absence of your partner, Mingyu.
The seemingly perfect cut-out of his frame has been left in his place atop the crumpled sheets, indicating that he was laying with you at some point. The question was; where was he now?
You're tossed into an oblivion of questions and what-if scenarios coursing through your groggy headspace. With a rub of your eyes and a glance at the time on your phone, you peel the comforters back and tread towards the door on unsteady legs.
The noise has since traveled further out when you turn the knob and step out into the night's dim ocean of blue hues. A dull glint cascading through the curtained windows and over the oakwood features of the home illuminates your path.
Your head swivels towards the slight movement in your peripheral, your sleep-glazed stare catching sight of a shadowed figure hunched over the kitchen counter.
Had you not accompanied Chan on the task of locking up and securing the home every night, you would have crawled beneath the covers as tears clung to your lashes, dreading the unknown outcome of having an intruder, out for blood, roaming inside the house while everyone slept.
Thankfully, your safety in the home was undebatable, and far more importantly, you're beyond unamused by the rude disruption of your sleep to question your next decision.
After hearing the soft clank of glass and Mingyu's recognizable husky curse, you mindlessly saunter his way and instinctively embrace him from behind as he's faced away from you.
His body jerks and a sharp yelp slips out. Whipping around in your arms, Mingyu gives you a once over and his once bugging eyes soften with familiarity. He pulls you in closer to his chest, hand forking through your hair as you rest against him.
“What’re you doing up?” You voice is slightly muffled by his shirt.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he answers, frowning. “Just kept thinking... so I came out to get some water.”
You adjust your head to look up at him; eyes now fixated on his milky brown irises. His face blooms into a passive smile, cupping your cheek in his large palm.
“Thinking ‘bout what?” You murmur.
His unoccupied hand rests above your tail bone, inching lower and lower as his breath pulls into a sharp inhale.
“About…you.” He admits and despite just having woken up, your nervous system is already kicking and running wild at the statement.
“Me?” You frown slightly, curious. “What about me?”
You follow the motion of his lolled head cocking backwards, his eyes now facing the ceiling as he offers a pensive hum. His fingers lock around your hips, keeping you close.
“Everything.” He admits.
“Your eyes, your lips, your… breathtaking presence.”
When he returns to you, the cream light from the kitchen frames his features with the precision of a gallery artist's newest work, adding highlight to the peaks and shading to the angled impressions of his face, hair and body.
He's unquestionably stunning.
And he's yours.
Your mouth crashes against his pillowy lips long before your brain can convince you to do otherwise.
You relish in the pressure his fingers dimple your skin with, your lips dancing in the practiced waltz you're incapable of loving any less.
The soft smacking sound of your mouths rings between you before you're detouring to pepper the rest of his face with delicate pecks.
His cheeks tighten and morph into a wide grin when you brush over them, thinning out as you hover over his chin. You notice the restless tick in his jaw and pull away to assess him further, only to be reeled back in by the back of your head.
The hand in your hair is sturdy, tangling your locks into a makeshift leash while his other works at your jaw, applying pressure to your flushed cheeks to purse your lips together for him.
Your knees have locked up. Your feet feel heavy and your arms are slung haphazardly around his waist. The level of submission you've delivered to him on a silver platter is astounding to you, considering he's been avoiding your advances for the entirety of the week. Even if it was your doing.
And you almost find it aggravating how easily your body responds to him. Needy, desperate, aching for him.
“I’ve been,” he captures your mouth with his, vulgar and starved. “So patient.” Kiss. “So well behaved.” Another kiss. “So you could truly relax and avoid being cooped up in bed with me..."
He surfaces for a moment to breathe, eyeing your dazed expression in between. When your eyes meet his, they're glassy, dilated and so full of lust that it drives him crazy. He dives back in, tongue and mouth unrelenting against your moans.
Another break in the kiss gifts him the chance to continue his thoughts.
"But you always wreck me. Always muddle my mind with your sly little remarks, your needy eyes that follow me around, and your perfect fucking mouth that smiles, frowns, and kisses me every day."
“Gyu,” you whimper when he hikes a knee between your thighs, flexing the taut muscle into your clothed center. “We.. mmh.. we can’t.”
His teeth graze your bottom lip viciously, tugging at the plump flesh until you wince and he can taste the metallic tang of blood on his tongue.
“I can't hold back anymore, baby. I gave you more than enough time to rest and enjoy your time here, but now I'm crawling back to you, just like you said I would.”
Your protest dies in your throat with the harsh grasp of his hand cupping your pussy over your shorts. You can feel every single one of his fingers digging into your soaked flesh, truly testing your restraint when his lips trail after yours while you wriggle your way out of his reach.
You don't make it far before he's scooping you up by the back of your thighs and hauling you into the living room. The wind is knocked out of your lungs when he tosses you onto the cushions of the couch and climbs over you.
"Mingyu," You whisper-yell through gritted teeth. "We can't. It's like three in the morning and our friends are literally a few feet away, sleeping!"
If looks could kill, you would’ve been six feet under about two minutes ago with how sharpened his dark and nearly bottomless eyes have become.
Mingyu’s eyes bore into your soul, inky and challenging. You cross your arms over your chest as a subconscious shield against your boyfriend’s persistence.
“No.” You snap, pointing a finger at him accusingly. “Stop looking at me like that.”
Your chances of returning to your bed peacefully have vanished into thin air when Mingyu grabs a hold of your wrist and crosses them above your head. He dips down to nibble at your ear, deliberately filling your head with the sound of his drawn-out groans and haughty breathing.
You struggle to regain your strength under his grip for a few minutes before ultimately becoming limp in his hold, forfeiting all resistance.
"There you go," Mingyu croons.
"Let me take care of you. Have you all to myself for just a little longer, hm? Doesn't that sound good to you?"
His words crawl along your skin, piercing pins and needles all throughout your body. You squirm in his hold; your bottom lip pulled in between your teeth.
"I'll keep quiet if you can, baby. Y'gotta try not to wake everyone up."
“You and I both know you can’t keep quiet to save your life, Mingyu.” You hiss harmlessly and lean your head against the arm rest in defeat.
“I can try this time.” He nearly whines, both his tough facade and grip on your wrists faltering in favor of reaching underneath your sleep shirt to trace his blunt nails over your stomach and chest. “Promise."
Your muscles loosen under his touch, emotionally sold on the idea of having such a needy man wrapped around your finger. He truly is the manifestation of a wet dream.
“Fuck,” you groan and take advantage of the disappearance of his grip to swap positions and straddle his hips. Your palms come up to rest at either side of his head.
With your straightened arms being within his reach, Mingyu proceeds to trail a lewd, wet stripe of his tongue on your inner wrist and arm, all the while keeping his gaze fixed with yours.
The shiver that comes with it is enough of an answer for Mingyu to reclaim his stake on your body, bracing himself on his elbows to crash his mouth into yours and lure you into him.
Your groans and whimpers are muted against his lips and you find yourself yearning for more; your friends' peace be damned.
You realize you're admittedly hypocritical when your goal at making Mingyu feel good is far more significant to you than their precious beauty sleep.
You tease him with a curved and intentional grind over his hips, grazing the hardened tent of his sweats. You take his choked-out whine as your green light to continue.
Leaning down, you delve into a passionate kiss that pries his lips apart. Another moan escapes you when you feel his tongue invading the heat of your mouth, twirling amongst yours feverishly.
Being the sly fox that he is, Mingyu takes it upon himself to grant himself access to your ass, cupping a cheek in each of his large hands and parting them beneath your shorts and panties.
One guttural moan later and you both come up for a breath of air, gasping into each other's slick mouths.
“You really want to make a mess of yourself tonight, don’t you?” You ask lowly.
Breathless, he nods his head and answers with a shaky, “Yes. Please.”
The corner of your mouth quirks in amusement. He’s never been one to act coy in times like this, and hardly ever puts on a tough guy front for you when you ask him for anything pertaining to pleasure. After all, he's here for you, he’s mentioned it countless of times; whether it's shown in the form of free use or a simple switch in dynamic, he’s all for it as long as you’re content and comfortable.
Flickering your sight from his eyes to his hidden erection, your request is conveyed to Mingyu effortlessly, despite him having initiated all of this.
With a single nod of approval, Mingyu guides your hand towards the band of his sweats. He exhales through his nose as your tongue darts out to wet your lips between the fleeting gaze of his strained dick and his wrecked expression.
You apply an excessive amount of pressure against his untouched cock with the heel of your palm, causing him to squirm with a string of curses in tow.
"You really are so worked up for me, puppy. Just look at you..."
"Had you let me have a taste sooner, you wouldn't be in so much pain now, and I wouldn't be so fucking empty." You tut.
His features are screwed into a relieving mixture of delight and libido-driven anguish as you proceed to graze the damp splotch over his sweats, exchanging your palm for your nails to trace the outline of his twitching cock.
Mingyu’s adams apple bobs with a shallow swallow. When you settle back on your heels to ease his pants and boxers down, he does his best to accommodate you with the little sliver of space he has on the couch by tugging you closer to his chest.
"You started it." He huffs.
Your unamused and sarcastic laugh is muffled into his cheek as you place a wet kiss to his skin.
"Don't be a brat." You grumble in his ear.
Without warning, you take his leaking dick in your hand, squeezing the tip in place with a vice like grip while your opposite palm glides flat against the pre-coated head, circling over and over until he's stifling his moans into the cushion of the couch.
After a few minutes, you begin to thumb at the slit of his bulbous head before reaching down and cusping his balls in your hand, digging your nails into the skin with just enough pressure to make him writhe under you.
You keep your eyes fixed on his quivering chin as you lean over him with your jaw slack, allowing your spit to travel past your lips and drip onto his furiously red cock. Your tongue then shoots out to trace the vein splitting down the side of his length, simultaneously scraping your nails across the skin of his inner thigh and over his happy trail in a repetitive pattern.
It's after a particular forced dip of your fingers to his lower abdomen and the lick to his bobbing cock that he's desperately trying to close his thighs around your shoulders, with a garbled remark of, "I'm gonna— oh my god—shit! I'm..."
Your lips curl into a Cheshire-like grin as you cease all of your ministrations and sit up.
He nearly sobs when you pull away and it leaves you breathless and startled when he starts pawing at your chest and shoulders, jerking your body towards him. You brace yourself with your hands planted firmly against his chest.
“Please, my love, please keep going.” Tears clinging to his lashes, Mingyu stares down at you and awaits your response, impatiently guiding your hips in circular motions over his thighs.
You tsk and grab a fistful of his hair, making him sit up with you. His whines are breathy now, less consistent and terribly pitiful.
“You’re making a lot of noise for someone who promised to keep their mouth shut.” You chide while tugging at his strands tantalizingly rough.
He responds with a pathetic whimper and a shake of his head that he struggles to show under your unrelenting grip. His wet curls cling to his sweaty forehead, framing his doll-like face with the innocence of an unblemished cherub.
“You’re going to take what I give you when I give it to you, do you understand?”
His head bobbles with haste, eager to follow directions you know he won’t be able to keep up with.
“Show me those pretty teeth, puppy.” You instruct and pull at his bottom lip with two fingers as his tongue lolls out of his mouth.
You brush the pad of your thumb against the sharp peak of his canines, sighing contently afterwords. You change fingers to stroke his tongue, reaching deep under the slobbering muscle.
His moan is pitched high and you can’t help but grin as you watch his eyes roll back, hips rutting against nothing.
“Wish you could see your pretty mouth, baby. It’s so pretty and fitted just for me.”
You nearly purr in pleasure when a low groan escapes him, and with his mouth fully open, it pulps the sound into a lewd cry.
“Suck.” You demand and he’s quick to oblige, clamping his lips around your fingers, plunging them in deeper.
You tilt your head to appreciate the view of your fingers disappearing into his mouth with every suction of his hollowing cheeks, simply enthralled by your boyfriend’s beauty both inside and out. He’s always so eager to please, and it fascinates you when he gets like this; so whiney, impatient, and drunk on loving you.
A weighted tap on your thigh piques your interest, your eyes following the feeling and discovering his bobbing cock still leaking, now nearly purple with his pent-up desire. To his disappointment, your fingers are removed from his mouth, trailing a web of spit in between the distance.
You wipe at his mouth with the back of your opposite hand, praising him for following through with his task and abiding by your rule of being patient.
His drooping eyes trail after your movements as you reposition yourself a bit lower on his thighs. Spreading the slickness of your fingers along his hard on, you continue to pump him at a decent pace.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He curses, and you smile when you catch the tremble in his muscular arms that keep him upright out of the corner of your eye.
"C'mon, my pretty boy." You drawl. "You can let go now. Come for me."
His breathless gasp is the last thing you hear before he's crashing headfirst into his orgasm, bucking his hips into your hand through his high until you're sure he's milked himself dry.
You clamber off of him to rid yourself of your bottoms and panties before claiming your spot on his thighs again, watching intently as Mingyu's breath shallows out into a more controlled rhythm.
Sweat clings to him like a fresh sheen of body oil, coating him with a glow you find yourself all the more attracted to by the second. He seems to notice your drifting thoughts as he reaches out for you and pulls you in by the elbows.
Chest to chest, gazes glued to one another, your bodies slot together like the perfect puzzle when he guides you both to lay on your sides. You trail your fingers along his jaw, inching upward until you can thread them into his damp locks.
Mingyu presses a tender kiss to your forehead, then snakes a hand down to your exposed center, skimming your slick folds between his fingertips, paired with the intoxicating press of his thumb to your clit.
"You're so beautiful."
You suppress your moan with a bashful kiss to his lips, clasping your hands behind his neck as he continues to invade your drenched entrance with his finger.
"You're so perfect."
The warmth of his mouth explores the expanse of your throat, sucking and teething at the skin until a purplish hue blooms at the surface. A second finger is followed up with a third shortly after, sinking into your pussy while your muted moans begin to hitch and shorten with every pump.
"You're all mine." The words melt against your tongue as he slots your mouths together once more, stimulating every nerve in your body as you reach your high.
He swallows the whimper you let out once his fingers have vanished completely right after your release.
You're a hair's length short of having a mental crisis before the familiar flared tip of his cock nudges at your throbbing bud. Out of reflex, you meet him halfway and rut your puffy lips over his dick, pleading for more.
Mingyu anchors you with an arm under your head and another securing your waist when he senses your eagerness, hitching your leg over his hip as he presses in closer. With a few more moments of adjustment, Mingyu eventually guides his length into you inch by inch until he bottoms out with a content hum.
“You’re my everything.” Mingyu murmurs, soft enough to be considered a whisper, but with the perfect amount of vigor to enforce the adoration in his tone.
Your dopey grin spreads like wildflowers in the spring, blooming delicately across your lips in a cherry-like hue. Snaking a hand around his back, you utilize his shoulder as leverage as you rock your hips, desperately seeking friction from the girth inside you.
“You don’t have to butter me up, Gyu. You already have me."
Your lips meet for a dominating dual between each thrust, coaxing the deepest sounds of ecstasy out from your chest and flooding his senses. His clipped, nasally whine adds fuel to your already blazing arson lining your insides.
“Not…” he pants, quickening his pace. “Buttering you up.”
Clamping a hand over your mouth to stifle your cries, you’re made painfully aware of smoldering heat building in your lower stomach, sending a storm of pleasure to your stretched walls at an unmanageable rate.
“Just—fuck—making sure…” Mingyu babbles on. “You—you know.”
Your climax is fast approaching and your mewls and high-pitched moans have progressed. In a desperate attempt to relieve the burn in gummy walls, you hike your leg up higher onto his waist, sinking yourself even deeper onto his swelling member. Your mouth shadows over his shoulder, heaving raggedly as the pressure erupts into a show of fireworks behind your screwed eyes.
Attuned with your body, Mingyu coaxes you through your tipping point, offering his shoulder to you as a mock gag. Lapping your tongue across the skin, your teeth tail behind before indenting into his muscle to hide your final drawn-out whine.
You're unsure how long your release takes to finally dwindle out, but by the time you come to, you're able to acknowledge the warmth spilling out of your cunt.
And based off of the strained breaths against your forehead, you can only assume the fluids leaking out of you partially belong to your lover. Resting his head against the arm rest of the couch, Mingyu lays flat on his back and gently lays you on his chest.
He sighs, content and satiated. "I love you so much."
The weight of his softening cock remains inside you, bathing you in a refreshing sense of comfort and intimacy with the person you love most. With the side of your flushed face stamped against his sweaty chest, right above his heart, your response is a warm hum of acknowledgment.
"I love you." You mumble tiredly.
Regathering your thoughts, you make an attempt of forming some kind of meaningful and corny expression. However, to your surprise, the chance is swept out from underneath your feet when you feel yourself being lifted.
Mingyu's joints complain against the sudden movement, but he moves either way, wobbling his way to your bedroom and laying you down gently against the pillows. He smooths a hand over the crown of your head before walking back out to the living room.
You're far too bone weary to fret over his absence when he returns with the discarded clothing in one hand while the other holds a few damp paper towels. Shutting the door behind himself, Mingyu ambles over to your side and initiates his routine aftercare, peppering you with doting praises and gentle sweet nothings as he works his way around your body, cleaning you up.
Your vision is darkening at the edges shortly after he joins you in bed, cushioning himself against your back and placing a kiss to your bare shoulder.
The imperceptible rumble of a snore escapes his chest, and his fresh linen and woodsy scent fills your senses, lulling you to sleep before you can register it.
Within your dream, you meet him again. And when you meet, he's nothing shy of the man you wish to love for eternity.
He's the embodiment of what the word home has to offer.
Yena isn't as bubbly as she normally is. Which is deeply concerning considering the fact that this trip had been catered for her and Seungcheol's engagement.
Seungcheol has also indirectly insulted your boyfriend when he didn't immediately greet him this morning—which is highly unusual—and leaving you with a sour Mingyu to tend to.
Chan and Nari had chalked it up to a hypothetical 'trouble in paradise' type of situation, which settles your nerves for a bit.
Except, the truthful reasoning is soon revealed over breakfast when the pair insinuates that their paradise is still as perfect as ever, but there is something they've avoided discussing.
"Care to share with the class?" Chan quips eyeing Seungcheol from the seat adjacent to yours at the table.
Yena and Seungcheol share an unreadable glance, shifty eyes equally against the idea of being the one to break the news.
Seungcheol falls victim to his fiancé's charm and accepts his volun-told task. clearing his throat after taking his final spoonful of his omelet.
"We didn't know we were rooming with two exhibitionists... at least, not until last night when we woke up to a certain couple getting frisky in the living room— as if they don't have their own private room."
Mingyu's lungs collapse, the air completely knocked out of him. You have to pat him on the back to prevent him from choking on his maple links.
"What?" Nari squawks, attention split between you and a very tomato-skinned Seungcheol.
"We fucked on the couch last night." You admit bluntly, chewing slower.
"Oh wow."
"Yeah."
Yena leans over the edge of her seat to peer past Seungcheol's shoulder, acknowledging your blank stare with a smug wink; a silent and slightly envious nod of approval. Mingyu fidgets in his seat, taking a sudden interest in the placemat under his plate and busying himself with a stray thread.
"Well, we didn't hear anything." Chan shrugs.
"How could you not? They were going at it like two sick, rabid animals!" Seungcheol stammers, ears hot under your unfazed nods and hums.
"To be fair, we were also pretty busy ourselves." Nari casually adds, following up with a sip of her coffee.
This time, all three men are coughing into their hands and shirts as they advert their stares from one another. Chan has appointed himself as the mediator, desperately redirecting the conversation.
You turn to Nari when she nudges you with her elbow in the midst of the group's recuperating conversation, crooking her fingers to signal you closer. You lean in and she whispers into your ear.
"Hope you guys didn't catch too much of our midnight rendezvous, Chan wanted to try something new."
You arch a brow, intrigued by her bold divulgence. She smirks and leans over once more.
"He had me call him daddy the entire night. What a freak, huh?"
Your laugh is unfiltered and loud, and you double over with the force of it. Mingyu steadies you with a hand on your waist, running a fond eye over your radiant expression.
"Must have been something in the air then, huh?"
Your banter dials down after everyone has cleared their plates and begun planning their last itinerary. You stay behind in favor of romanticizing your boyfriend's mundane chore of washing the dishes, buzzing around from one counter to the other as he tidies up the kitchen.
After finishing, Mingyu plants himself in between your knees, his full height towering over your seated form. Your hands find home on his hips as he thumbs over your chin and jaw fondly.
"Well, breakfast was a little embarrassing." He says with a coy shake of his head.
You perch your chin on his stomach and look up through your lashes, the quirked corner of your mouth appearing alongside your raised brows.
"I'm pretty sure I warned you about you being incapable of keeping quiet."
"I was quiet!" He argues, pursing his lips afterwords. "I think."
You giggle at his dubious remark which he muffles with a peck to the edge of your mouth. When he pulls back, his eyes are glimmering, forever alluring regardless of how much time in your relationship you've spent losing yourself in.
"What were you and Nari laughing about earlier?"
"Ah," You grin. "It was just about her and Chan's night."
Your hands relocate to the back of his knees when he shuffles closer in between your thighs and hunches over to bump your forehead with his.
"But what did she say? What was so funny?" He pouts.
"You're so nosey."
He makes a sound in the back of his throat as he nudges his nose against yours, pushing you to indulge in his curiosity a little more.
"Chan wanted her to call him daddy."
Mingyu recoils abruptly, distancing himself from you for a moment to gauge your sincerity, snorting when he realizes you're, in fact, not joking.
"You learn something new every day, I guess." He smirks.
You offer him a nod before craning your neck to kiss him, unrushed and sweet. Your fingers have since moved to dance across his broad shoulders, skirting past his ribs and spine as you stare up at him. His own hands have come to rest on either side of you in your seat.
Pulling back slightly, Mingyu levels you with an inquisitive expression that makes you shift in your seat slightly.
“You're staring, Gyu.”
“Did you… Do you like…” he takes a deep breath and restarts. “Are you into the Daddy thing?”
Somehow, you've managed to choke on your saliva, sending you into a fit of coughs and wheezes as you try to get your bearings.
“It was just a question, calm down babe!” He chides, stroking the back of your head once you’ve calmed yourself down and taken a sip of your water.
“Baby,” you take his hand in yours. “I’m not into that. I don’t think I’ll ever be into that, honestly."
"Unless.. I don’t know.. you decide you want to try it out? Then I guess I’d consider it."
Mingyu’s face morphs from concern, to understanding, and finally to amusement as he brings your hand to his mouth, peppering your knuckles with kisses.
He chuckles. "Lucky for you, I'm also not a fan, so that makes it easy."
You smile and take another moment to enjoy his admirable character, his openness. His high value and regard for you and your needs. You've truly hit the jackpot with him and couldn't possibly exist without his supportive partnership in your life.
Your gaze blurs as he straightens out, takes a step back and crosses his ankles as he leans against the table, flattening his palm against the polished wood. He tilts his head.
“Although…” He drawls. “I wouldn’t be opposed to being called something else."
You swallow your response and motion for him to elaborate, chewing at the inside of your cheek.
“How do you feel about calling me… your husband?”
You swear the blood in your body stops pumping, the air escaping your lungs not long after, and your ears ring at an intolerable decibel. You’re transfixed on your boyfriend whose eyes have glossed over, unblinking throughout the period of suffocating silence.
“My… what?” You utter breathlessly.
Mingyu shuffles closer to look you in the eye properly, his own twinkling brightly; an otherworldly sight even the constellations in the night sky couldn't hold a candle to.
"Your husband," He proceeds to reiterate. "You know, once we're married."
Your blinks slow after that, stunned.
"I mean, yeah, I don't… I wouldn't… mind, I suppose." You stammer, fighting the urge to both shriek until your throat is raw, and burrow yourself underground to avoid making a fool of yourself before he's even had the chance to propose.
"Good." Is all he says before pivoting on his heel and meandering down the hall, as if he hadn't just flipped your universe upside down, shaking your surroundings until all of your thoughts, feelings, and strength are clattering to the ground, exposed for him to see. Only for him. It's always been for him.
On the outside, Mingyu is no different behind his seemingly unaffected aura.
However, his inner dialogue is a sequence of muddled pleads for a sliver of grace against the eternal adoration he has for you, a love that strikes fires in his ribcage he struggles to put out.
Though, truthfully, he'd let them burn. He'd let his heart char to a degree that reveals nothing but ashes that mirror your smell; Of your distinct undertones of home, refreshing laughter, and a blinding smile.
He's a mess, inside and out, but he doesn't mind it one bit. Not when he cherishes the silver lining; you were okay with being his wife. You were more than okay with it, really.
Should he be a little surprised? Maybe. It's been four years coming and all he's done is confess his undying love for you day in and day out. And as you've mentioned before, it does get a little tiresome after the umpteenth time in one sitting of having to reassure him that you'd still love him if he was a worm.
But who cares?
Not him.
Not when he reflects on your journey together; a voyage he has yet to hear you rant about in all of the romance novels you spew to him about.
Because your love is special. It's one of a kind. A story not even the most wise and literate author could produce into words on a paper.
And when he thinks about the velvet box sitting at the bottom of his luggage, buried under his clothes, he knows it's only a matter of days until he can confidently claim this love as both yours and his—for the rest of your shared forever.
< envy yaps: well that was sappy. I feel like I have to balance it out now with an evil plot line now... and what if Wonwoo is my next target... hm... much to consider.
"Where did all these hats come from?"
"The high school's costume closet." He watches you for a moment. "You come out just to check on us?"
You look away from the big hats to him.
Oh no.
You recognize that look.
It's from Saturday night.
When he kissed you.
content warning: one bed trope; kissing; sex; words of affirmation
Masterlist
Minors DNI 🔞
word count: 5230
Feb 14, 2026...that was the day you were supposed to have been married. Feb 19, 2026...that was the day you were meant to have flown off to your honeymoon.
Instead, you'd found your fiancé in bed with another woman, canceled the wedding, lost every single deposit, and buried yourself in pints of ice cream every day that followed.
"You know what you should do?" your roommate called. She was busy doing something in your room that apparently required every piece of clothing.
"What?" you asked with a mouthful of ice cream.
She sauntered into the room with your suitcase packed and rolled it towards you. "Go on the honeymoon. It's already paid for, and lord knows you deserve it."
"Alone? Go on my honeymoon alone?" you repeated, dreading the thought of rose petals at the door when you arrived by yourself.
"Yes! You are a strong and independent woman! You just avoided a divorce because the universe has something better in store for you...and I've heard the men in Italy are muy attractive."
"Muy is Spanish," you corrected her as you bit down on a chocolate chip.
"Then they're spaghetti attractive! I don't know...but listen, okay? You've got the days off already right?"
"Right..."
"So do you want to spend a week lying on the couch eating ice cream and watching reruns of soap operas and Judge Judy while crying about that dickhead? Or do you want to go to Italy?"
You frowned and took another bite of ice cream before answering, "Italy."
"Exactly! So get up, get showered...please shower...and go catch that flight!"
You glanced at the clock, not having even realized your plane would leave in just four hours. You felt more energized than you had in days and jumped up to run to the bathroom before rushing back to Emily. "Thank you!" you squealed as you hugged her tight, squeezing her with all of your strength.
"You're welcome," she answered though she pulled back with a disgusted scrunch of her nose. "And I'm serious about that shower!" she called as you ran off.
————————————————————————————
15 hours later, you were standing at the foot of the longest staircase in the entire world while glaring at your suitcase. You knew there was only one way to get it inside which meant walking up the stairs backwards and lugging the thing up each individual step.
You made it to step 35 when your phone rang. You held it with your cheek and shoulder while grunting, "Hello?"
"How is Italy?" Emily asked. You could hear her typing in the background and knew she'd gotten to work.
"All I've seen so far are the stairs," you complained while tugging the bag up another step.
"I bet they're beautiful stairs with beautiful men," she imagined just as a short angry man moved around you, shouting something in Italian about American tourists.
"There are men," you teased as you finally made it to the landing where your Airbnb was. She gasped for breath. "But I'm not in a state to meet any of them considering I was just on a plane and then a taxi and then climbed the tallest staircase in the world."
"Well, that's what tomorrow is for," she replied as you inputted the door code. You breathed a sigh of relief when it opened on the first try, desperate for a shower and for bed.
"True. I've got a whole day of activities planned," you began while bringing the bag in. "I'm going to take a gondola along the canal and I'm taking a street food tour in the afternoon," you explained eagerly as you pulled open your bedroom door. "And then I'm...oh my god!" you screamed while running from the bedroom. "Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!"
"(Y/N) what's wrong? Are you okay?"
"There's a man in my bed! Oh my god!" you shouted again.
"Okay wait...first, is he cute?"
"Why does that matter Emily? He's in my bed!"
The man stirred and sat up with messy hair and a crooked grin. His eyes had barely opened when he mumbled, "I love it when I dream about hot women."
"You're not dreaming!" you scolded as you marched over to the bed. "And you slept way past your checkout time. I booked this entire place, so...you need to leave."
"Aww don't make him leave..." Emily complained just before you hung up on her.
"Well that's funny, because I have an email right here that says I booked this place," he explained. When he reached for the phone the comforter moved lower and you realized he wasn't wearing a shirt.
spaghetti attractive, you thought...cursing Emily for putting that string of words in your head.
The stranger showed you his email which correctly identified him as the person who had booked the house for the week.
You hurriedly checked your reservation to ensure the dates were the same, and flashed your screen to show that they were.
He shrugged and laid back in the bed with his arms casually fixed behind his head. "They double-booked it."
"Well, I'm filing a complaint. I'm here on my honeymoon, and I'm not sharing it with some random guy."
He choked back a laugh when you began dialing Airbnb.
"What's so funny?" you asked while clued into the ringing on the other end of the line.
"Well...I hate to break it to you, but honeymoons require two people, and unless you married a ghost or you're one of those freaks attracted to their suitcase..."
"Ahh, I can see how this is some big joke to you Mr. Too Tall for the Average Dooway, but I happen to be honeymooning alone since my fiancé...ex fiancé...was fucking another woman."
"So you're single?" he asked with a cock of his brow. "Hi, I'm Mingyu," he smirked as he extended his hand.
"Hi, I'm..."
"Thanks for holding. Can I have the name of the person who's calling?"
"(Y/N)," you said into the phone and turned to go to the living room to chat with the operator. "I just checked into the Airbnb but another guest has a booking for the same dates."
"Does this place have two bedrooms by any chance? Some owners rent each space individually."
You went down the hall and opened both doors (one a bathroom and the other a closet) before answering. "Nope, there's just one bedroom with one bed."
"I see..." she hummed into the phone while the keyboard clacked. "There's nothing else available for the dates you need in that area, but I can offer you a complimentary gondola tour."
You grit your teeth in frustration. "I've already booked a gondola tour. I need a place to stay."
"Umm, what if we refund 50% of your stay?"
"Fifty? I can't even stay here! Someone else is already in bed!"
"Well, you already checked in so..."
"Honey, what did I say about calling Airbnb?" Mingyu teased as he reached for the phone, fighting you for it. "Sorry about that. She'll take a full refund and tour," he shouted through the receiver.
"I'm sorry, who are you?" she asked as the phone was stolen from your hand.
"Oh, I'm the other guest staying here. Kim Mingyu...Nope, Ming-YU...as in YOU don't know how to run a business. Yes, that's right. Perfect! Thank you so much!" he grinned as he ended the phone call and gave you back your phone.
"I was handling it," you told him with a roll of your eyes.
"Well, now we both have a free stay, a free gondola ride, and dinner along the canal."
"You got all that? Just by being a guy?" you frowned.
"No...I got all that because I stay in different locations with them nearly every week."
"How? Are you some sort of blogger?"
"Close!" he laughed before heading off to bed. "I'm actually a promoter. I promote the biggest clubs and largest parties in the world."
"I hate that I find that cool," you smiled, surprised to find yourself tucking your hair behind your ears like you always did when you were nervous.
"And what do you do?"
"It's not nearly as interesting as being a word-renowned club promoter," you blushed, wondering if he'd find your occupation lame, and wondering what you even cared what he thought.
"Is it making nicknames for people? Because that too tall for doorways one was pretty good," he teased, smiling at you with a dimpled grin that melted your insides in a way you hadn't felt in a long time.
"I'm an art teacher," you confessed, watching his eyes light up in interest rather than dismissal.
"That's awesome! What do you teach? Kids or college? Or do you own a studio? I could see you in a studio," he guessed.
"Really? A studio?" you asked, cheeks burning at the thought. You'd always wanted to have your own studio but Ethan had always told you that you were better suited to help kids learn the basics than to sell your own pieces. You didn't mind because you loved kids...but it did feel forced upon you.
"Yeah!" he enthused. "With cute little overalls covered in splatters and brushes everywhere. What do you like to paint most?"
You hadn't been asked that in a long time. For a decade your answer had always been the same, "Silhouettes."
"Interesting," he pondered as he settled against the doorframe. "Why's that?"
You shrugged. "I like the anonymity. I like painting beautiful scenes and then a couple in the foreground kissing. Why are they hidden? Are they skipping work? Are they shy about PDA? Are they having an affair..." you trailed off, eyes feeling heavy and sad.
"Do you sell any? I'd love to see your portfolio," he asked.
"No," you sighed as you sat on the couch. "I mainly teach kids. My pieces are collecting dust somewhere."
"Why?" he frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Someone told me I wasn't good enough, and I believed them," you admitted in a soft voice.
Mingyu nodded as if he understood. "Italy is very inspiring," he began. "Maybe you'll paint something here."
"Maybe," you told him shyly before heading off to the shower.
————————————————————————————
You woke up groggily on the couch to the sound of someone cooking bacon and humming to themselves. In front of you on the coffee table was a mug filled with orange juice. You reached for it and took a gulp before sitting up. You must've slept for ten hours and yet still felt exhausted.
"There's coffee, too," Mingyu called from the kitchen. "But I know teachers are picky about how they make that so I didn't want to start your morning pissed off."
"Thanks," you yawned and stood to retrieve another mug to dump the liquid gold into. You sipped it with your eyes closed, still struggling to give in to the morning.
"You take it straight? Hmm. A little complicated but I'll try to remember that," he joked while plating your bacon and handing you a plate containing blueberry pancakes, bacon, and a banana.
"Thank you," you said, still too tired to argue that he didn't have to make breakfast for a stranger.
"Well, you did let me have the bed."
"Let you?" you laughed. "When I came back you were sprawled out like a starfish. I couldn't have squeezed in anywhere even if I tried."
"Interesting," he smirked.
"What?" you asked as you ate a bite of the pancake...moaning in satisfaction at the freshness of the fruit.
"Well...you still checked to see if there was room. If I'd been on one side would you have shared?"
You suddenly felt very hot and very embarrassed. "Did you want me to share?"
"Your friend yelled at me this morning for putting you on the couch," he said as he ate.
You nearly choked as you replied a strangled, "What? You talked to Emily?"
He nodded. "She called like a hundred times to make sure I wasn't a serial killer. She even facetimed me which is when she saw you on the couch."
"Oh god," you hid in your hands and peeked between your fingers. "What did she say?"
He furrowed his brows in confusion as he recited, "She told me to tell you your spaghetti needs a little sauce."
That time you did choke, and Mingyu had to bang on your back to release the pancake from your throat.
"You good?" he checked with a tinge of fear in his expression.
You nodded and chugged some of the orange juice to swallow it down. "So...our gondola ride is at 2 and I was thinking that..."
"Our?" you repeated. "Don't you have a club to promote? Or plans that didn't involve someone recovering from a breakup?"
"The club opens in two days. I already scheduled all my posts to go out, so for the rest of the week I can just relax and enjoy the city."
"With me?" you gawked.
"Yeah?" he laughed. "Unless you had someone else you planned to spend the day with."
You didn't, so you told him the truth.
"Great! Then let's get ready to go," he said with a smile. "Oh, and wear white. It looks nice on gondolas."
————————————————————————————
"Such a lovely couple!" the gondolier shouted as you approached.
"Oh we're not actually..." you began to explain, but Mingyu threw his arm around you and interrupted. "Doesn't she look stunning in yellow?"
He'd asked you to wear white but that dress felt too bridal. You'd chosen a yellow one instead that felt like sunshine against your skin.
"So beautiful," he kissed the air as he spoke. "I know you've just been married, but if you'd like another husband," he teased, but Mingyu saw the hurt in your eyes.
"It took me years to get her," he distracted him while you wiped a tear. "You've only had minutes."
"You can't blame a guy for trying," he grinned as Mingyu extended a hand to help you into the boat.
You joined him and settled on the bench, feeling a little embarrassed that Airbnb had booked this outing for your honeymoon...
"You okay?" Mingyu whispered as the man began rowing.
You nodded behind the hurt and looked out at the view. Venice really was pretty. You'd never seen a city built around a canal like this before...a city so one with the water. The sun reflected on every drift, its light refracting into the ancient stone.
"It might be kind of stupid," Mingyu explained as he reached into his bag, "but I thought you'd want these. I found them in your bag."
You looked down at the sketch pad and charcoal in his hands, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with gratitude. You took them and opened the page where you began sketching the outline of the bridge up ahead. You'd fill in the details later, but you wanted to capture the woman standing on the bridge. She was standing with her hair blowing behind her and a coin in her hand. She looked completely at peace and tossed it in the water just as you passed.
You realized it wasn't a coin at all but a ring and watched in shock as she walked away from whatever past the ring had held.
"Inspired?" Mingyu asked as he leaned over to watch you.
You nodded and bit your lip in concentration so you could draw the ring...the diamond, cushion cut ring so big it must've cost thousands...discarded with all of their dreams of a future.
Mingyu's arm fell around you casually, and you did your best to ignore the way it burned against your hip.
"The lovely couple must kiss under the bridge! It brings a long happy life together to the couples who trust its magic!" the gondolier explained.
"Oh! We're kind of shy," you told him.
"If you don't kiss, your relationship will be doomed!" he warned.
"We're just not people that do that," you excused again.
Mingyu cocked his brow, saying nothing in defiance of the gondolier despite your silent motions urging him to. Instead, he shrugged. "Emily told me to tell you to have rigatoni experiences," he said. "Now...I don't know what rigatoni means here because I’m pretty sure it’s a pasta, but I sell experiences for a living. Isn't a kiss on a gondola under a bridge a key Venice moment?" he asked as the bridge approached.
You turned to the approaching stone and back to Mingyu then back again, wondering what you should do. It was clear it was your decision, but Emily's words made sense.
So you gave into your impulse and breathed "Rigatoni," before leaning in to Mingyu just as the bridge shadowed you in its darkness, shading you like a silhouette while your lips pressed to his.
He was warm and gentle, and his hand cupped your cheek and brushed your flushed skin as you sank deeper into his touch. When you felt the sun’s warmth, you pulled back to find Mingyu's eyes were still closed...his lips still puckered. You blushed and turned back to your sketch pad as his heavy eyes opened to watch, tracing from your stained hands to your lips.
The gondolier pulled into a dock, and you returned the items to Mingyu for safe traveling in his backpack. When he helped you out of the gondola, your charcoaled hands stained his palm, and he looked down with a smile at the ash it left behind.
————————————————————————————
"She likes spaghetti with just a little sauce," Mingyu explained to the waitress. He'd not yet caught on to Emily's metaphors and was now sitting across from you at the dinner you'd been given for the mix-up. He ordered wine and smiled his boyish smile while staring down at his hands.
You'd washed them a dozen times but the charcoal had stained the skin for now, and yet he didn't seem bothered by that.
Your phone suddenly chimed and you glanced down with a giggly grin. Having any rigatoni adventures?
I'm more of a rotini girl.
His dick is spiraled😳
You tossed your phone into your bag with a laugh and looked up at Mingyu who was patiently waiting for an explanation.
"It's just Emily wondering how much pasta I've tried."
"It's nice that you have a friend like that," he smiled softly. Your heart fluttered under his gaze, and you turned away shyly to look out at the water.
Your food arrived and you thanked the waitress upon realizing how yummy it looked. Before you could dig in, Mingyu raised his phone. "Here," he grinned, showing you the photo he'd taken. "Now you can let Emily know you've tried two types of pasta."
"I only ordered one," you pointed out.
"You can try some of mine," he offered.
Mingyu put both dishes in the middle and kept the wine flowing while you ate, both of you clearly preferring your pasta to his. He'd texted you the photo and Emily had hearted the message, which you knew was due to the fact that you'd even gotten a meal with him despite your usual cautious personality.
Mingyu was charming all evening and had even offered to hold your hand on the walk back to the Airbnb. You'd swung it proudly between you as you stumbled up the steps, and laughed when he slipped and laughed harder when he was upset you'd laughed.
When you finally made it back to the top, your gaze zeroed in on his fingers pressing the buttons to the keypad, then to his hand reaching for yours again to pull you inside.
You didn't let go of him, and instead held on and stared at him with little nervous giggles.
"What?" he smiled, flashing a dimple that made you melt.
"We kissed," you reminded him with a flush of your cheeks. You'd been replaying it over and over all evening.
"We did," he hummed, his eyes sparkling at the recollection.
"It was nice," you sighed happily as you plopped onto the bed while holding his hand.
He sat beside you and watched with a grin as you curled into the sheets. "You don't have to stay on the couch, you know?" he offered. "I can keep my hands to myself."
You sat up with a frown. "What if I don't want you to keep them to yourself?"
————————————————————————————
You awoke to Mingyu’s arm wrapped around your waist. Neither of you had changed out of your date clothes, both too tipsy to function after the wine waterfall at dinner.
"Stay," Mingyu complained when you tried to leave the bed. "You’re warm."
"I have to shower," you told him, your heart aching when you realized you'd just woken up next to someone new for the first time in years.
"Rigatoni," he pouted.
"What?" you laughed while trying to squirm free.
He shrugged and squeezed you tighter, "It worked yesterday for the kiss. I thought it might make you cuddle."
"I'll cuddle when I'm not sticky with yesterday's sweat," you promised, though you felt sick when you said it. You weren't sure you were ready to move on or even have a rebound guy...even if the rebound guy could be someone as hot and nice as Mingyu.
"Fine," he sighed as he released you. You stumbled from the bed and hurried to the bathroom, weighing the likelihood in your mind that you could fuck him and go home like everything was normal.
You felt so much better when you were clean, and when you walked back in the room in your towel, you noticed Mingyu was eying your sketch.
"Oh..." you muttered, your insecurities creeping up. "It's not done yet."
Mingyu looked up with eyes glassy from tears, as if the woman's pain had become his own. "You're so talented, (Y/N)."
You hadn’t been told that by anyone except Emily in so long. Suddenly, it didn't matter what the pros and cons list in your heart was saying. Even if it felt like you'd been stabbed when you got home, you wanted Mingyu now.
You moved the piece from his hands to the nightstand and mounted his lap. A towel wasn't the optimal choice of clothing right now, but it would do. His hands settled on your waist right away, and you cupped his cheeks with your stained hands, feeling freer than you had in years.
"Rigatoni?" he teased, his eyes hopeful.
"Rigatoni," you laughed and kissed him again, smiling into it as you'd never felt happier than you did in this very moment.
Mingyu squeezed you close so that your chest was against his, and your waist absentmindedly ground against his hips. Mingyu groaned against your kiss and threaded his fingers through your damp hair. "Fuck that's good," he rasped as he drove your waist back and forth. His voice was so husky and desperate that you determined you'd give him anything he wanted as long as he kept talking like that.
"I've never..." you began to explain, but your voice was lost in whimpers.
"You've never what, baby?" Mingyu asked, each word moaned in a warm breath against your neck.
"I've only been with..." you tried again, but the words got lost when Mingyu sucked a sensitive spot by your ear.
"I can make it feel so good for you," he promised as he laid you back against the bed. A gentle finger traced down your cheek and arm before running up your thigh.
You gasped and stared at him, wondering how a little touch could feel like sparks.
Mingyu kissed you softly, his words a lingering vow, "I'm going to make you feel loved."
You kissed him again, gently this time as you permitted him to take you in every way.
“I’m going to make you feel seen,” Mingyu breathed as he drove his hand up your side and reached for the edge of the towel you'd tucked in on your side. He paused as if waiting for a sign to release it.
It came when you whispered, "Please," and arched against him, eager to feel his touch.
He pulled the towel away, letting it fall around you, and looked down to take in your naked frame. He sucked in a breath and bit his lip as your cheeks grew red from nerves. His eyes trailed from your thighs to your chest and up to your lips.
“I’m going to make you feel like you’re mine,” he rasped with a kiss.
You moaned against his lips and traced your hands across his broad shoulders before beginning to undo each button on his dress shirt. You wanted to feel his skin…you wanted him to be yours.
He tugged the shirt away when you started to work on taking off his pants. He smiled against your lips and pulled back with drunken eyes as he stood off the bed, his pants pooling around his feet.
He looked bigger now. He stretched his arm behind him while staring at you with a tempting sparkle in his eyes. You felt small and moved to cover yourself, confused as to why he’d gotten out of bed.
“I don’t want you to regret anything,” he confessed. “I know it’s complicated for you right now.”
He was too sweet. He must’ve been so tall and big because his body had to accommodate his heart.
“The only thing I’d regret is leaving here without being with you,” you admitted before reaching for his hand and bringing him back to bed. He settled against you and traced from freckle to freckle along your skin.
“I feel like I’ve known you my whole life,” Mingyu confessed, his cheeks and ears burning at the admission.
Your eyes stung and you brushed your lips against his before breathing, “I wish you had.”
Mingyu’s lips were careful and hesitant, but his hands explored as they pleased. He ran them down your sides and cupped your breast and his body eventually settled between your legs, allowing you to feel his weight and his need.
“I don’t usually do this,” Mingyu whispered between kisses, his hand now tangled in your hair. “I know I promote parties and clubs and that, that scene has a certain reputation, but I can’t…I can’t perform if I don’t feel something.”
Your gaze softened when you looked at him…really looked. Mingyu may have been a club promoter in the sexiest body you’d seen…but in his eyes, you saw the depth of his soul. He was gentle and a little afraid, and he gave meaning to things that mattered and moved on from things that didn’t. He was a romantic…and he was full of love that he couldn’t help but share.
“I feel something, too,” you confessed, watching his chest fall in relief that it wasn’t one-sided. “But I can’t say it yet…it’s too soon after…”
“I know,” he muttered. “So let me show you instead.”
You nodded through the first tears as Mingyu pulled off his boxers. You hadn’t expected him to be small, but you were still shocked by his length. Before you could panic, he kissed you…then your chest…then your stomach…and then your thighs.
He pulled your legs apart and looked up with dark desire before asking, “May I?”
You bit your lip and nodded before watching him sink in and lick a stripe through your center. Not only was the view of it enough to still your heart, but the feeling ignited you from the inside. You didn’t feel in control anymore, and the sounds that left your lips when he did it again were inhuman.
Mingyu hummed in satisfaction, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked your clit and probed your cunt with his tongue. You couldn’t help but grind against his face, but he didn’t stop you. He let you use him in whatever way you needed…no matter how desperate or messy.
And when he pushed a finger into you, you fell apart. Your back arched off the bed as you fisted his hair, whimpering his name and pleading for more but also for less. It was too much and not enough all at the same time.
Mingyu kissed your thighs and worked his way back up your body, his skin feverish. “I can do that again if you’d like,” he offered. “You sounded so pretty,” he praised as he kissed your neck and nibbled your ear.
You nearly permitted him to eat you out a second time, but then you felt his hardened length against your cunt and knew there was even more pleasure to be had.
You cupped his cheeks and kissed him again, earning a gentle hum. “I want you to make me feel like yours,” you breathed, reciting his promise from earlier.
He interlaced your stained hand with his and kissed your ring finger. “Feel like mine? Or would you like to be mine?”
You felt warm inside at his words and kissed his finger too. “Make me yours.”
Mingyu’s eyes softened as he pressed your hand against the bed. He aligned his cock and pushed in just the slightest bit, but already you knew your heart was his.
He was slow, giving you time to adjust to his size…time to share kisses with whines against each other’s lips as the morning sun turned to afternoon. And once he finally fit, he paused inside you, showing what it meant to be filled both physically and emotionally.
“Mine,” he breathed between kisses before setting a savory pace. Mingyu wasn’t rushing to his end or chasing yours…he was sharing an experience with you…one where your bodies melted together like one…a moment where time felt frozen and your hearts felt heated.
You squeezed his hand and cried, unsure if you’d ever felt love before. Mingyu wasn’t scared of the tears or worried because he could sense you were feeling the same way he was with every pulse around his cock inside you and every shared breath when he pressed inside.
“I’m certain nothing could ever feel better than this,” he rasped.
“I don’t ever want to find out,” you confessed. “I just want you…I want this.”
Mingyu kissed your cheek and neck and pressed his lips to your ear. “I’m yours.”
You squeezed him close, his words hot against your skin and nearly pushing you to the end. You couldn’t stop the way your hips met his, or the way your heart raced in your chest, thudding against your skin and fighting to be seen.
“I want to love you in all the ways you deserve,” he continued, his pace quickening.
“Please,” you breathed, your voice shaky and vision blurred.
“I want to hold you through more adventures and introduce you to my friends,” he muttered.
“Mingyu…” you tried to reciprocate but your voice broke when his hips began to stutter.
“Give yourself to me, baby,” he begged. “And I’ll make it worth it.”
You kissed him, relinquishing to him in every way you could before whispering a sure and needy, “Yours.”
SYNOPSIS. Three Decembers, and a quiet love beneath the surface that refuses to melt. When a certain night last year ends with a drunken kiss and words too afraid to be spoken, you enter this one with memories carried by snowfall that only December remembers.
PAIRING. kim mingyu x fem!reader (ft. mention of soonyoung)
GENRE. tooth-rotting fluff, office romance, coworkers to lovers
WARNINGS. they're lowkey idiots, mild cursing, mentions of loneliness in adulthood, food & alcohol mentions, kissing, mingyu yapping when he's nervous, idk just soft winter fluff <3, also may seem a bit rushed oops (wrote a lot of this btwn the hrs of 3-4 am T_T)
WORD COUNT. 1.5k
notes: ho ho ho! this fic is to be delivered to luna @belovedgyu for the @studiosvt holiday fic exchange <3 i hope you enjoy this lil fic hehe which was SO CHALLENGING to keep within the word limit btw 😭 but it was so so fun to write for you!!! i hope we can keep chatting cuz you seem so sweet and that the holidays treats you well love 🥺
Three Decembers ago, you started a new job. A typical boring office job, to be specific. It was exciting, sure, but the beginning of adulthood came with a dull feeling that felt more like repetitive routines wrapped into responsibility. Moving away from home didn’t help either.
You learned names and faces too. Some older folk as arrogant as a rock, some young ones who were way too eager to prove themselves better. Slowly, you learned how to fit in the middle of it all.
But Kim Mingyu was the last face and name you learned. Because while the rest of the office greeted you with casual hellos, he greeted you with the softest call of your name and a smile as warm as chocolate.
You didn’t think of it as much at first, and maybe neither did he. You were still new after all𑁋just a rookie to blame when the printer jammed or when the coffee machine didn’t work. A girl who had no choice but to spend Christmas by herself.
Two Decembers ago, you stayed way past the clock. Deadlines were tossed your way like garbage, and the gloomy winter season felt like it was slowing you down more than it should.
Little did you know, Mingyu was staying late too. You learned that he liked to take his coffee way too sweet; he learned that you still fall asleep with a night light on sometimes. Little things that became personal over time. He told you about his dreams of travelling the world; you told him about the town you left behind.
It slowly became a habit to stay late with him, even when there was no reason at all. You swore the snowfall was lighter on the walk home after being with him.
Last December, you kissed him.
No, it wasn’t from a grand confession of feelings. It happened after a little too much wine during a Christmas gathering at the office. You didn’t mean to drink much, but it tasted sweet and the laughter that came out of you after someone would say the boring joke of see you next year felt easy. Mingyu stayed near you for most of the night, a glass of wine in his own hands.
Then it was just the two of you by the window. His reflection made him appear closer than you thought. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the thought of having to celebrate the holidays alone again𑁋you leaned in just a little, and he met you halfway.
You both blamed it on the wine, and never talked about it again.
Yet December remembers everything, even when the rest of the year forgets.
This December, you decide to leave the party early.
Not because it was boring, but rather… hollow. Same reused decorations from last year, half-hearted toasts being tossed around. There really isn’t a point in staying if it all ends the same way𑁋that you’re spending Christmas alone, no matter what.
So you pretend to check a notification on your phone, offer a few polite smiles, and slip away quietly like a ghost. No one really notices, or tries to stop you.
But at the door, a familiar voice stops you.
“Y/N?”
Kim Mingyu’s voice comes off a tad bit breathless. Your hand is already on the door when you turn around and see him. His scarf is nearly slipping off his neck, and his hands are shoved into the pockets of his thick coat. Even in the dim lighting, you still see the same softness in his eyes from the first day he met you.
“Hi,” he greets. “You’re… uh, leaving already?”
“Yeah,” You respond casually. “Thought I’d catch the last bus.”
“Ah. Right.” He pauses, and just… looks at you, like he’s trying to read the air, or your face. Then he rubs the back of his neck and asks, “Could I walk out with you?”
You blink up at him, surprised, before nodding. “Sure.”
Mingyu’s face lights up from that, just a mere flicker of a boyish smile that spreads across his stupidly perfect features.
You always thought that he was out of your league because he was nice to everyone. He’s the type of guy to open doors for you and others, the kind who would sneak a muffin in everyone’s cubicle as a source of motivation for the day. It never felt performative or forced.
Now, it’s hard to keep reminding yourself that when he’s beside you, with your shoulders occasionally brushing without meaning to, your silhouettes on the ground blending into one when you’re a little too much in his space. Snow crunches under your shoes as you trudge into the December night, flakes landing in your hair that you don’t bother to brush away.
“Party really was lame, huh?” Mingyu chimes in with a laugh.
A wistful look blooms across you. “Yeah. Soonyoung brought the same cookies from last year. I saw him at the grocery store buying them.”
Mingyu lifts a brow. “I thought he baked them himself?”
“That’s what he wants you to think, but I saw him tearing off the store label this morning.”
“That little liar!” Mingyu groans like it’s the worst betrayal he’s ever faced. “And he even guilt-tripped me for seconds𑁋ugh, he said the recipe was passed down from his grandmother!”
The winter breeze carries away your giggles as you continue to walk, Sometimes you talk; sometimes there’s comfortable silence. But there’s something else in the air as well𑁋like snowflakes of memories landing on your warm skin, lingering long before melting.
You can tell Mingyu is thinking about it, too.
The bus stop is only just a few more steps ahead when you both round a corner.
“Can I ask you something?”
Your steps fall in rhythm with his, waiting.
Mingyu purses his lips together, clearing his throat. “That night, uh… last year…” His voice trails off briefly. “Did you get home okay?”
You pause at that, a little taken aback, yet it sounds so… simple. Perhaps even comforting. It’s such a Mingyu question to ask.
“You’re asking me if I got home okay from a night that happened last year?” You counter teasingly. “Little late, isn’t it?”
Warmth bites at his cheeks in embarrassment. “Very late, I know. I just… I should’ve made sure you got home safe.”
Your heart skips a fond beat at that. You drop your gaze, catching sight of the footprints you leave behind in the snow that’ll be gone by the time this moment ceases. But the snowfall is light right now𑁋it seems like the night doesn’t want to forget just yet.
“I did get home okay,” You tell him with a soft smile. “Thank you for asking.”
Relief loosens his shoulders. “Good. I… I’m glad.”
The bus stop arrives all too fast. Windows from a cafe behind casts a pool of golden light at both of your feet, almost as if it’s creating a spotlight solely for just you and Mingyu. You both find yourselves gazing over the twinkling city ahead, with Christmas festivities occurring behind almost every door.
“I don’t regret it.”
You face him. “What?”
“The kiss.”
Your mouth opens in response. “Mingyu𑁋”
“I never did,” he interrupts suddenly, words tumbling out of his mouth like he’s running out of time. “But when we went on about our days at work, I thought that maybe I had been reading it all wrong the whole time, that you regretted it, and…”
You listen as he rambles on and on about everything he’d kept bottled up for the past year. Because truthfully, you’ve kept it all in too. Like in every unspoken glance you shared across the office, in every awkward bump in the breakroom when you’d turn around and crash into his chest. He never brought it up, and so you didn’t either. But you remember everything, just like December does.
“...and God, I thought that if I kissed you again, I wouldn’t want to stop, because I like you so damn much. And I couldn’t go another year without𑁋”
The next thing Mingyu feels is the sudden tug of his scarf and his lips crashing down onto a pair of soft ones. A deep hum of surprise bubbles out of him, melting immediately, his eyes closing as his hands plant naturally at your waist. He sighs into your mouth like you’ve finally just let him exhale a breath of yearning. Like a conclusion to the prologue you’ve both been waiting for.
Barely an inch separates the two of you when you pull back, your cold noses brushing against each other that makes you both giggle wholeheartedly.
“I𑁋holy shit, did that just happen?” Mingyu rasps breathlessly. “I had a whole speech planned that I hoped to say before the bus arrived and𑁋”
“Mingyu.”
“...yeah?”
“I didn’t regret it, too.”
The bus appears the exact second the words leave your mouth, bringing a rush of wind that makes strands of your hair fly. Yet your feet stay planted firmly to the ground. Mingyu’s eyes flicker over your face like he’s trying to memorise the moment before it could all go away.
Then you feel his hand trail its way down your waist, before he sneaks his fingers into yours. You don’t pull away, and neither does he.
“Can I walk you home tonight?” Mingyu asks, a hopeful spark to his eyes.
You squeeze your hand around his.
“Yeah,” You mutter quietly, and Mingyu swears the smile you wear lights up the city a little more. “Let’s go.”
This December, you have something new to remember.
I don’t remember much but it was a mingyu fic and I think reader, mingyu, and wonwoo were best friends and there’s a scene where u and wonwoo are resting on the stairs before mingyu comes to drag you back to wherever you were. And wonwoo makes a joke that’s like: “my beautiful daughter is tired?”
These details are SO VAGUE and I can’t even remember the main plot that this scene belongs to but hopefully someone knows what I’m talking about 😫😫😫
You and Kim Mingyu have always walked that thin line between professional respect and something dangerously close to flirtation, but neither of you have ever quite slipped. So covering his newest case should be routine — but suddenly, keeping things professional isn't as easy as it used to be.
⇢ pairing. lawyer!mingyu x journalist!reader
⇢ genre. fluff, angst, idiots/acquaintances? to lovers.
⇢ word count. approx. 7.5k
⇢ warnings. f!reader. miscommunication (sorry). lots of pining + tension. a few moral dilemmas but nothing crazy. almost definitely inaccurate depictions of courtroom and law stuff. ft. a few of the itzy girls bc why not!!!
⇢ a/n. happiest of birthdays to one of my favourite people on this planet!!!!! my beloved @gyuswhore this one is for you!! emberly i'm about to type an essay in ur dms anyway but just know that i love u enormous amounts. so so much. and i apologise for the banner its not my best work 😭
THE COURTHOUSE LOBBY is already humming with activity when you step through security: attorneys in suits speed-walking towards elevators, clerks juggling stacks of paper, the espresso machine in the café sputtering and filling the air with the smell of burnt coffee. You’re used to it all by now, and it doesn’t seem anywhere near as chaotic as you used to find it.
But the best part of your mornings tend to be six foot two and annoyingly well-dressed.
You spot Mingyu the moment you step through security: tall, sleek, and freshly pressed, balancing a stack of colour-coded folders against his hip while stirring what you know is an obscene amount of sugar into his coffee.
He doesn’t notice you at first. He’s too busy reading something on a sticky note, lips shaping the words. You hesitate a beat, just long enough to be annoyed at yourself for it, then head his way.
“Mr Kim,” you call out, voice just loud enough to cut through the lobby chatter.
His head snaps up. And there it is, that small flicker of recognition followed by the not-quite-smile he always tries to tamp down.
“Ah. My favourite journalist.” He shifts the folders to greet you properly, pretending he’s not already straightening his tie. He always straightens his tie around you. “Here to make my day harder?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” You hold up your recorder, tilt your head to the side hopefully. “Pre-hearing comment? Thirty seconds. Forty if you’re feeling generous.”
He huffs a soft laugh and gestures toward the hallway with the tip of his coffee cup. “You ambush me the second you walk in the building and expect me to string something together? It’s barely nine.”
“And yet,” you counter, walking beside him, “you look like you got eight hours of sleep and ironed that suit with time to spare.”
“It’s an illusion. I slept three hours and ate some almonds on my way here.”
“Almonds,” you repeat, snorting. You rummage in your bag, pull out a cereal bar, and hold it up between two fingers. His eyes actually light up, but just before his hand can brush yours, you whisk it out of reach and instead tap your recorder against your palm.
He stops walking to give you a displeased look, nose scrunching. “Really?”
You shrug, entirely unbothered. “Needs must.”
“One might call that bribery, Miss ___.”
“One would then have to remember – it’s a cereal bar, Mr Kim.” You raise your eyebrows. “I’m starting to think you don’t want to give me a quote.”
You’ve interviewed dozens of prosecutors over the years, in this very building. But Mingyu is the only one who makes courthouse mornings feel a little lighter. Maybe it’s because he listens, doesn’t shrug you off immediately like some others do. Maybe it’s because he looks at you like the two of you are in on some private joke – and sometimes you are. Maybe it’s because every time you talk, there’s a hum under your ribs you keep telling yourself to ignore.
He pauses at the bulletin board, scanning the docket. “Just a fraud case today. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re covering it.”
“I can’t resist a good public official messing with paperwork,” you say. “It speaks to me.”
“Fraud speaks to you?”
“Don’t judge my hobbies. Besides, you know better than anyone it’s not just a fraud case when it’s Lee Junhyeon behind it all. Do I get a quote or not?”
It’s easy, this back-and-forth. Easier than it should be. Easier than it ever is with anyone else you interview. There’s comfort baked into the rhythm you two have built – teasing layered over familiarity layered over something neither of you names aloud.
He takes one last sip of his coffee, narrows his eyes at the cereal bar, straightens ever so slightly – and nods at your recorder. “Alright. Go ahead. But if I pass out mid-sentence, you’re liable.”
“I’ll include that as a quote.”
“Please don’t.”
You hit record, and he slips effortlessly into prosecutor mode, smooth, concise, measured. You watch the shift happen in real time: the warmth fades, replaced by sharp professionalism, like flipping a switch only he seems able to control.
He finishes. You stop the recorder.
“There,” he says with a tiny tilt of his head, shoulders slumping just the slightest bit. “Was that quick enough?”
“Almost disappointing how cooperative you are.”
“Just trying to stay on your good side.”
You open your mouth to reply, but someone calls his name from down the hall.
He sighs, and you give him a knowing look. “Duty calls.”
“I’ll see you inside?” he asks.
“Wouldn’t miss it.” You press the cereal bar on top of his folders, and he glances down at it in surprise. “Don’t inhale it in front of the judge.”
“No promises,” he grins. And he takes a few steps backward toward the courtroom doors, eyes lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary. Then he turns away, and whatever was pressing down on your chest loosens.
The hallway outsidethe courtroom is louder after the lunch recess, the kind of restless noise that means every reporter is suddenly convinced they’re about to miss something. You weave through the clusters of them, not exactly late, but later than you meant to be, with your notebook tucked under your arm and your phone buzzing with your roommate’s texts about dinner plans.
The Lee Junhyeon case had drawn more media attention than expected for something technically labeled “administrative fraud.” But feeding money into a shell charity he chaired leads to a lot of public interest. Which is why you’re here.
Mingyu and his team arrive from the opposite end of the hall: three attorneys behind him, another two in step beside him, all mid-discussion about something pedantic. He’s flipping through a binder while listening to someone else’s briefing, brows drawn, tie slightly loosened from the morning’s work. He looks focused, a little wrinkle on his forehead, lower lip caught between his teeth. Not that you’re looking at his lips, you remind yourself firmly, clicking your pen.
Which, of course, is exactly when his eyes lift and land right on you.
It’s not a smile – that would be too much – just a brief softening of his features, a small acknowledgment, something only noticeable because you’re tuned to it. He returns his attention to his colleague almost immediately.
Still. Somehow, one look is enough to warm the little dent between your ribs and your stomach,
A handful of other reporters notice him too, and like sharks scenting blood, they move as a group, mics angled, questions already thrust forward. Someone elbows you lightly, not unkindly, but with just enough push that you step to the side to avoid being boxed in.
Mingyu’s team slows. His second chair, Ms. Han, glances over the crowd with unimpressed precision. You join the cluster, not leading it, not hiding either. When one reporter pushes ahead to ask a badly formed question, Mingyu stops walking just long enough to give them a neutral, measured response.
His gaze slips to you again.
You pretend you don’t notice. Or at least you pretend you’re good at pretending.
You ask your question, and he answers just as cleanly, just as concisely. But still, there’s something in how he talks to you. The subtlest, tiniest, warmest thing edging his words, and then he’s gone.
You claim a seat at the press bench again, open your laptop, and start shaping the morning’s notes into something publishable. Your article won’t run until the day after tomorrow, but drafts don’t write themselves – and you’ve learned the hard way that waiting until evening means Ryujin starts threatening to hide your laptop under the couch.
Most of the testimony is dry. A lot of financial analysts, paper trails, the mind-numbing march of spreadsheets projected onto the courtroom screen. The judge interrupts twice; Lee’s defense interrupts five times; the gallery sighs in unison at least twelve. None of this interests you much, but a job is a job, and you know that despite hating it, you’re good at it.
But when Mingyu rises for cross-examination, the room straightens. You do too.
His voice fills the space with that particular calm authority he has, the kind that makes people assume he’s older than he is. You know this version of him well, have reported on his cases more than enough times to be well-acquainted with the gestures he makes, the inflection of his questions. You respect this version of him – you write about it.
But when his eyes pass over the gallery and catch yours, completely by accident, fleeting – you feel something you can’t put in print.
Your stomach drops. You tear your eyes away, look back down at your laptop and type with unnecessary intensity.
You’re still typing later that same evening. Your living room is a battlefield of snack wrappers, loose leaf documents, and Ryujin’s abandoned crochet project. She’s sprawled across the couch like a cat, scrolling through her phone while you type cross-legged on the floor, laptop balanced on your lap.
“I just think there are very few pros to your job, and many, many cons,” Ryujin says, squinting at you over her screen. “You hate it.”
“I don’t hate it. I tolerate it.”
“You tolerate it the way I tolerate dental cleanings,” she mutters. “Which is to say: not at all.”
You glance up then. “Speaking of, you have spinach in your teeth.”
She doesn’t fall for your bait, rolling her eyes. “But there is one pretty big advantage, I guess,” she says, suddenly sing-song, and you already know what she’s going to say. “Because it keeps you seeing a certain prosecutor, right?”
You determinedly fix your eyes on your screen. “I see lots of prosecutors.”
“But only one who emails back at 10p.m.”
“It was nine-forty-seven, I’ll have you know,” you mutter darkly. And then you sigh, roll your shoulders, and take a sip of cold coffee. Grimace, put the mug down. “It’s a big case. It matters.”
“You know what else matters? The hot prosecutor. He matters.”
“There is no ‘he,’” you say, typing harder than necessary. “It’s work. He’s work.”
“Mhm. But work is six foot two, and looks like that.”
(You’d made the mistake of giving Ryujin his name, just once, and from there she’d found his LinkedIn and his Instagram – which was private, of course, but the profile picture alone was enough.)
You don’t dignify her with a response.
She groans. “I’m just saying, if you two ever – ”
“We won’t,” you interrupt quickly. Too quickly. She grins at you wickedly, and you exhale again. “It wouldn’t be right, anyway. I’m covering his case – I always end up covering his cases. There’s gotta be some kind of – conflict of interest, some kind of rule I would be breaking.”
“But you would?” She presses, her phone long forgotten. “If it wasn’t for your job and your rules, you would?”
You close your laptop a little too fast. “I’m going to get more coffee.”
“That’s a yes!”
You lean back against the wall, groan and bury your face into your hands. You know just as well as Ryujin claims she does, that yes, you would. Absolutely, you would. And the rational part of you knows that Mingyu – well, you’re not blind. You see how he looks at you. But you also see how he rearranges his features every time you catch him looking.
You know you can’t want something like Mingyu.
“Yes,” you say finally, “Yes, Ryujin, I would, but I can’t, and he can’t, so what’s the point?”
“You’re letting the possible love of your life go because of a job you hate,” she says. “You tell me, what’s the point?”
You don’t have an answer.
The case settles into the city, but the buzz doesn’t quite die down, only fades a little. By the second week of hearings, you’re pretty sure you can recite all of Lee Junhyeon’s shell companies by name.
You arrive earlier than usual, the lobby quieter. You expect to beat him for once (it’s become a private scoreboard in your head, who gets here first) but when you step through security, Mingyu’s already there.
He’s leaning over the front desk, signing something with a clerk, tie slightly crooked like he got dressed in a hurry for the first time in his life. You catch yourself pausing again. That’s becoming a habit you don’t appreciate.
The clerk spots you approaching before he does.
“Oh,” she says, brightening. “He said you’d probably be here right about – ”
Mingyu straightens too fast, almost drops his pen, and clears his throat. “I said she’s usually here around now. That’s not – I didn’t mean – ”
The clerk giggles into her sleeve. You fight down a smile.
“Ignore him,” Yeji says to you in a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s jumpy today.”
“I can tell,” you say, eyes flicking to his crooked tie. “Good morning, Mr Kim.”
He notices. Of course he does. “I was running late,” he mutters, and then he glances at your empty hands. “No coffee?”
“What,” you say lightly, “did you want me to get you one?”
He stiffens so hard you nearly laugh. “No. No. I just thought – never mind.”
You should leave it at that. You should walk to the elevators, get your seat in the press row, start preparing the notes you need. But something makes you linger; maybe the way he’s still holding his pen mid-air like he forgot what to do with it, maybe the faint pink rising at his collar.
“Rough morning?” you ask, tone neutral enough that you hope it passes for professional curiosity.
“Not rough,” he says quickly. “Just early. And I had to prep some stuff, and fix…” His hand twitches uselessly toward his tie. “This.”
He looks so mildly defeated you almost feel bad.
“Come here,” you sigh, stepping closer before you can talk yourself out of it.
His eyes widen. “What are you—”
“Relax,” you say. He goes still – like he thinks if he moves you’ll vanish – and you straighten the knot with the same brisk efficiency you use on your own clothes before interviews. He blinks down at you, and it’s a mistake to look up at him because suddenly the distance between you feels a little too charged.
“There,” you blurt, a little too loud, stepping back quickly.
“Thank you,” he says, too soft for the lobby. Then he tries to recover, clearing his throat, straightening his spine. “I could have done it myself.”
“No,” you say, heading for the elevators before either of you gets stupid. “You really couldn’t have.”
He follows automatically, matching your pace without thinking. You wish he wouldn’t do that – not because you mind, but because your cheeks are still burning, and you can still feel the ghost of his warmth under your fingertips.
“You’re early,” he says, voice settling back into something steadier. “I thought you hated mornings.”
“I do,” you admit. “But I needed time to re-read the testimony from the other day.”
“Ah.” He exhales. “Good luck. It put half my team to sleep last night.”
“Tell them to eat more almonds.”
The corner of his mouth tilts up. “Was that a joke?”
“Don’t get used to it.”
It keeps happening.
You don’t plan to run into him every morning. You tell yourself that constantly. But you leave home at the same time, and catch the same bus,and the courthouse security line always moves faster than you expect, and Mingyu always, always seems to step into the lobby within thirty seconds of you.
Today, he approaches from behind while you’re staring at the display on a broken vending machine.
“Miss ___,” he greets, with a faint smile. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”
You don’t jump; you refuse to give him that satisfaction. “Do I? I guess I’m too obvious.”
He snorts. “You hate it that much?”
“No,” you say, in a bland tone that obviously means yes. “I’m just waiting for my editor to text me back.”
“Do you need a second opinion?” he asks, already sipping his coffee.
“On my editor’s competence or my writing?”
“Both.”
You let out a laugh. It’s bright, rings through the lobby a little louder than you mean it to. And when you look over at him –
God.
He’s looking at you like he wasn’t prepared for the sound. Like it hit him somewhere unexpected. His expression softens, just slightly, before he pulls it back. You watch it happen, the warmth fading just a little, smile turning down the tiniest bit.
You look away first.
You always do.
An intern or something rushes over with a folder, interrupting the moment as quickly as it appeared. Mingyu takes it, thanks her, and turns back to you.
“I should go.”
“Of course.” You hesitate. “See you in court, Mr Kim.”
He lingers a second, like he wants to say something else.
He doesn’t. He leaves instead, shoulders straighter than before.
You exhale only after he’s out of sight.
It’s one week later, you’re on your way back from the bathroom, typing notes on your phone, when you nearly collide with him as he’s rounding the corner.
Mingyu steadies you before you stumble, one hand hovering near your elbow without actually touching.
You freeze. So does he.
“You alright?” he asks.
“Fine.” Too fast. Too clipped. You clear your throat, try again. “Fine. Thank you.”
He withdraws his hand immediately, stepping back as if he’s not sure how close he’s allowed to be. You can see the calculation behind his eyes; professional boundaries, reporters everywhere.
Except there aren’t reporters everywhere – not right now, at least. Not in this narrow hallway behind the stairwell, empty except for the two of you and the quiet hum of the fluorescent hallway lights.
He seems to realize that at the exact same moment you do.
You clear your throat again, tucking your phone into your bag. “Sorry. I wasn’t looking.”
“No,” he says. “No, it’s fine. I wasn’t, either.”
The air feels different – heavier, somehow. Neither of you moves.
He looks unusually… unsure. Mingyu rarely looks unsure. You’re used to seeing the confident version of him: the prosecutor, the man who can dismantle a witness with three clean questions. Occasionally, you see the slightly clumsy version of him, a little more light-hearted.
But right now, his voice is lower, softer, more hesitant than ever.
“Long day?” he asks.
“Same as any other.”
“Right,” he says, but it’s not really agreement, it’s more like he’s buying time, trying to settle himself.
You shift your weight. He looks down when you move, then up again, slowly, as if tracking you is involuntary.
God, why does the hallway suddenly feel so small?
“Your tie is crooked again,” you blurt.
You want to smack yourself.
He blinks, glancing down with widened eyes. “Is it?”
You should say it’s fine and move on. You should turn, keep walking, go anywhere else except closer to him.
But you don’t. A beat slips between you, long enough you could step away, long enough he could laugh, long enough for both of you to choose sense over impulse.
Neither of you chooses it.
“May I?” The question leaves your mouth before your brain approves it.
He inhales, sharply, quietly, and the only reason you hear it is because of the silence between you - and then he nods once.
You step closer. Close enough to smell the faint starch of his shirt, the ghost of coffee on his breath. Your fingers brush the fabric of his tie, and it feels different to last week. Feels even more tense, with nobody around, no clerk laughing at his clumsiness.
His breath hitches.
When you look up – the same mistake – he’s already looking down at you. There’s something in his expression he never lets slip in court, very rarely lets slip outside. It’s quiet and warm and unguarded, pooling in his brown eyes.
Your hand is still on his tie. You straighten it slowly, but don’t quite pull back. His hand raises, hovering near your hip. Like he wants to close the distance but knows he shouldn’t.
“Miss ___,” he says, but it comes out like your first name. Like he forgets halfway through that he isn’t supposed to say it so gently.
“Mhm?” Your voice barely works.
“We’re…” His jaw tightens. He swallows, and you follow the movement down his throat unconsciously. “We shouldn’t be this close.”
“I know.”
Neither of you moves.
He searches your face like he’s trying to memorise it – that, or he’s trying to convince himself to step back. His eyes drop to your mouth for one split second.
It’s enough.
Heat rushes to your face. Your heart kicks so hard you swear he can hear it, feel it in the air between you, and then you’re leaning in, and he is, too. Noses are inches apart, breaths mingling.
And then – he stops. You stop. Or you stop, and then he stops, you’re not quite sure. It feels simultaneous; if someone had done it first, it’d only be by a millisecond.
Either way, the moment cracks like thin ice.
You pull back first, hand dropping from his tie as if burned. Mingyu steps away so quickly he nearly hits the wall. His breath leaves him in one unsteady exhale he tries and fails to disguise.
“I shouldn’t – ” he starts, voice rough. He clears his throat, tries again. “We can’t.”
“I know,” you whisper.
He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling hard, composure unraveling in a way you’ve never seen. It makes something twist painfully, sharply, inside your chest.
“If I could…” he begins.
You look up.
“If I could,” he says again, lower now, some kind of urgency pushing his words into the space between you. “I would.”
You can’t breathe.
“But I can’t,” he adds quickly, too quickly, like if he doesn’t say it immediately he’ll lose the ability to say it at all. “Not while you’re covering this case. Not while I’m –” He gestures vaguely to the courtroom, to the entire world you both have to answer to, at least for now. “You know why.”
You nod. Because you do know, you’ve always known. “I get it,” you say softly.
He steps back another inch, like distance is the only thing keeping him sane. “I should go,” he says, then, and you don’t stop him. Just watch him leave, noting through your daze how tight his shoulders are, how rigid his steps are.
When he disappears around the corner, you finally let yourself exhale.
By the time you make it home that night, your legs feel like someone else’s. The walk from the bus stop is only seven minutes, but it stretches out, heavy, your thoughts just racing further with every step.
Ryujin is sprawled on the couch when you walk in, laptop open, hair perched in a precarious bun at the top of her head. She peeks over the screen the moment she hears the door.
“You’re home late,” she says. “What’d the justice system do to you this time? Suck the remaining life out of you?”
You drop your bag by the coat rack. “Basically.”
Ryujin narrows her eyes in exaggerated suspicion. “You didn’t answer my text earlier.”
“I was busy.”
“With court stuff,” she says, as if warming up to a theory she’s been itching to present all day. “Or with your favourite lawyer?”
She says it with a deep, smug, knowing tone.
You glare at her. “He’s not my favourite lawyer.”
“Uh-huh.” She closes her laptop halfway, leaning her chin on her palm. “You’re lying poorly again. Want to try that sentence one more time with dignity?”
You toe off your shoes and join her on the couch, sinking into the cushion like it’s been years since you last sat down. “There’s nothing going on.”
Ryujin doesn’t blink. “Yet.”
You grab a throw pillow and smack her with it. “Not yet, not ever,” you correct. “At least, not until I get rid of this stupid job.”
“And is that in the cards any time soon?”
You stare at the ceiling for a moment, listening to the faint hum of the fridge. You knew this conversation would happen eventually. You just thought you’d have more time to figure out what you want.
“I’ve been applying for new jobs since before this case started,” you admit.
Ryujin sits up straighter. “Wait. Really?”
“Yes.” You chew on the inside of your cheek. “I like writing. You know I do. I just don’t think this lane is where I want to stay. The court stuff, it’s interesting, but it’s not what I got into journalism for. You know that.”
Ryujin blinks, processing. “So this isn’t about him.”
“No,” you say. “It’s not. I’d do this whether I’d met him or not.”
She watches you carefully, long enough that you start to feel exposed under it, then she nods. “Okay. Good. Because quitting a whole career path for a guy would be stupid.”
“You’re very supportive,” you deadpan. “Weren’t you the one going on about oh, the love of your life or a job you hate?”
“I wasn’t serious, you know that. I’m realistic,” she counters, kicking your shin gently. “But if you’ve been unhappy, then yeah! Leave. Apply to every job. Apply to the ones you don’t even want. Chaos is free.”
You laugh, weak but genuine.
“And…” Ryujin raises her brows, voice shifting softer. “It does make it easier for you to go ahead, and, you know. Ask out the man of your dreams.”
You cover your face with your hands. “It’s – he is not – ”
“He absolutely is,” she says. “But that’s fine. We’re not judging. We’re just stating things accurately.”
“Just because I quit doesn’t mean we’re going to magically live happily ever after. He might not even like me like that.” You know that’s not true, especially after today. Still, you hate how much you sound like you’re back in high school.
“You sound like you’re back in high school.”
You groan, sliding down the couch until your head rests against the armrest. “I hate you.”
Ryujin pats your knee affectionately. “No you don’t. You love me. I’m wise.”
“You’re annoying.”
“I am large. I contain multitudes.”
You stare at the ceiling again, but this time, it feels a little lighter. Less like the world is closing in, more like it’s shifting forward.
Ryujin nudges you with her foot. “So. New jobs. What are we looking for?”
You hesitate, but only for a second, because you’ve thought about it so much. “Something with more features. Maybe like, one of those, you know, fancy arts magazines. Or the literature stuff.”
Her grin spreads slow and pleased. “Then we’ll find it. Easy.”
You know it’s not easy – it’s been weeks of sending applications into the void – but the conviction in her voice warms something inside you.
“And hey,” she adds, sitting back with her laptop. “If your tall hot lawyer happens to read your award-winning future articles and regret the day he ever let you walk away, that’s his problem.”
You throw another pillow at her face, and she catches it, triumphant.
You’re not expecting to see anyone from the courthouse on a Saturday morning, least of all Mingyu. The café is a good twenty minutes away from the district building, far enough away that you don’t get any familiar faces whenever you come here to work, except when you drag Ryujin with you.
Today, though, it’s just you, your laptop, a croissant, and yet another job application form. You’re halfway through uploading some of your writing samples when the bell over the café door jingles.
You don’t look up, not until you hear a familiar voice say, “You have got to be kidding me.”
Your fingers freeze over your keyboard.
You raise your eyes slowly. Mingyu stands in the doorway, holding an iced Americano and wearing glasses you’ve never seen before, round, thin-framed, unfairly flattering. His hair is slightly messy, like he didn’t bother styling it for once, and for once, he’s not wearing a suit.
“You’re following me,” you say, because it’s the first thing your mouth decides to go with.
He huffs. “Do you really think I have time for that?”
You close your laptop halfway. “Compelling argument, Mr Kim.”
He winces. “Please don’t call me that here. It’s Saturday.”
You can’t help laughing, and the sound makes him stop mid-step, just for a beat, barely noticeable. His expression softens as he moves toward your table.
“You working?” he asks, nodding at your laptop.
“Trying to,” you reply. “Not court stuff, so don’t worry.”
He hesitates, standing there with his coffee, shifting his weight. “Mind if I…?” He gestures vaguely to the empty seat across from you.
And this – this is where you should say no. Because it’s weird. Because you spend too much time in hallways and lobbies together already, because you almost kissed the last time you were alone together.
But he’s looking at you with hopeful eyebrows, and it’s Saturday, and you’re tired of replaying the same loops in your head.
“Sure,” you say lightly, but as he sits, you angle your laptop away from him without thinking. He notices.
“I’m not trying to peek,” he says, hands raised in surrender.
You smile. “I didn’t think you were.”
There’s a brief lull as he unwraps his straw, stirs his drink, takes a sip. Something about the normalcy of it, the absence of suits, no fluorescent lighting hanging above you – it feels absurdly intimate.
“So am I allowed to ask what you’re working on that’s not court stuff?” he asks. “Creative writing? Exposé about the corruption of local cafés?”
Your eyes widen, feeling caught.
He blinks at your silence, and you see him withdraw just the tiniest bit, a smile plastered on his face. “You don’t have to tell me, you know.”
“Job applications,” you say before you can soften it.
His eyebrows shoot up, surprise breaking across his features. “You’re leaving City News?”
You sigh, pushing a hand through your hair. “Trying to.”
He sits up abruptly. “Why?”
You lean back a little, startled by his sudden change in tone, almost harsh. “What?”
“Listen,” he says, urgently, quickly. “If this is about – last week.”
“What,” you say slowly, raising an eyebrow. If he won’t say it, you will. “When we almost kissed?”
His cheeks redden, but he pushes forward. “Yes, that. If this is about that, then don’t – I mean, it shouldn’t have happened.”
It feels like something cold is dousing your chest, trickling down into the pit of your stomach. “I know that.”
“Because we’re in the middle of an active case.” He insists on continuing, like he hasn't heard you. “It wouldn’t be right, you know that. And besides, it was just – it was bad timing. A mistake. We were, you know, exhausted, and we’ve always been friendly, but you don’t have to le–”
You cut him off. “A mistake?”
“I’m trying to say, you don’t have to quit just because of that. It wouldn’t be right. We can just forget it ever happened!”
You’re still hung up on that word. A mistake. “I’m sorry,” you say, letting out a derisive snort. “If I could, I would – isn’t that what you said? And now it’s suddenly just a mistake?”
Mingyu’s eyes widen, like he’s just realising he’s done something wrong. Like he’s just realising he’s misunderstood this whole entire thing.
“For your information, Mr Kim, I’ve been applying for new jobs for over a month,” you bite out, shoving your stuff into your bag. “It has nothing to do with you, or whatever mistake we made last week.”
“Wait – wait, ___,” he starts, but you don’t let him finish.
“Listen, if you want to forget about it, feel free. Consider it done. I’ll never bring it up again, and once I get my new job, you never have to see my face again.” You’re tired, embarrassed, angry, and all of it knots together inside your chest. “I’ll see you in court, Mr Kim.”
He doesn’t come after you.
You don’t expect the silence to be this absolute.
A part of you thinks that once you step back into the courtroom, once you’re surrounded by clerks and attorneys and the usual shuffle of papers, things will fall back into their familiar rhythm, that he’ll make some quiet comment as he passes your table, or nod in that way that’s half-greeting, half-habit.
Instead, Mingyu barely looks at you.
The first time you see him after the argument, he’s already leafing through a binder. His expression is the same one he wears for every session in court: composed, serious, utterly focused. But he doesn’t lift his gaze when you walk in – not when you take your seat, not even when you have to shift your chair because one of your colleagues squeezes past, the scrape of the metal legs loud against the tile.
You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. You tell yourself it’s for the best.
You tell yourself that yesterday’s email, beginning with Congratulations! means you won’t have to do this for much longer. Except then, outside the courtroom, you ask a follow-up question to something your co-worker asks, and when he replies, your stomach twists because you can hear the difference.
He talks to you the way he talks to every other reporter in the room.
When court breaks, you linger by the aisle to avoid crossing paths. It works for exactly two minutes, until a clerk tries to hand you a set of documents and they slip, scattering across the floor. You kneel to gather them at the same moment someone else does.
Long fingers. A watch you’ve teased him about before.
You stop.
Mingyu hovers for half a second, clearly debating whether to continue. Then, very slowly, painfully slowly, he puts the pile he’s gathered down, retracts his hand and stands.
“I’ll let you take those,” he says, softly.
“Thank you,” you answer, eyes fixed on the papers, pulse loud in your ears.
You don’t look up. You can’t.
He steps away, shoes quiet against the polished floor.
The ink on the papers blur for a second, and you blink hard, blaming the courtroom’s dry air. You breathe again only when the door closes behind him.
Time passes, and the distance settles into a horrible routine.
He holds doors open for everyone, including you, without pausing or meeting your eye. When he makes an objection that gets sustained, you don’t let yourself smile. When he wins a point you predicted he would, you don’t feel the same sense of satisfaction. When he glances up mid-argument, you keep your gaze locked on your laptop.
On one of the later days, he falters, just for a moment – mid-sentence, his breath catches on a word. No one else notices, but you do, and you reflexively look up, his eyes are on you. There’s a beat, and then he continues speaking, steady and smooth as ever, but that single slip echoes inside you.
By the last day of trial, the courthouse feels different.
Not quieter – if anything, it’s louder, people sliding through hallways with more purpose than usual – but the air around you feels muted. As if you’re wrapped in thick cotton, watching everything from a half-step removed.
And maybe that’s because you spend the entire morning doing what you’ve perfected over the past week: not looking at Kim Mingyu. Not unless you absolutely, professionally must.
He doesn’t look at you either. Not unless he absolutely, professionally must.
When you enter the courtroom, he’s already sitting, files arranged in his impossibly neat stack, suit crisp, expression unreadably calm. You don’t let your gaze linger. You don’t give yourself that indulgence. Instead you slide into the press row, notebook out, pen ready.
The judge enters. Everyone rises. Everyone sits.
You take notes mechanically, fingers moving on their own. Working without really thinking, just trying your best to keep your focus away from him, as you have been over the past few weeks. You focus on the defendant instead, on the closing arguments, anything but him.
But Mingyu, of course, makes that impossible.
He stands to deliver the prosecution’s final statement, and even though you stare fixedly at the edge of your notebook, you hear every word, clear, steady, composed. He’s good. More than good. Same as he always is.
Your pen slips once, leaving a long ink drag across the margin.
When he returns to his seat, you don’t look up, you keep writing.
You try not to hear your pulse.
The afternoon stretches. The jury is out deliberating, leaving everyone suspended in that suffocating pre-verdict limbo. Some reporters mingle in the hallway. Others type up summaries. You sit on a bench outside the courtroom, laptop open, pretending to fine-tune your article when really you’re trying not to look down the hall.
Because he’s there, talking to someone on his team, looking completely collected – except for the way he keeps rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to ease out the tension.
You shouldn’t notice that, and you shouldn’t know that gesture as well as you do.
Ryujin messages you once – still going ok? want me to bring u a coffee?? – and you send back a short, all good, last day anyway. She doesn’t push.
You sigh, keep your head down, but eventually, your eyes pull upward on their own. Just for a second. Just to confirm that he’s still there, that he’s –
He’s looking at you.
Only for a moment, but it’s enough that you jolt, like you’ve been caught doing something wrong. You drop your gaze so fast your whole body jerks with the movement, your laptop screen wobbling.
The distance between you feels like a physical thing, thick, uncomfortable, heavy with everything unsaid. And after so much of it, you’re beginning to realize something awful:
You miss him.
You miss teasing him in the lobby. You miss his quick quips, you miss the way he’d accidentally catch your eye in court. The way he’d nod at you in greeting whenever he passed by, the faintest of smiles on his lips.
You press your fingers to your temple. You brought this on yourself, you know that. For some reason, it doesn’t make it easier.
It’s late afternoon when the jury returns.
Everyone shuffles back inside, and the verdict is delivered, a mixture of charges upheld, others dismissed. You type each one out dutifully to draft up later, but you don’t have much interest in your screen. You already know this is your last case to cover, possibly your last time in this courtroom.
When court adjourns, the room splits into a hum of conversation. Attorneys shake hands, reporters drift forward, and you close your laptop slowly. You’re not in a rush, but you don’t have good reason to linger either.
You pack your bag, slip past a cluster of colleagues, and make for the aisle. You almost make it out without a word to anyone, which is quite a feat, but then Mingyu steps, ever so carefully, into your path. His expression is careful,gentle around the edges, but careful. Walking on eggshells.
“Hey,” he says, quietly. He opens his mouth, closes it, wets his lips with his tongue, and finally settles on – “Good work.”
You swallow, throat tight. “You too.”
He nods once, like he expected that. Like he doesn’t expect anything else from you anymore. And then someone’s calling his name from across the room, another attorney, and your phone starts buzzing, and the moment breaks.
Mingyu steps back. Offers you a polite, nearly formal incline of his head, and then he’s gone.
Good work.
Two weeks pass before you set foot in the courthouse again.
You tell yourself it won’t feel strange. You’re here to pick up a few documents, one last errand for City News, nothing more. Nothing to do with prosecutors or defence attorneys or even Lee Junhyeon. Nothing to do with Mingyu, either.
The courthouse looks the same when you approach it, though: winter sun catching on its windows, the wide stone steps as familiar as always. Inside, the lobby buzzes with the usual noise, heels, echoing voices.
You focus on the desk you need to get to. You focus on not looking around. You almost pull it off, chatting to the clerk, Yeji, about your new job with a smile. Chaeryeong comes up behind you both. “___!” she says. “What are you doing here?”
“She’s quitting,” Yeji answers for you, beaming. Even she knew how much you wanted to leave.”She’s going to work at one of those fancy arts and culture magazines.”
“No shit,” Chaeryeong says, admiringly. “You got a new job?”
And then you hear Mingyu, somewhere to your side.
Of course you hear Mingyu. His voice stands out even when you don’t want it to.
“Really?” he asks, soft in a way that hits you low in the stomach. “Where?”
Your throat tightens, half nerves, half guilt. You hadn’t planned to tell him. You hadn’t planned to avoid telling him, either. It was just so much easier this way.
Yeji opens her mouth, probably to answer, but she must see your face, and closes it, suddenly standing up and grabbing Chaeryeong’s hand. “We’re going to, uh. Go do our job. Somewhere else.” And they disappear down the hallway before you can even say anything.
You turn, and for one awful, suspended second, you and Mingyu stare at each other across the lobby. There’s surprise on his face first, then relief, then something unreadable that he very quickly pushes away. He steps toward you, and you force your spine straighter.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.”
Silence stretches, thin and taut.
You exhale through your nose. “I didn’t know you were here today.”
“I could say the same,” he replies. “I thought – ” He stops, shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
You nod. Another silence. It’s not the comfortable kind you used to share, this one is awkward and delicate.
“Congrats,” he says finally. “On the new job.”
“Thank you,” you reply. “I’m excited.”
“You should be.” He means it; you can tell. “It’s a good move for you.”
You swallow. “Listen, Mr –” you start, and then change your mind. “Mingyu. About the other day, in the café. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I’m sorry.”
“No,” he says, quickly, eagerly. “I’m sorry. I messed up my words, you had every right to be upset.”
“I still shouldn’t have said it like I did,” you say. “You didn’t deserve that.”
His mouth curves. “Maybe a little.”
You huff out a breath that’s an excuse for a laugh, hands tightening around the strap of your bag. You want to say more, but the words won’t come. And even if they did, this isn’t the place. Not with clerks walking by and the elevator dinging open and shut, not with the ghosts of the last few weeks crowding the air between you.
“I should get going,” you say instead.
“Right. Of course.”
You turn first. You always turn first. You walk toward the exit, and you don’t look back, even though you want to, even though everything in you pulls tight at the thought of leaving things like this again.
The courthouse doors swing open. Morning light spills across the steps. You’re halfway down when you hear your name, called after you.
You stop.
Mingyu’s footsteps are quick, uneven, like he didn’t think before he moved. When you pivot, he’s there, eyes wide, tie, as always, crooked.
“Wait,” Mingyu says, slightly breathless. And he’s looking at you with that expression he never lets slip in court: unguarded, earnest, a little scared and a lot certain. “___,” he says softly, stepping closer. “I know the timing is awful,” he says, voice low but steady.
“The timing is always awful,” you agree, but you’re smiling.
His lips twitch slightly in response, but then he’s serious again. “I don’t want to leave things like this.”
Your pulse stutters.
“And I know we said we needed boundaries before,” he continues quickly, pushing on like he’s afraid you’re going to take flight. “We were right. But you’re not covering my cases anymore. And I’m not your source. And – ” He stops, exhales hard. “Can I take you to dinner?”
The world hangs still.
Not the courthouse behind you or the street below or the people passing, just the two of you and the question he finally asks.
You blink at him.
Then:
“Yeah,” you say, the word soft but sure. “You can.”
Relief unfurls across his features, warm and bright and so unmistakably Mingyu that your chest aches.
“Okay,” he says, almost laughing under his breath. “Okay. Great.”
“Great,” you echo, failing to control the smile that spread across your face.
He stands there a moment longer, like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind. You meet his eyes, really meet them, and something settles between you both, warmer and sweeter than ever.
a/n: i was struggling w/ ideas initially but i remembered a convo em and i had like Forever ago about how smart mingyu is and i was like. let me do something with that. and this is what came out. anyway. happy birthday to em. i love u.
