Y/n and Mingyu have been best friends since kindergarten. They were so inseparable that they developed their own language. But what will happen if they accidentally get married during their annual trip to Vegas? Do they stay married because of unforeseen circumstances? Or not? Will it turn into a real marriage? What happens when it begins to feel more than just a fake marriage to them?
"Thanks for this trip, Mingyu." I slurred my words as I placed my hand on his chest
"Are you having fun?" he asks, not as slurred but he was still drunk
I nodded happily. "I'm really glad I have a friend like you." I pointed at him with my fingers still on his chest "Did you know my mom wants us to get married?"
He laughs as the loud music pounds in the club we were in. We were by the bar, so it wasn't that loud. "Really why?" he asks
I shrugged "I don't know. I guess she thinks we should get together someday." I answered, "Does your mom think that too?" I asked
"Yeah, I think she does. But I told her we're just friends."
"Exactly! Can't a guy and a girl be friends without having romantic feelings for each other?" I exclaim
"I know, right?" he snakes his arms around my waist, pulling me closer so I can hear better "You know why they think that?" he asks, and I shake my head "Because we're always this close with each other," he answers "They think that we're going fuck at one point."
I laughed at his choice of language "Good point." I looked at him "We should prove them wrong then." I said
"How?" he asks curiously
"We should get married!" I shouted happily at him
Mingyu laughed at my words, "What?! How is that going to prove the wrong?"
"If we get together as a couple and see that we can't work as a couple - it'll be too weird, they should see that we're always going to be friends - just friends."
"Yeah, but why get —"
I gasp, cutting him off "Look! A couple at the other table - they looked like they got married across the street." I said, pointing at the couple, "That's so sweet. " I finished
Mingyu motioned to the bartender to get some drinks for us. Then the bartender puts a shot in front of us, and he hands me one, "To the couple!" he shouts
I laughed before clinking our glasses together and downing the alcohol. Mingyu and I let out a cough from how strong the drink was "What are we talking about again?" he asks as he scratches the back of his head
I blinked my eyes rapidly, trying to remember "I don't know..."
"Shall we dance instead?" he pulls out his hand
I grabbed it and said, "Let's go!" leading him to the dance floor
The rays of the sun were hitting my face, making me groan lightly. I opened my eyes slowly, and when my eyes adjusted to the light, I was back at the hotel suite Mingyu booked for us, which was odd because I don't remember coming in here. I was staring at the ceiling; a low snore beside me chirped. I slowly looked at the person beside me and found a shirtless Mingyu beneath the covers. My eyes shot down at myself, and when I realized I was wearing his white button-down from last night, I shot up from bed.
"Mingyu! Wake up!" I shake his shoulders awake "Hey! Wake up!" I slapped his cheek softly
In response, he released a low 'ow' before saying, "What?" he snapped
"Why are we in bed together?" I asked as he slowly lifted his body
I couldn't help but stare at his upper body. I knew he was muscular, but I've actually seen him like this before.
Mingyu finally got a hold of himself and stared at me "Are you wearing my?..."
I nod slowly "Did we?..."
Mingyu shook his head "No, I'm pretty sure we slept in different places last night," he said
"And yet we're here!" I shouted
Mingyu and I groaned at my voice "Don't yell, my head is killing me," he said as he grabbed his forehead
"Sorry." I said grabbing my head
He cleared his throat "What do you remember?" he asks
I shrug "I remember drinking, dancing, probably me vomiting somewhere, but... nothing about this." I gesture between us
Mingyu lifted the covers up "Well, I'm not totally naked. Maybe we didnt—"
"You don't know that." I cut him off "I'm just gonna tell you that; I'm not wearing anything underneath this." I mumbled
His eyes grew wide at my statement, "Okay, let's not jump to conclusions." He placed his hand on my shoulders gently before getting out of bed grabbing his pants and putting them on on
I sighed, "Mingyu?" I called
He looked at me "Yeah?"
"Are we good?" I asked, fidgeting with my fingers
He came to my side of the bed and sat down "Of course we are, Y/n. I promise everything will be okay," he says, giving me a soft smile
I smiled back at him "Thanks." I said
"Whatever happened, I'm sure we'll deal with it together, okay?"
I nod, "Okay."
There was a knock on the door, making Mingyu and me jump "I'll get it. Come out if you're ready." he gives me an encouraging smile before going to the door
When he left the room, I got out of bed and started to look for my things. I gathered my undergarments and put them on, then I proceeded to throw Mingyu's shirt again since I couldn't find my own.
I came out of the room, and I heard Mingyu was speaking to someone "I told you, ma'am, I don't know what you're talking about. I assure you, you have the wrong room," he said to the woman dressed in a uniform that I'm guessing she works for the hotel.
"What's going on?" I asked, coming into their view
"Ah, at last your wife is here." she grins at me
I released a laugh, "That's funny, I'm not married." I said, going to Mingyu's side
She released a soft chuckle. "Not before last night, you and Mr. Kim got married last night. So that makes you his wife."
Mingyu and I looked at each other, shocked, then back at her, "WHAT!" Mingyu and I exclaimed together
summary: you've just moved in with your boyfriend, and you're getting ready to go out together. too bad you have a habit of making things hard for him.
warnings: not proofread (when is anything i make proofread anyway), disgustingly in love cheol and reader, domestic bliss, reader wears a dress, unprotected sex (DON'T)
a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHEOL!! i love this man with all my heart can you believe it. i also wrote this as part of @studiosvt A Midsummer Carat's Dream event - pls go check out the other fics, too! ALSO also, huge thanks to @straylightdream for making me this absolutely amazing banner, especially on such short notice. you're the best, dreamie, i love you very much <3
It has been a week since you and Seungcheol moved in together. It has honestly been a week of bliss for the both of you, filled with domestic moments and sweet, giggly kisses. You find yourselves following each other around your apartment, never spending more than fifteen minutes in different rooms if either of you can help it.
During this week, you both decided not to make any social plans so you could spend all your time and energy on getting properly settled in your new home. Today, though, you finally feel like it's time to break out of your bubble of domestic bliss and reenter the world, and you both agreed to attend a party at your friend Soonyoung's place.
So, for the first time in a week, you have not spent your entire evening plastered to your doting boyfriend's side, because he is a man and therefore does not need to spend as much time getting ready to go out as you do. It's truly unfair, you think, how good he looks even when he just rolls out of bed in the morning.
You've been getting ready for the past two hours, showering, styling your hair, doing your makeup, and picking out your outfit for the evening. You end up in a dress that drapes over your curves in a way that makes you feel confident and sexy even though the dress is pretty long and not very revealing at all. Your makeup isn't exactly dramatic, but it definitely does bring out your eyes and emphasize the shape of your mouth. In short, you feel hot.
"Cheollie," you call, grabbing the bag you're planning to bring tonight. "You ready?"
You smile when you hear his footsteps approaching from the hallway. You're still not used to sharing a home with the love of your life, but nothing makes you happier than knowing that his home is yours, too. Your heart feels so full it could burst.
"Yeah, just let m- wow."
As soon as your boyfriend enters the room, he stops in his tracks. His eyes are tracing up and down your body, and when he meets your amused gaze, he lets out a breath.
"Why do you insist on making everything so hard?" he asks, his voice almost pained.
"What do you mean, baby?" you ask, burrowing your eyebrows at him and blinking in confusion. What on earth have you done now?
Seungcheol closes his eyes for a second and takes a deep, fortifying breath. When he opens them again he groans audibly, and steps closer to rest his forehead against your shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. His arms come up to encircle you.
"Cheol?"
"You, my love, are so fucking gorgeous," he breathes, and you feel his lips moving against your throat. You swallow. "Why do you have to do this to me when we have to leave soon?"
His words make you smile, finally understanding what he's talking about. You would be lying if you said his reaction didn't give you an immense ego boost, because of course they did. Seungcheol is the most beautiful man you know, and whenever he compliments you, you can't help but melt. He always makes sure you know that he means it.
"Cheol," you giggle, your arms coming up around his shoulders to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.
"Don't," he groans, his arms tightening around you even more.
You're pressed against his firm chest, and the hard planes of his body never cease to make you hot. One of your hands starts trailing down over his shoulder, following the lines of his pecs before coming to rest against his tummy. Your boyfriend shivers and presses his body yet closer to yours, his lips finding purchase against your skin and pressing wet kisses wherever he can reach.
The plan was to leave in ten minutes, but you sincerely doubt that will be happening. You don't actually want to be leaving in ten minutes anymore; you have more urgent things to attend to.
Mind made up, you trail your fingers even lower, allowing your nails to scratch against the fabric of your boyfriend's shirt. His lips fall away from your skin, mouth now open and panting against you. Your fingers begin to toy with the waistband of his jeans, the jeans that fit him so well and make his ass and thighs look absolutely sinful.
You're disappointed that you have to pull further away from Seungcheol’s body in order to unbutton his pants, but you decide to take the opportunity to press your lips to his. There's nothing slow about the kiss, only wet tongues meeting and exploring, teeth almost knocking together from how eager you both are. The kiss distracts you enough that your hand simply stays by his waistband, a finger curled into one of his belt loops.
Seungcheol's hands have started wandering, his hands sliding against the silky fabric of your dress to caress every inch of your body that he can reach. You let out a little moan as one of his hands glide over your breast, the other grasping your ass firmly. He takes the opportunity to walk you backwards, and when your knees hit the edge of the bed, you decide that you don't care if he ruins your hairstyle before you're even out the door tonight; you just want him. So you fall.
"Cheol," you gasp when you fall, your mouth falling away from his with the motion.
His pupils are so dilated that you can barely see the beautiful brown color of his irises. He looks absolutely ravenous, panting and towering over you. He's looking at you as if you're a meal and he's been starving, nevermind the fact that he already fucked you awake this morning in the same bed you're in right now.
You scoot back on the bed and he climbs after you, caging you in with his muscular arms that you more often than not just want to take a bite out of. One of his hands wastes no time in coming up to glide against your body again, and you can feel the heat of his skin seeping through the fabric of your dress. His hand comes up to your breast again, and this time he deliberately starts rubbing against your nipple, and the feeling is enough to make you moan breathlessly.
His eyes haven't left you once, flicking between your body encased in silk and your flushed face. Your dilated pupils match his, you know without even seeing yourself. Your back arches, pressing yourself closer to his body and into his palm. Seunghceol swears under his breath, his head hanging down against your shoulder once again as if looking at you is physically painful for him. You remember your earlier objective to remove his jeans, and when you bring your hand back to his waistband, you realize that he very well might be in physical pain.
He is so hard under your fingertips, and even just a gentle brush of your knuckles against the bulge of him makes his hips stutter. You refuse to be distracted again and finally pop the button open, dragging the zipper down, too. His face leaves your shoulder and you look up at his face. His eyes are shut in pleasure, his cheeks red with want, and his lips are covered in a mix of his and your saliva, glistening in the low light of your shared bedroom. He looks absolutely ruined, you think.
"Baby, please," he rasps, voice shaking slightly. "I know we should leave, but I can't-"
You interrupt him with a kiss. It's filthy once more, your tongue tangling with his and your lips melding together his like they were made to fit one another. Your fingers trail up from his waistband and start dragging his shirt up, your nails scratching gently against his skin. He shudders at the sensation and leans back briefly to get his shirt up an over his head.
As soon as his chest is bare in front of you, he decides that it's not fair that you can see him and he can't see you. His fingers stop teasing your nipple and instead move to slip the straps of your dress down your shoulders. He doesn't want to remove the dress fully, unwilling to part with your body long enough to get it fully off, but he doesn't think he can last a second linger without seeing your breasts.
He tugs the front of your dress down and immediately dives in to lick and suck at your left nipple, kneading the other breast fervently in his hand. You gasp and arch into him again, and his bulge rubs against your core over your dress and through his jeans. The feeling is too much, and you need him. Your hands come down to frantically push down his jeans and underwear, but neither one of you can be bothered to part long enough for him to fully get them off.
Instead, as soon as his cock is free from the confines of his clothing, your hand comes down to stroke him. He loses focus immediately, his hips rocking into your hand and his mouth falling away from your breast. He's panting hotly against your skin, unable to pull himself together enough to move forward with anything.
"Inside, please, Cheol," you pant against his ear, and he lets out a broken groan against you.
Even though it pains him, he slides his cock away from your fist and sits up slightly. His eyes rove over your body hungrily; you look ravished, your dress half off, your hair a mess, and your makeup completely smudged from his debauched kisses. He's still panting, but he comes back to himself enough to slide your dress up your legs and above your waist, granting him access to your soaked underwear.
The underwear don't even come off, he simply slides them to the side. He feels how soaked you are for him and gives a raspy hum that sets your skin alight, a buzzing sensation spreading from your core and outward. He rubs your clit a few times, but you whine at him so desperately that he can't hold back anymore.
Neither of you even think to grab a condom — he just slides home, burying himself inside you. He's so thick, so big, that you feel him in your throat. He has enough sense to pause as soon as he's inside, partially because he knows that you need time to adjust, but also because if he doesn't, he knows he will cum before you do, and he would rather die than have that happen.
The two of you stay like that for a few seconds, his chest pressed to yours and your arms coming around to press your nails into his back. Seungcheol is practically vibrating with the need to move, but you don't even have the breath left to tell him it's okay. You end up just squeezing him and nodding desperately, hoping that he will get the hint.
He does.
He pulls out slowly, and then pauses. Your eyes shoot open, desperately trying to convey that you need him to fuck you right now or you will die. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and takes a deep breath before pushing back in. Your jaw falls open, a mewl falling past your lips without you even noticing. His hands come to grip your hips so tightly that you can feel the bruises form under your skin, but you don't even care.
"You're my fucking dream girl, baby, you know that?" he breathes out, and when you don't answer, he stops moving.
You almost panic, physically needing him to move. Your eyes fly open again, and when you look at him, you see that he is waiting for you to answer. Having barely registered his question, you just blink at him for a few seconds before nodding.
"I know, Cheol," you choke out, barely having managed a whisper. "You're my dream, too, baby, now please move. Please."
He chuckles gently at your words, kissing you deeply, and then he starts to move in earnest. His hips don't slap against yours, but instead slide against them, giving stimulation to your clit and heightening your pleasure even more. You feel like you're going insane, sure that this feeling, so big and overwhelming, cannot possibly be contained in such a small form as a human being. It feels world-shattering, like it should level at least a city. Somehow, it doesn't, and you survive.
Seungcheol lifts your left leg, resting it against his hip, and it brings him so much deeper than before that it takes your breath away. His lips travel down to press kisses against your throat, and then travel back down to your breasts to lick and suck angry red marks into your delicate skin. Nowhere anyone else can see them; these are just for him.
The feeling makes you clench around him and he lets out a string of swear words, not sure what he's supposed to do to make sure he can last longer than you. If he can't he will obviously eat you out, and that would honestly be a pleasure for him — he would live between your thighs if he could — but he wants so badly to come with you, to reach his peak at the same time you reach yours. So he slides a hand between your bodies and starts rubbing your clit, fucking into you harder and deeper than before.
Your peak approaches you so fast you're not even aware it's coming before it's upon you, crashing over you in overwhelming waves that make you moan so loud you're sure your new neighbors will have some complaints. You don't care, because your orgasm is so all-consuming that the rest of the world simply falls away. Your nails claw down you boyfriend's back, no doubt causing red welts to form all over it, but you're pretty sure he likes it because suddenly, he's coming too.
The two of you remain like that for a while, entangled in one another and panting heavily. Your dress is rumpled, your hair is a mess, and you can feel that your lipstick is smeared all the way down to your chin. You will definitely be late to Soonyoung's party, but that's okay; it was worth it.
Seungcheol eventually lifts himself up a little and looks down at you with a softness that contrasts heavily with what you just did. He lifts a hand and smooths it over your cheekbone, gently wiping away an errant tear and the resulting streak of mascara.
"I'm sorry I made us late," he murmurs, and then leans down to press a gentle kiss to your lips.
You huff at him, and he pulls out gently. You wince a little. His jeans chafed against the skin of your thighs while he was fucking you, but once again, you find that it was worth it. He disappears into the bathroom and returns with a warm washcloth and helps wipe you down. Miraculously, no bodily fluids got onto your dress, which you chalk up as a win.
You look up at the love of your life, a playful smile on your lips that makes him fall even more in love with you somehow.
"It's okay, Cheol — like you said, I'm the one who makes it hard for you."
💌 g e n r e: fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship and split
💌 s u m m a r y: in which you and jeonghan take time apart to learn how to choose each other in every version of yourselves.
inspired by @/prestonrack on instagram.
love isn't about choosing each other just once.
It's spring, and Jeonghan wants to leave.
You'd seen a lot of sides of Jeonghan in the four-and-a-half years you'd known him. His gentle demeanour, his clumsy side, even his micro-annoyed expressions when something went horribly wrong.
You'd never seen this side of him, however. The sight of him sitting at the dining table, his head in his hands, despondent and exhausted. A shadow of the personified sunshine you once knew. The version of him who'd had too many late nights, too many troubles plaguing his mind. And there you were, a woman whose tongue became sharper than knives, someone who managed to say the nastiest things without batting an eye and call it love.
"I think we should... take a break," Jeonghan says, his voice muffled by his hands. "We can't keep doing this. We can't keep going round in circles, arguing about the same things over and over. You're tired of it, and frankly... so am I. I'm really, really tired."
You barely recognise your own voice when you reply, "I...I didn't..."
"I know," Jeonghan replies, although he doesn't actually know what either of you mean. "I know. But I'm also allowed to be upset at this. At you. I can't keep coming home and fighting a new war each time. We can't do this and then pretend everything's fine five minutes later. You're stressed, I'm never available enough... we're not the same people we fell in love with. We're not the same people we used to know."
It all sounds very transactional, you almost say out loud. But all that comes out of you is a gentle nod. A nod more gentle than anything you'd said or done to him these few months. "Right."
Above all, you were sorry. Sorry that you'd driven the both of you to this bitter, bitter end. Sorry that you couldn't even apologise for it. Sorry that you were the reason why this man, this beautiful man who had always loved to smile, couldn't even look you in the eye right now.
He looks up, as if he can't believe your easy agreement himself.
You swallow so hard that the lump in your throat actually hurts. "Okay. Um... I'll go."
He looks alarmed at your words. "No, you don't have to--"
"I can't stay, Ha-- Jeonghan," You mumble, looking around the house. A roof, and four walls containing so many fond memories. Way too many than what's good for you. Of him lying in your lap, of singing completely off-key to Katy Perry, of drunken giggling and inside jokes and dancing in the dark. "This place is yours. You bought it. I'll...I have to go. I'll go now."
"Not now," He replies, standing up. "It's late, and it's cold. Don't just go now because we're taking a break--"
"It's--it's really nice of you," You mumble, wiping your nose. "Really. I'm not leaving because I don't want to see you. It's just that if I continue to see you, I think I might not want to leave anymore. Take this as me trying to give you the peace you -- we need. I... I really have to go."
He shakes his head. "Stay for the night, at least. We've... we've loved each other too much to let this just be the end of it. And I really don't feel great about you leaving right now."
Loved. The word rings through you. And it takes all the fight out of you. So all you do is nod. "I'll take the couch."
Jeonghan still looks uncomfortable at the idea. But you, too, shake your head. "Please don't try to convince me."
After a few moments, he finally relents. "Alright, then."
You pack quickly in (what used to be) your shared bedroom, spend one exceedingly awkward night on the couch, and by eleven the next morning, you're closing the front door and stepping away from the apartment you called home. You don't even know if Jeonghan wakes up to see you leave. By eleven, you've bid goodbye to the life you once knew, and to the man you'd given your entire heart to.
It's summer, and you're alone.
The months have truthfully flown by. You don't see Jeonghan at all, and you make no move to contact him. Work is the same as it always is, only now you throw in a hundred and ten percent just to make sure you're well and truly exhausted by the time you get home. You don't want to leave any space in your time, or your head, to think about him.
A nice, long drink before bed is your alternative. But alcohol, as you know it, has always been a fine line, and it only takes a teensy step, a "just one more" to turn everything upside down and cross it to the point of no return.
And so you find yourself dialing his number one warm night, intoxicated and barely seeing straight. The half-empty tequila bottle reflects all the mistakes you're about to make. He picks up on the third ring.
"Hello?"
Some part of your consciousness is screaming no, no, no!!! And yet, you can't bring yourself to hang up just yet. So you just stay silent and hear his voice.
"Hello?" He repeats. "Are you there? What's happening? Are you okay--"
"I'm okay," You reply, lips curving into a smile. "Aaaalll good."
There's a pause. You can almost hear the click in his brain when he makes the connection, because he's Jeonghan, your boyfriend of four years -- well, was, and he knows you so well, you could say he knew you inside out, and--
"Are you drunk?"
"No!" You insist. "Mm... I drank a little, but you know me, I have an iron liver--"
"The tolerance of a fruit fly," He interrupts, deadpan. "Are you drinking at home or outside--"
"Oh, home," You reply airily. "Home, home. Although I don't know where that is."
"Do you need me to pick you up--" He sounds alarmed. "Are you lost? Send me your location."
"No, no," You sigh. "I'm saying that just 'cos... I'm not used to it, you know?"
"Used to what?" He asks softly.
"Just... this!" You gesture around your kitchen, as if he can see it from wherever he is. "A great big apartment, and plates for so many people, but no one at home. Just me and my four walls. And this Jose Cuervo."
He stays silent.
"Oooh, plates." You say, opening a cabinet and promptly bumping the door into your head. "Oh, ow."
"Baby-- I mean--"
"Yeah, there's baby ducks on this one," You say happily, pulling one out. "I bought it because I thought you'd like how their beaks are lopsided."
"Hey," He says. "Look, I know you're drunk, but you can't just do this in the middle of the night."
"Riiight." You reply, face flushing red. "I'm sorry, I'm embarrassing myself, aren't I?"
When he doesn't reply, you feel tears welling up in your eyes. This isn't the Jeonghan you know -- the one you love would always reply, always talk, always play along with the bit, because you'd laugh, and he'd smile because you were laughing.
"I'm sorry you had to pick up... bye--"
"Wait. You're sure you're safe? Do you need me to come and find you?"
"No, no," You say. "Don't come near me. Don't come and find me."
"What?"
"If you come, I might not let you leave," You mumble, a little more incoherently. "I can't get used to... I'm gonna go now."
"Well, finish your thought before you go," He says sternly. "You can't get used to what?"
"I just got used to not being at home," You reply, the phone beginning to slip from your jelly fingers. "My home doesn't feel like one right now."
"Yeah?" He asks, quieter now. "What does home usually feel like, then?"
"Like you," You say sleepily, the phone falling, seconds from clattering on the table. "I think it always felt like you."
And then you fall asleep, the tequila finally taking over.
It's almost autumn, and Jeonghan spots you first in the grocery store in the central district. You're focused on picking out the perfect apple.
You almost turn on your feet and bolt when he calls your name, but you force yourself to slowly turn around and face him. "Oh. Jeonghan. Um... hi."
Jeonghan looks at you. You don't look like you want to be here at all. You're looking everywhere but at him, you're shifting on your feet, and you look jittery -- something he'd only seen the night before you'd surprised him with a watch he'd been eyeing for months.
So, instead of firing off questions, he glances at a nearby diner. "Want to grab something to eat? They serve good shakes."
--
"How are you?"
"Oh, uh, fine." You fidget with the edge of the menu. "As per normal."
"Where did you go to stay?" He asks again. "I couldn't get a hold of you after... everything. I wondered where you went."
"Just further away," You shrug. "Found a studio apartment closer to work, and, well, it's just me. I don't need a space that big."
He nods once.
It takes a few more bites before he takes a deep breath and tells you, "I'm sorry. For how I... ended things. I -- I don't..."
"Jeonghan, you don't need to apologise," You interrupt, putting your fork down. "Honestly, it was mostly my fault. We were just trying to survive on our own, and I made you feel horrible for doing it differently than I was. You didn't deserve that."
He nods silently, raising an eyebrow. "That's... really nice of you to say."
"And I should have realised..." You clasp your hands and look down at them. "That you five years ago wouldn't be the same as you now. I loved you because of your kindness, and gentleness, but now I know... being in love with you didn't mean finding you only in what I thought you were."
Jeonghan stares hard at you, as if he hasn't quite seen you properly before. "What does loving me mean, then?"
"I think it means finding you in every version, even when you're worn down by life and rebuilt by growth, because it's all the real you," You look down at your own plate. "And choosing to love all of it, and every version of you still to come. I know that now."
"I'm not going to ask you for another chance," You continue, swallowing hard. "I know we're way past that. I just wanted you to know that... I'm trying to become better. I'm trying to learn how to stop controlling something that I should've let run its course."
And it's really good to see you again, you almost say, but hold your tongue.
The remainder of the meal passes in silence, and when you can see the bottom of your glass and Jeonghan has taken his last bite, you offer a small smile. "It was nice to talk about this. Really. Thanks for staying to eat."
He doesn't say anything, just continues to watch you silently as you gather your things.
You bid him goodbye, and leave the small diner. You're about to step on the crosswalk when you hear rapid footsteps. You turn and Jeonghan's standing right behind you, looking as though he can't quite believe himself either.
"Um... are you okay?"
"No."
"Oh," You reply. "Did... did I say something hurtful again? Look, I'm really sorry--"
"No, you didn't."
"What is it, then?"
He shakes his head. "I can't believe I'm saying this."
"What?"
"There's just one tiny, really important flaw in your otherwise stunning reflection," He mutters.
"What do you mean?"
"You really weren't going to ask for another chance?"
"No...?"
"And that's where you went wrong," He declares firmly. At your incredulous expression, he shakes his head. "You're right that 23-year-old me won't be the same as I am now. But every version of me, whether I'm 23, 28, or 90, will always want you."
"Jeonghan--"
"I wasn't perfect either," He tells you ruefully, shutting his eyes as if he can't face you. "I shut down and stopped talking. I didn't tell you what I really wanted. You're not a mind reader. I shouldn't have assumed you'd just know."
"Still. I had the nastiest mouth. I recognise that now."
"And you're learning from it," He counters. "I'm not making excuses for your mistake. If you haven't noticed, you're more at peace. You seem.. calmer, less on edge. I had lessons of my own that I needed to learn, too. I can't let you take all the credit for this one." A wry smile finds its way onto his face.
You huff a laugh. "So what now?"
"What now?" Jeonghan repeats, taking one timid step closer. "We sit down. You call me out on my shit, and I'll call you out on yours. We'll talk about everything huge and small, even if we think it won't matter later on. We won't be stupid and try to start over as friends. I know I said I was tired, but frankly, I'm even more tired having to go through my day waiting for you to call while sober, or wishing that I could call."
"I would've picked up if you did," You admit.
He smiles. "I know. So would I, drunk or not."
It's winter, and you've never been happier.
He catches you being more aware on what you're saying, and how you're saying it. You notice him trying to vocalise his thoughts, when he's struggling and when he needs comfort. And suddenly, your words make a hundred times more sense, even to you.
To fall in love with Jeonghan had always been easy. To love him over and over, during the easy and the hard, was the part where you could never stop trying. Luckily for you, you had someone who was just as willing to choose you, over and over again.
Hii!! can I have a ot13 seventeen meet cute? Different scenarios where you meet and it’s just fluffy and cute like bumping into one another a dropping stuff kinda thing! Hope that’s ok and thank you! love your writing! X
pairing: Seventeen x female!reader
warnings: pure fluff ehehe that's it, some romcom and kdrama shit
Flashbulbs detonated in endless, blinding strobes, casting harsh light across the marble floors of the arrival hall. The air vibrated with a deafening cacophony of screams, shouted questions, and the incessant click of camera shutters. Seungcheol—known to the world as S.Coups—walked through the center of the storm. Even after years in the industry, the sheer volume of an airport crowd required every ounce of his focus. He kept his composure, offering polite nods to the press and waving warmly to the fans lined up behind the barricades, trying his best to acknowledge as many people as possible while keeping a steady pace.
Then, the press line collapsed inward. A surge of paparazzi broke past the rope, causing the tight wall of security surrounding him to tense and push back. In the chaos, one of the larger guards stepped back blindly to shield Seungcheol, shoving through the crowd without looking.
The collision was hard and sudden. A startled gasp cut through the noise right beside him as you were knocked completely off balance, tumbling onto the hard tile floor. Your belongings scattered around you—an innocent bystander caught in a hurricane that wasn't yours.
Seungcheol saw it happen in real-time. Without a second thought, he broke his stride, ignoring the sudden pull of his manager's hand on his sleeve. He stepped outside the moving perimeter, dropping down slightly to reach out a steady hand to you.
"Are you okay?" his voice was grounded, cutting through the surrounding static. He gripped your hand carefully, offering enough support to help you back to your feet.
"Hyung, we have to keep moving," the security guard who had bumped into you urged, his voice tight with panic as he tried to form a protective wall around Seungcheol again. "The crowd is getting too congested."
Seungcheol completely ignored the warning, keeping his eyes on you as he gently retrieved a loose notebook from the ground and handed it back. "I'm so sorry about that. Are you hurt at all?"
You dusted off your jacket, offering a small, reassuring shake of your head as you accepted the book. "No, it's fine, really. Don't worry about it—you have celebrity immunity anyway. Accidents happen in these crowds."
A quiet chuckle escaped his lips, though he gently shook his head at your words. "No such thing," he replied smoothly, a hint of a warm smile breaking through his tired expression. "That’s not about immunity, it’s just basic etiquette. Someone gets knocked down, you help them up."
A soft laugh spilled from your lips at his fast response, your eyes crinkling with genuine amusement. In that brief, quiet beat, Seungcheol actually looked at you. The chaotic noise of the airport seemed to dull for a second as he took in the bright, effortless beauty of your smile and the softness of your features. Amidst a sea of flashing lights and frantic energy, your calm presence was striking.
"Seungcheol-ah, please, we really need to go now," his manager pleaded louder, gesturing toward the sliding glass doors leading to the waiting van.
This time, Seungcheol acknowledged the command with a firm nod. He turned back to you one last time, offering a polite bow. "Again, I’m really sorry for the trouble. Please take care, and have a good day."
"Thank you," you smiled softly, stepping back to give him room. "Have a safe ride."
He gave you one last polite nod before letting his team guide him through the automatic doors and out into the crisp outdoor air. The noise subsided slightly as the heavy glass doors slid shut behind them, but Seungcheol paused right before stepping into the dark SUV. He turned his head, looking back through the transparent glass into the bustling terminal, taking one last moment to find your figure in the crowd and engrain the memory of your face in his mind.
Jeonghan
The cozy break room on the styling floor of the HYBE building was filled with the quiet rustle of paper and the clinking of coffee cups. As a new member of the wardrobe team, you were eager to get to work, sitting at the central table with two senior stylists as you all flipped through the mood boards for Seventeen's upcoming concept shoot.
"Honestly, these new looks are incredible," you said enthusiastically, tapping a finger on one of the sample swatches. "Take Jeonghan, for example. He's going to look absolutely amazing in these tailored silhouettes. The tones are so elegant."
You leaned back in your chair, taking a sip of your iced coffee before continuing nonchalantly, "Which is honestly a relief, because his last photoshoot was kinda weird, wasn't it? Those neon colors and oversized cuts didn't really suit him at all. It felt like a total stylistic miss."
As soon as the words left your mouth, a suffocating silence fell over the table.
The two stylists across from you instantly froze. Their eyes widened in pure, unadulterated panic, and the one holding a pen dropped it onto the table with a soft clatter. You blinked, thoroughly confused by their sudden horror. Before you could ask what was wrong, a quiet, deliberate throat-clearing sounded from directly behind your chair.
Your entire body went cold. You froze in place, every instinct telling you not to look, but you slowly turned your head anyway.
Leaning against the doorframe was Yoon Jeonghan. He was dressed casually in a soft hoodie, a mischievous, amused smirk dancing on his lips. His dark eyes locked onto yours, sparkling with playful entertainment at your caught-red-handed expression.
You swallowed hard, your voice barely a squeak as you blurted out, "Am I fired now?"
Jeonghan let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "Not yet," he answered smoothly, his voice carrying that familiar, gentle melody.
He uncurled himself from the doorway and pushed off the frame, taking a few lazy steps into the room toward the couch near the wall. He picked up his forgotten baseball cap from the cushions, tossing it lightly in his hand before turning his attention back to you. "Are you new here?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.
You swallowed heavily once more and gave a stiff, nervous nod, feeling the gazes of your terrified colleagues still burning into your back.
Jeonghan slowly eyed you up and down, his smirk widening into a slow, cat-like smile that made your pulse race. "I see," he murmured, his gaze resting on your face. "Well, I really can't wait for more of your insights on the next project. You must be very sharp if you noticed all of that."
A bright, uncontrollable blush rushed to your cheeks. "I'm so sorry, I really didn't mean to—" you started hastily, hands coming up to attempt a proper, desperate apology.
"Ah, don't worry about it," Jeonghan interrupted softly, holding up a hand to stop your rambling. The teasing glint in his eyes softened into a warm, genuine smile. "I actually like honesty. It's refreshing."
You blinked at him in surprise, caught off guard by his easygoing response. Jeonghan just maintained his playful smile, pulling his cap onto his head and adjusting the brim. Without another word, he turned on his heel and sauntered out into the hallway, leaving behind a faint hint of his perfume and a room full of breathless silence.
Joshua
The afternoon sun beat down mercilessly, turning the paved sidewalk into a shimmering blanket of heat. Summer was in full force, and the small pastel-colored ice cream truck parked near the plaza felt like a beacon of hope. You stood at the front of the line, fanning yourself with a paper flyer while mentally reviewing the Korean phrases you had spent the morning practicing. You wanted to order entirely on your own today—a small personal goal to test your language skills.
When the vendor looked at you with a friendly, expecting smile, your mind went completely blank.
The heat seemed to melt every single word out of your head. You opened your mouth, stammered through a broken syllable, and paused, desperately trying to pull the right vocabulary from memory. Nothing came. Frustration bubbled up instantly, and you let out a low, defeated sigh, quietly cursing at yourself in English as your cheeks burned hotter than the summer air.
"Need a hand?"
A smooth, gentle voice spoke up from right behind you. You turned to see a tall, handsome guy with soft eyes and an impossibly calm demeanor standing next in line. Joshua offered you a comforting, reassuring smile, stepping forward slightly. "I notice you were kind of struggling so...want me to help you out?"
Relief washed over you instantly. "Oh, thank you so much, yes please," you said softly, gladly accepting his rescue. You quickly told him the exact flavor and scoop count you had been trying to ask for.
Joshua nodded attentively, turning to the vendor with effortless ease. He placed the order in fluent, crisp Korean, adding a polite request for extra napkins. Within moments, the vendor handed over a sweet, chilled cup of ice cream.
As you stepped to the side, you turned back to Joshua with a grateful smile. "Thank you so much, seriously. I swear I actually know how to speak Korean, but I think the heat is completely frying my brain today."
Joshua let out a low, musical laugh, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine amusement. "Hey, don't worry about it at all," he assured you softly, his tone incredibly warm. "Honestly, the heat gets to everyone. I get tongue-tied and struggle with words sometimes, too."
You smiled brightly, touched by how kind and considerate he was being. "Well, thanks again for coming to my rescue. You're a lifesaver."
"Anytime," he replied, his smile lingering as he looked down at you.
For a brief, quiet second, the oppressive summer heat seemed to fade into the background. Your eyes locked with his, sharing an unexpected moment of quiet connection amidst the gentle hum of the city. Feeling a sudden flush on your neck that had nothing to do with the sun, you cleared your throat gently to break the spell.
"Well... I'll let you get your treat. Have a great day!" you said warmly.
"You too," Joshua smiled back softly.
You turned and walked off down the tree-lined path, enjoying the cool sweetness of your ice cream.
Joshua stayed where he was, his hands casually tucked into his pockets as his eyes followed your retreating figure through the sunlight. He kept watching until a heavy cough shattered his train of thought.
"Young man," the ice cream truck owner called out, leaning over the window frame with an eyebrow raised. "Are you going to order something or just stand there staring all day?"
Joshua snapped out of it, a sheepish, charming grin breaking across his face as he rubbed the back of his neck and finally stepped up to the counter.
Jun
The heavy thud of leather meeting pads echoed through the spacious gym, punctuated by the sharp rhythm of your breathing. It had been an exhausting hour of self-defense practice, and your arms were already starting to feel like lead. Clad in comfortable workout clothes with white boxing bandages neatly wrapped around your hands and wrists, you were determined to master at least the basics of staying on your feet. Unfortunately, your balance had other plans.
You took a miscalculated step backward to reset your stance, but your heel caught on the edge of a thick rubber mat. With a startled gasp, you lost your footing entirely. You stumbled helplessly, your arms flailing in a desperate attempt to catch yourself, but gravity won. Instead of hitting the hard floor, you slammed squarely into someone who happened to be passing right behind you.
The collision sent both of you tumbling down in a chaotic heap. You hit the mat with a dull thud, your breath momentarily knocked out of you.
Panicking instantly, you scrambled up into a kneeling position and looked down at the person you had just flattened. Your heart dropped into your stomach when you recognized him. It was Wen Junhui—Jun from Seventeen. He was currently training intensely for an upcoming movie role that required extensive martial arts and fighting scenes, and you had just tackled him like a football player.
"Oh my gosh, I am so, so sorry!" you apologized hectically, your voice pitching high with panic. You scrambled to help him, reaching out with your bandage-wrapped hands to offer support. "Are you okay? I didn't mean to—are you hurt?"
Jun groaned softly, rubbing the back of his head before accepting your hand. Despite the sudden crash, he let out a light breathy laugh as you helped him back up to his feet. Standing at his full height, he shook off the impact, brushing down his sweat-dampened shirt.
"Hey, it's okay," he assured you, his deep voice calm and soothing. He gave you a warm, reassuring smile. "I'm totally fine, don't worry."
"I lost my balance," you explained breathlessly, heat rushing to your cheeks as embarrassment settled in. You gestured vaguely back toward the mat. "And you were... unfortunately right in my way."
Jun chuckled, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement. He glanced down at your hands, nodding approvingly at the crisp boxing bandages wrapped tightly around your knuckles. "Well," he said, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips, "looking at those bandages, I'd say you'd do pretty well in a real fight. You managed to knock me down in less than a second."
You let out a nervous laugh, hiding your blushing face behind your bandaged hands for a brief moment. "I am extremely new to this whole self-defense thing," you admitted with a self-deprecating smile. "Clearly, I still have a whole lot to learn before I can actually call it fighting."
Jun smiled gently, nodding in complete understanding. Having spent weeks drilling complex choreographies and stunts himself, he knew how clumsy the learning process could feel. "It takes time," he offered kindly. "You're doing great."
You smiled back, though you offered him one last concerned look. "Are you really okay, though? I don't want to be responsible for delaying your movie prep."
He laughed again, shaking his head. "I promise you, I'm completely fine. I've taken much harder falls than that today."
You let out a long sigh of relief, the tension finally draining from your shoulders. A small, cheeky smile played on your lips as you joked, "Well, if I ever stumble into you again, feel free to just knock me down first."
Jun grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Deal. I promise I'll do that next time."
The two of you exchanged one last warm smile, the initial awkwardness melting into a comfortable beat of silence. You waved a little awkwardly with a wrapped hand, gave him a final apologetic nod, and turned around to walk off back toward your training corner, feeling your cheeks burn all over again—though this time, not entirely from embarrassment.
Hoshi
The heavy beat of the music bounced in your ears as you finished up a grueling set, completely in your own world. You had your noise-canceling headphones pressed firmly over your ears, the volume turned up high enough to drown out every clang of iron and hum of the treadmills around you. The next track hit your playlist, and the familiar, addictive intro of Seventeen’s "Thunder" immediately sent a rush of energy through your veins.
Instantly hyped, you wiped the sweat from your forehead and began walking between the rows of weight machines to head toward the drinking fountain. You couldn't help yourself. You started mumbling the lyrics under your breath, completely caught up in the rhythm. As the beat dropped, your shoulders began to sway, and you executed a dramatic, mini version of the iconic choreography right there in the middle of the aisle, giggling softly to yourself at your own silliness.
Suddenly, a light tap on your shoulder shattered your musical bubble.
You spun around, startled, and pulled one side of your headphones down to rest against your neck. The words died in your throat as your eyes went wide. Standing right in front of you was Kwon Soonyoung himself—Hoshi.
He offered you a faint, mischievous smirk, his eyes bright as he gestured toward the storage rack tucked into the narrow space directly behind where you had just been dancing. "Hey," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "I really didn't want to just push past you or scoot you out of the way, but I need to grab something out of that shelf behind you."
Your mouth dropped open in complete shock. Heat rushed to your face so fast you felt dizzy. You quickly scrambled to the side, stepping out of his path while your brain desperately tried to process the fact that Seventeen’s performance unit leader had just witnessed your impromptu solo performance to his own group's song.
"Fuck, I'm so sorry," you squeaked out, still frozen in place with your mouth slightly agape.
Instead of just grabbing his equipment and walking away, Hoshi chuckled, retrieving a set of resistance bands from the shelf. He turned back to look at you, his smirk softening into a warm, teasing grin. "By the way, great moves," he praised, tossing a approving nod in your direction. "You really nailed the timing."
You let out an awkward, breathy laugh, burying your face in your hands for a second before looking back at him. Embarrassment burned bright in your chest. "Would you mind taking one of those heavy iron weights over there and just smashing my head with it?" you asked, pleadingly gesturing toward the rack. "Please, just end it now."
Hoshi threw his head back and laughed aloud, the bright sound echoing over the gym background noise. "Hey, it's really not embarrassing!" he assured you, his eyes crinkling into his signature 10:10 smile as he shook his head. "Honestly? It was pretty cute."
You let out a pained, sarcastic smile, clutching your chest as if his words were physical hits. "Thank you," you replied dryly, your tone dripping with playful irony. "But I prefer getting my head smashed."
Hoshi let out another light laugh, adjusting the bands over his shoulder. He stepped past you, giving you a quick, playful wink. "I'll be listening out for your next performance," he teased over his shoulder. "See you at the next song!"
You stood completely still, watching his athletic frame walk across the gym floor toward the dance studio section. As soon as he was out of earshot, you let out a long, dramatic sigh, slumping your shoulders in utter defeat.
"Great," you muttered to yourself, slipping your headphones back over your ears. "Now I have to change gyms."
Wonwoo
The evening air was crisp and unforgiving, but you barely felt the chill. You were sitting on the cold metal bench of the bus stop, completely curled in on yourself as tears streamed uncontrollably down your face. A huge, bitter fight with your boyfriend had left your heart shattered, the harsh words still echoing in your mind. A few commuters standing nearby cast uncomfortable, side-long glances in your direction, but you didn't care. You were too exhausted, too overwhelmed by the heavy lump in your throat, to bother hiding your grief.
You buried your face in your knees, your shoulders shaking with heavy, shuddering sobs.
"Excuse me... are you alright?"
The quiet, deep voice broke through the fog of your tears. You sniffled hard, wiping your wet cheeks with the sleeve of your sweater as you slowly raised your head.
Standing right in front of you was Jeon Wonwoo. He was wearing a dark, oversized coat and a pair of round, black-rimmed glasses. His sharp features were softened by a look of genuine concern, his brow slightly furrowed as he looked down at you.
"I'm fine," you managed to choke out, your voice small and raspy as you sniffled again, desperately trying to pull yourself together in front of him.
Wonwoo gave a brief, subtle nod, but he didn't move away. "I'm only asking because...you know...you're sitting out here all alone, bawling your eyes out," he pointed out gently, his tone completely devoid of judgment.
His straightforward honesty made the fragile dam inside you break all over again. You hesitated for a split second, your mouth trembling, before another fresh wave of tears overflowed, and you pressed your hands over your face with a muffled cry.
Wonwoo quietly reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small pack of tissues. He pulled one out and offered it to you, waiting patiently until you took it. "Boyfriend?" he asked softly.
You paused, dabbing at your wet eyes and blowing your nose into the soft paper. You looked up at him through blurry, swollen eyes, completely caught off guard. "How... how do you know that?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
Wonwoo shrugged lightly, a tiny, sympathetic shift in his expression as he looked down at his shoes for a moment before meeting your eyes again. "I just guessed," he murmured softly.
He watched you with a quiet, pitiful gaze as you tried to catch your breath. "Look, I'm not a therapist or anything," Wonwoo said, his deep voice carrying a quiet weight that seemed to instantly ground the chaotic energy around you. "But I'm pretty sure no guy is worth all those tears."
You stared up at him, his gentle words sinking deep into your chest. Slowly, you nodded, acknowledging the quiet truth in what he said.
A soft, warm smile touched Wonwoo's lips, softening the sharp lines of his face. "It's all going to be alright," he added softly.
For the first time all evening, the suffocating weight on your chest lightened just a bit. You looked back up into his calm, gentle eyes and managed to offer him a small, genuine smile. "Thank you," you whispered, feeling a real sense of comfort in his unexpected presence.
Wonwoo smiled back, his expression relaxed, before he shifted his weight and glanced around the bus stop a little awkwardly, adjusting his glasses. "Well... I have to get going now," he said gently, taking a small step back. "I really hope you feel better."
"I do. Thank you again," you replied, giving him another appreciative nod.
Wonwoo gave you one final, reassuring smile, turned around, and walked off into the evening twilight, leaving you with a light heart and a renewed sense of strength.
Woozi
The warm, cozy atmosphere of the café was filled with the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and the quiet chatter of soft background conversations. You sat in a quiet corner table, staring blankly at the blinking cursor on your laptop screen. As an aspiring songwriter, you had been sitting here for over two hours trying to finish a new track, but inspiration was playing hard to get.
Chin resting in your hand, you gazed out the window, watching the rain trickle down the glass as you mentally dragged yourself through line after line. You were trying to build a lyrical transition, but no matter how many times you rearranged the sentence, you just couldn't find a word that rhymed naturally without sounding forced.
"Shallow....Shadow...no...Window- god no...fuck it can't be that hard" you accidentally murmured out loud, completely unaware that your frustrated whisper had carried across the quiet space.
"Try 'hollow'," a calm, composed voice suggested from across the aisle.
You blinked, startled, and snapped your head up. Sitting at a small table just a few feet away was Woozi. He had a pair of sleek headphones resting around his neck and his own notebook sitting beside a half-empty iced americano.
When your eyes widened in shock, Woozi gave a small, nonchalant shrug, taking a sip of his coffee. "Sorry," he offered smoothly. "I just heard you struggling out loud."
A light blush warmed your cheeks, but you let out a heavy, tired sigh, running a hand through your hair. "No, it's fine," you said with a wry smile, gesturing helplessly at your laptop screen. "Songwriting is just... way harder than it looks. Sometimes the words just refuse to come together."
Woozi nodded in immediate, deep understanding. The subtle tension in his posture relaxed, recognizing the familiar struggle of every creator. "How long have you been writing songs?" he asked softly, resting his elbows on the table and looking at you with genuine curiosity.
You paused, thinking for a second as you calculated the past few months of late-night desk sessions. "Only a couple of months, honestly," you admitted, letting out an embarrassed laugh. "And as you can see, I'm really not very good at it yet."
Woozi didn't agree with your self-deprecation at all. He shook his head slowly, his expression serious yet gentle. "Don't say that," he assured you, his tone quiet but firm. "It's not about being 'good' or 'bad' when you first start out. You just have to find your own style and rhythm. It takes time."
You chuckled softly, looking at the legendary producer with a mix of awe and gratitude. "Well, hearing that from you means a whole lot, considering you're the ultimate professional."
At your sincere compliment, a subtle flush of pink crept onto the tips of Woozi's ears. He looked down at his desk for a brief second, clearing his throat awkwardly as he tried to hide a shy smile. "I wouldn't say that" he muttered softly, looking back up at you with a gentle warmth in his small eyes. "I started out in the exact same place once, staring at blank pages."
Your heart warmed at his humble words. The lingering self-doubt that had been weighing on you all afternoon suddenly vanished. Smiling brightly at him, you leaned over your keyboard and typed the word he had suggested directly into your lyrics, watching the line finally flow seamlessly together.
"Thank you," you said softly, meeting his eyes across the tables with a genuine, relieved smile. "Seriously."
Woozi offered you a sweet, subtle smile in return, his dark eyes sparkling with quiet encouragement. "Anytime," he replied softly, before slipping his headphones back over his ears and returning to his work, leaving you inspired and ready to write again.
Seokmin
The harsh studio lights flooded the set as the floor manager signaled the start of the dry run. DK sat on the plush leather couch alongside Seungkwan and Vernon, the three of them comfortably settling into their usual talk show routine. It was just a rehearsal, but DK was already in high spirits. Throwing off his script for a moment, he delivered a couple of smooth, well-timed jokes, delivering the punchlines with an incredibly straight face. Beside him, Seungkwan snorted softly and Vernon let out a quiet chuckle, used to his mate's sudden bursts of wit.
Behind Camera 2, you bit the inside of your cheek, trying desperately to keep a professional composure. As part of the floor crew, you were supposed to remain a ghost—silent, observant, and out of the spotlight. But DK's comedic timing hit you just right. You ducked your head, trying to swallow the bubble of laughter rising in your chest.
DK’s sharp eyes didn't miss it. Spotting your shoulders shaking behind the lens, a glint of mischief sparked in his brown eyes. Fueled by the visible reaction, he leaned into the bit, layering one absurdly deadpan remark onto another. He adjusted his mic with exaggerated elegance, dropping another off-script side comment with effortless humor.
That was your breaking point. A bright, burst of laughter escaped your lips before you could stop it, ringing clearly through the quiet studio space.
Instantly, several crew members turned their heads toward you. Your face flushed bright red under the dim perimeter lighting. "I'm so sorry," you whispered hurriedly, taking a hasty step back into the shadows of the background, bowing your head in embarrassment.
Instead of moving on, DK leaned forward, a broad, radiant smile spreading across his face. He pointed lightly in your direction, his voice ringing over the studio speakers. "It's good to know at least someone in here finds me genuinely funny today."
The studio burst into lighthearted giggles, melting the awkward tension instantly, though your cheeks remained warm for the rest of the run.
Once the director called a break to prep for the live broadcast, the members unclipped their microphones. While Seungkwan and Vernon headed toward the dressing rooms, DK excused himself and walked straight toward the edge of the set where you were gathering your clipboard and headset.
"Hey," he said gently, stopping a comfortable distance away. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking genuinely sheepish. "I wanted to apologize. I saw you trying to stay quiet and I totally egged you on. I didn't mean to get you called out by the crew."
You shook your head quickly, offering him a reassuring smile. "Oh, no, please don't apologize! It wasn't your fault at all. I was just being unprofessional. I'm supposed to keep a straight face no matter what."
"Unprofessional?" DK shook his head, his wide smile returning as he met your eyes. "Not at all. Honestly, I was flattered. Knowing I made you laugh like that made the whole dry run way more fun for me."
A soft chuckle slipped from your lips at his sincerity. "Well, I promise I'll hold back when we actually go live later."
He tilted his head slightly, his eyes sparkling with playful warmth. "Please don't," he murmured softly, a genuine, affectionate smile tugging at his lips. "I think I'll perform a lot better if I know you're listening."
You stood there for a quiet moment, sharing a warm smile with him as the ambient noise of the bustling studio faded into the background.
Mingyu
The morning sun warmed the winding brick paths of the zoo as the camera crew adjusted their angles around the small enclosure. Seventeen was filming an outdoor content episode, and Mingyu was currently standing a couple of feet away from you, his hands hovering nervously in the air.
You were standing in the center of the walkway, holding a fluffy, wide-eyed raccoon securely in your arms. The little animal clung contentedly to your thick canvas vest, its tiny paws resting against your shoulder.
"Are you sure he's safe?" Mingyu asked, eyeing the sharp little claws with a mix of fascination and mild panic. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his tall frame leaning back slightly just in case. "He won't bite, right?"
"He's completely harmless and super friendly," you assured him with a gentle smile, adjusting the raccoon in your grip so its soft back was facing Mingyu. Then, keeping a completely straight face, you added, "Although... he really hates bright colors and strong scents. It makes him super aggressive."
Mingyu froze instantly. His eyes went wide as he looked down at his own oversized, vibrant cobalt-blue shirt, before his gaze snapped to his wrists, where he had applied a generous spray of cologne right before filming. A look of genuine horror washed over his handsome face.
Unable to hold it in any longer, a burst of laughter escaped you. "I'm just kidding!" you laughed softly, shaking your head. "He couldn't care less about your shirt or your cologne. He's an absolute sweetheart."
Mingyu let out a dramatic sigh of relief, placing a hand over his chest as a sheepish smile broke through his panic. "Ah, don't scare me like that!" He stepped closer, eyeing the animal with renewed courage. "So... can I actually pet him?"
"yes sure," you nodded encouragingly.
Reaching out slowly, Mingyu extended two fingers and brushed them delicately against the raccoon’s dense, soft fur. The animal didn't flinch, simply wiggling its dark nose in curiosity. Mingyu’s face lit up instantly with a bright, childlike grin.
"See? Good job," you praised gently, your eyes crinkling with warmth as you watched him carefully stroke the back of the raccoon's head.
Mingyu paused, glancing up at you through his dark lashes with a playful smirk. "Are you talking to the raccoon or to me?"
You chuckled softly at his quick humor. "You're doing amazing as well, Mingyu."
His smile widened, his cheeks dimpling slightly at the praise. As he kept petting the raccoon, he noticed how comfortably the little creature remained snuggled against your chest, its head buried lightly into the crook of your neck.
"He really seems to adore you," Mingyu noted, his voice dropping into a softer, admiring tone. "He's clinging to you like you're his whole world."
You shrugged lightly, a modest smile playing on your lips. "Well, I'm the one who feeds him every single day. I'd be pretty offended if he didn't like me by now."
Mingyu shifted his gaze from the animal up to your face, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an unmistakable spark of warmth. "Honestly? I can't blame him," he murmured smoothly, the corner of his mouth curving into a charming smirk. "I'd probably stick close to you, too."
A quiet beat settled between you both. The bustling sounds of the camera crew seemed to fade as you locked eyes for a brief, electric second, a shared smile passing between you before the flush in your cheeks could give you away.
Breaking the moment playfully, you reached into your pouch, pulled out a juicy green grape, and held it out to him. "Here. Give him a treat."
"Oh, nice," Mingyu smiled brightly. As he reached out to take the grape, his large, warm fingers brushed against yours. The brief, lingering contact sent a sudden ripple through the air, leaving a lingering smile on both of your lips as he turned to feed his new little friend.
Minghao
The heavy bass reverberated through the polished floorboards, pulsing steadily against the chest of everyone packed onto the dimly lit floor. Deep purple and crimson laser lights sliced through the gentle haze overhead, casting sharp shadows across the moving crowd. Minghao stood a few meters back from the main floor, a drink held loosely in one hand. He was dressed casually, off the clock, enjoying the rare luxury of an unscripted night out where he could blend into the ambient energy of the music.
As his eyes scanned the shifting silhouette of the room, his gaze snagged on you.
You were standing nearby, completely immersed in the rhythm, swaying easily to the track with an effortless grace that caught his attention. There was an unbothered, authentic vibe to the way you moved that set you apart from the chaotic energy around you. As if sensing his eyes on you, you turned your head mid-sway. Your eyes met his through the neon-tinted darkness.
A quiet, mutual recognition passed between you, and you offered him a subtle, knowing smile. Minghao’s lips curved upward in response. He hesitated for just a beat, taking a brief second to appreciate the unexpected connection, before smoothly cutting through the crowded space until he was standing a comfortable distance beside you.
"What do you think of the DJ tonight?" he asked, leaning in slightly so his calm, low voice carried over the thumping bassline.
You glanced toward the booth at the front of the venue, tilting your head thoughtfully before turning back to him with a slight shrug. "Honestly? He's alright...okay I guess."
Minghao raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise, a flash of intrigue in his dark eyes. "Just okay?"
A soft laugh escaped your lips, the sound almost lost to the surrounding noise. "Yeah. I'm usually more into proper techno beats," you admitted, moving your shoulders slightly to the rhythm to demonstrate. "Something with a real drive to it where you can actually lose yourself and move freely. This is a little too formulaic."
A slow nod of appreciation washed over Minghao's face. He got it instantly. As someone who cared deeply about movement, art, and genuine rhythm, your perspective struck a chord with him.
For a moment, both of you turned your attention back to the stage, watching the DJ manipulate the turn tables while the flashing lights washed over the crowd. The track reached a predictable, somewhat lackluster drop that lacked any real punch.
Minghao leaned back toward you, his dark eyes sparkling with quiet confidence. "You know," he murmured, his tone smooth and laced with playful conviction, "I could honestly do a much better job up there than he is right now."
You turned your head toward him, your eyes widening slightly in amused challenge. "Oh really?" you asked, a playful skepticism lacing your voice. "That's a pretty big claim to make."
Minghao didn't flinch. He simply met your gaze with an easy, self-assured composure, tilting his head with a slow, deliberate nod. "100% sure."
A sharp, matching smirk broke across your lips, mirroring his own. Standing together amidst the neon haze and the pounding speakers, a quiet, unspoken understanding clicked into place between the two of you, turning a mundane night at the club into something far more intriguing.
Seungkwan
The morning rush at the downtown coffee shop was at its peak, and the line stretched nearly to the front entrance. Seungkwan stood near the middle of the queue, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he waited for his turn. Behind the counter, you were working as efficiently as possible, but the customer currently at the register was making progress impossible.
The middle-aged man had been standing there for five minutes, demanding intricate breakdowns of every milk alternative, complaining about the prices, and tossing out condescending remarks with every question.
"Is this oat milk organic? Why does a syrup shot cost extra? Are you sure you even know how to brew a proper espresso?" the man sneered, his voice loud enough for the entire room to hear.
Seungkwan crossed his arms, his brows furrowing in irritation. He hated seeing service workers treated poorly, and his mouth twitched, itching to say something to the impolite stranger. Yet, you maintained an enviable level of composure, answering every ridiculous query with a steady voice and a firm, practiced customer-service smile.
However, when the man scoffed and muttered a cheap insult about your intelligence under his breath, your patience finally reached its absolute limit.
Your smile didn't fade—it transformed into something razor-sharp and made of pure iron. You rested both hands flat on the counter and leaned in slightly, your eyes locked onto his.
"Sir," you said, your tone impossibly polite yet dripping with ice, "you are currently holding up a line of fifteen people with completely nonsensical questions, wasting everyone's time including mine. If you do not intend to place an order right now, I'm going to ask you to step aside so I can serve customers who actually know what they want."
The man's jaw dropped in absolute shock. Gasping in disbelief, he opened his mouth to argue, but you simply gestured toward the door with an unwavering, brilliant smile. "Have a lovely day!"
Unable to form a coherent reply, the appalled customer grumbled under his breath and stormed straight out of the shop.
As the door clicked shut, Seungkwan immediately stepped up to the register. He looked at you, his eyes wide with genuine admiration. "Honestly? That was incredible. Your patience is legendary."
You let out a long, exhausted sigh, leaning against the register as the adrenaline began to fade. "I'm so sorry you had to witness that," you murmured, rubbing your temple. "I usually have a longer fuse, but I just completely lost my temper."
Seungkwan shook his head vigorously. "Are you kidding? You held out way longer than anyone else would have. I would have crashed out after two minutes flat."
A genuine chuckle finally broke through your fatigue, lighting up your face. "Thanks. Now, what can I get started for you?"
He quickly placed his order, and when the payment terminal prompted him for a tip, he tapped the screen, selecting the highest percentage option before adding an extra bill into the tip jar on the counter.
You blinked in surprise, looking at the generous amount. "Oh, wait—no, you really don't have to leave that much! That's way too much."
"I insist," Seungkwan smiled warmly, sliding the bill deeper into the jar. "You earned every single cent of that today."
Seeing his determination, you smiled softly and conceded. Before handing him his receipt, you reached into the glass display case, pulled out a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie, and slid it across the counter toward him. "Consider this on the house, then. A small thank you."
Seungkwan’s face lit up into a bright, radiant smile as he accepted the treat. "You're the best," he said, clutching his coffee and the cookie. "I wish you strong nerves for the rest of your shift today."
"Likewise," you laughed softly, meeting his eyes with a warm, shared understanding. "Enjoy your day!"
He gave you one last supportive smile before stepping aside, leaving you with a lightened heart to face the rest of the morning line.
Vernon
The mid-afternoon sun filtered through the large glass windows of the cozy corner café, casting warm geometric light across the wooden tables. Vernon sat across from Seungkwan in a quiet booth, his eyes scanning the colorful menu cards scattered on the table. When you walked up to them, holding your digital notepad with a friendly, welcoming smile, Vernon looked up and met your eyes.
"Hi there! Are you ready to order?" you asked smoothly.
Vernon nodded, placing his finger on two items. He smoothly gave you Seungkwan's order first before pointing out his own selection. "And I'll take this one, please. But quick question—I have a severe peanut allergy. Is there any chance there are peanuts in that?"
You didn't even need to hesitate. A sympathetic look crossed your face as you shook your head gently. "Ah, unfortunately, that dish uses a house sauce made on a shared line, so there might be a trace of peanuts in it. I definitely wouldn't recommend taking the risk."
Vernon let out a soft sigh, resting his chin in his hand as his eyes darted back to the menu. "Shit. Okay, how about the savory crepe?"
"Cross-contamination in the batter mix," you answered instantly.
"The roasted vegetable panino?"
"Pesto spread contains crushed peanuts," you countered without missing a beat, offering him an apologetic smile.
Vernon paused, tilting his head as his eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise. He looked up from the laminated paper, thoroughly impressed. "Wow. Most servers usually have to run back to the kitchen and check with the chef three times for stuff like that."
A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you shifted your grip on your notepad. "Well, I take my job—and my customers' safety—very seriously," you assured him warm-heartedly.
Vernon stared at the menu for another quiet second, looking utterly overwhelmed by the remaining options. Finally, he closed the booklet with a soft snap, shrugged his shoulders, and looked directly up at you with a amused, trusting glint in his dark eyes. "You know what? I trust you. Just surprise me with something good that won't kill me."
You couldn't help the bright smile that spread across your face. "Deal. Your life is in safe hands, I promise."
Ten minutes later, you returned to their booth carrying a heavily loaded tray. You set down Seungkwan’s meal first before placing a beautifully arranged, fresh seasonal bowl in front of Vernon.
"A completely nut-free, freshly prepared grain bowl with avocado, roasted chickpeas, and lemon-tahini dressing," you announced proudly, gesturing toward the plate. "Zero chance of peanuts anywhere near it."
Vernon looked down at the dish, his eyes widening in appreciation. "Whoa. That actually looks amazing."
"I hope you enjoy it," you smiled, taking a step back to leave them to their meal.
Vernon looked back up, catching your gaze before you could turn away. A warm, genuinely sweet smile broke across his handsome features. "Thank you so much. Seriously, I really appreciate it."
"You're very welcome," you replied softly.
For a brief, quiet beat, the ambient hum of the busy café faded into the background as the two of you shared a lingering, comfortable smile. Breaking the moment naturally, you gave him a final friendly nod and turned back toward the counter to handle your next table.
Vernon’s gaze stayed pinned to your back, his eyes following your figure as you walked through the dining room.
Beside him, Seungkwan took a quiet sip of his iced drink, leaning across the table and nudging Vernon's arm with a sharp, knowing elbow. A wide, teasing smirk painted Seungkwan's face, snapping Vernon right out of his trance as he hurriedly picked up his fork with a sheepish grin.
Dino
The faint, comforting scent of old paper and dust filled the cozy vinyl shop, accompanied by the gentle hum of indie music playing overhead. Lee Chan—Dino—stood near the back corner of the store, completely absorbed in the rows of classic records. His fingers brushed carefully over the colorful sleeves until he paused, pulling one out with a quiet breath of appreciation.
It was a Michael Jackson album. He held the sleeve in both hands, gazing at the iconic artwork with absolute admiration. Michael Jackson had always been his ultimate role model, the legend who inspired his passion for dance and performance, and seeing the physical vinyl always sparked that familiar fire in his chest.
"That's my absolute favorite album," a voice said softly beside him.
Dino started slightly, turning his head to see you standing right next to him. You were looking at the record sleeve with a bright, nostalgic glint in your eyes.
As soon as you realized you had spoken aloud to a complete stranger—and recognized who he was—a sudden wave of panic washed over your face. "Uhm... I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you," you apologized quickly, taking a small step back and waving your hands dismissively.
Dino quickly shook his head, a bright, friendly grin instantly breaking across his face to put you at ease. "No, no, no need to apologize at all!" he said, his voice warm and inviting. "It's actually my favorite as well."
Your eyes lit up with genuine surprise and delight. You smiled warmly at him, tilting your head. "Yeah? Well you have great taste"
A faint flush of pink dusted Dino’s cheeks at the unexpected compliment. Touched by your words and suddenly feeling a burst of gentlemanly instinct, he looked down at the vinyl and then offered it out toward you. "Do you want it?" he asked quickly, extending the record into your hands.
You let out a soft, amused chuckle, shaking your head gently as you held up your hands in refusal. "Thank you, but I actually already have this exact one at home. You should definitely keep it."
Dino smiled back, pulling the album back toward his chest with a soft laugh. "Well, then I have to say, you have great taste as well," he countered playfully, his dark eyes sparkling with affection.
A comfortable, sweet silence settled between the two of you. Both of you exchanged shy, slightly flustered smiles, the quiet hum of the record shop suddenly feeling much more intense. Dino’s mind was racing, trying to think of something—anything—clever to keep the conversation going.
You cleared your throat softly, breaking the delicate spell as you motioned toward the neighboring racks of records. "Well, I'll just go look around over there and leave you to your shopping," you said with a final, sweet smile.
Dino's eyes widened slightly. Panic spiked in his chest. He desperately wanted to say something—ask for your name, offer to buy you a coffee, or even just ask what other artists you liked. He opened his mouth to speak, but under the pressure of the moment, his brain went completely, utterly blank.
"Okay," he managed to press out, his voice tight and squeaky.
That was it. Just a single, pathetic word.
You gave him a gentle, polite nod and turned around, casually strolling over to the next aisle.
Dino stood frozen in place, staring at the empty space where you had just been standing. The moment you were out of sight, he closed his eyes tightly and squeezed the Michael Jackson record in his hands, mentally groaning in sheer frustration. He lowered his head and bit his lip, completely mad at himself. Out of all the charming things he could have said, all he had managed to offer was a squeaky 'okay'.
Summary : Marriage is a slow unraveling, not an event that detonates without warning. Instead, it occurs in the margins of everyday life: the morning salutations that go unspoken, the meaningful exchanges put off until the next day, the little gestures of affection that fade until one or both people forget they were ever there at all. In a story of enduring love, second chances, and the unspoken truth that what binds people together, are the small decisions made every single day to stay committed to each other.
💮 troop: exes to lovers
💮 fantasy: time-travel
non-idol, romance & fantasy au 🌼 dk x female reader 🌼 13+ SFW 🌼 1,537 words
🌸 inspired by this
SVT-Raitere Lofts 🌼 Otherworld Plaza 🌼 Verdant Springs 🌼 Pinned Post 🌼 taglist
No shouting, no slammed doors, no arguments loud enough for the neighbors to hear. Only silence, the sort that creeps into every corner of a home until you forget what laughter ever sounded like.
Dokyeom never even noticed when it started.
Maybe it had been there all along, growing between them like a wall that neither of them noticed building.
Every morning was the same.
He would wake first, crawl out of bed and drift to the kitchen with barely a glance. He would stare blankly at its shelves after opened, mentally conjuring up breakfast ingredients from the meager remains.
Behind him, his wife would stand by the electric kettle, waiting for it to boil so she could make her coffee.
Neither of them would speak, only the low whirring of the refrigerator and the occasional clink of a spoon against a ceramic mug.
It wasn't awkward, not anymore, it had just become normal, so normal that he had stopped thinking about it.
The rest of the day passed much the same.
In the evenings, he would sink into one end of the sofa, scrolling through his phone, videos flickering on the screen without registering.
His wife would settle on the other sofa, the light from the television painting shifting hues across her face as she watched a drama he no longer invited her to share.
The space between them wasn't large, just a few feet, but it seemed an impassible expanse. Neither of them dared cross it—they shared the same roof, the same meals, the same bed, but not the same life.
The television flickered off with a soft beep.
Dokyeom barely glanced up. He heard the soft rustle of fabric as she rose, then the front door opened, and closed.
The apartment was quiet.
He scrolled for a minute, then another. And then, he noticed.
The silence, it wasn't the usual one he'd grown accustomed to. This one felt… heavy, colder, too quiet.
He lowered his phone, and almost unconsciously, he stood up. His feet carried him towards the door before his mind had time to process. Past apartment buildings, past the glow of convenience stores, past hurried strangers under a twilight sky.
He didn't know where he was going, his feet just led him on.
Eventually, they brought him to the entrance of an underground train station. He stepped onto the escalator descending into the earth, absentmindedly unscrewing the cap of his water bottle and taking a long drink.
The city stretched out below him, a carpet of light and movement. Then-
"Sorry!"
A person hurried past him on the escalator, and before he could even flinch, their shoulder bumped hard into his, water in his water bottle sloshed onto his shirt, tumbled from his grasp, and so did his wedding ring. It clattered once on the metal step before vanishing into the shadows below.
His eyes widened in surprise, but his gaze didn't fall to search for his lost ring. It lifted to follow the retreating figure of the person who'd bumped into him.
They didn't look back. They just continued their hasty retreat, disappearing into the throngs of commuters, a receding silhouette.
He felt a tightening in his chest.
Her back… it looked achingly familiar, so like his wife's.
Always just a few steps ahead, always drifting further away, always leaving him behind.
And for the first time in months, maybe even years, Dokyeom finally understood. Their marriage wasn't shattering because of a single explosive argument, it was slowly disintegrating in the quiet spaces between them, day by silent day.
He swallowed hard.
... Is it too late?
The escalator hissed to a halt at the bottom, and he stepped off and turned a corner, but stopped.
"...Huh?"
His brow furrowed.
Why… why was he here?
He looked around the crowded station, searching for an answer that remained elusive.
He couldn't remember why he had left home, he couldn't remember what had been troubling him. The only thing he felt with unwavering certainty was this: He love someone.
A small smile tugged at his lips without him noticing.
He'd been dating his girlfriend for years.
A nervous laugh bubbled out.
He reached into his pocket, almost feeling the small velvet box that he was so sure should be there.
"I should propose soon."
The words left him with calm conviction. As if they had always been part of the plan, as if marriage hadn't already happened.
The strange feeling lingered for only a second before disappearing completely.
Dokyeom smiled to himself.
He had been planning one for weeks.
He checked the time on his phone before hurrying out of the station, his heart beating faster with every step. A small florist sat just outside the exit, and after spending far too long debating between colors, he settled on a bouquet of white and pale pink roses.
"They're for someone special?" the florist asked with a knowing smile.
Dokyeom laughed sheepishly.
"...Hopefully my future wife."
The florist grinned.
"Then I wish you good luck."
With flowers in one hand and a ring box tucked safely inside his coat pocket, Dokyeom made his way to the riverside park where he'd asked Y/N to meet him, and she was already there, standing beneath the warm glow of a streetlamp, absentmindedly watching the river shimmer beneath the evening sky.
The moment she noticed him, her face lit up.
"You made it."
"I almost didn't."
She laughed.
"You were the one who picked the place."
"I know."
Dokyeom rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly forgetting every speech he'd rehearsed.
His palms were sweating, his heartbeat pounded against his ribs.
Y/N tilted her head.
"Dokyeom?"
"...Can I ask you something?"
She nodded.
He slowly lowered himself onto one knee, and the world seemed to quiet around them. People walked past, cars crossed the bridge overhead, the river continued flowing as though nothing extraordinary was happening.
Yet for Dokyeom, time had stopped.
He opened the small velvet box, inside rested a simple silver ring.
"I don't think I'll ever find the perfect words," he admitted with a nervous laugh. "but I know I want to spend every ordinary day with you."
His eyes never left hers.
"I want to laugh with you. I want to cry with you. I want to grow old with you. And when things get difficult..."
His voice grew softer.
"I promise we'll talk. No silent treatment, no pretending everything's okay. If something hurts, we'll say it. If something feels lonely, we'll tell each other. I don't ever want us to become strangers living in the same home."
He swallowed.
"And..." A bashful smile tugged at his lips. "I'll keep dating you, even after we're married. I'll surprise you with flowers. Little gifts, random notes—I'll never stop trying."
His eyes glistened.
"So..." He took a shaky breath. "Will you marry me?"
Y/N was already crying before he'd finished asking. She laughed through her tears, nodding over and over again.
"Yes… yes, of course I'll marry you."
The ring slid perfectly onto her finger. And for the first time that evening, neither of them cared about the people watching. They simply held each other, as though they'd already found home.
It wasn't a perfect marriage life, no marriage life ever was. There were forgotten anniversaries, burnt dinners, stress from work, exhausting weeks where they barely saw each other.
But every time life threatened to bury their affection beneath routine, one of them reached first.
Sometimes Dokyeom came home carrying a single sunflower because he'd passed a flower shop and thought of her. Sometimes he left handwritten notes inside her books.
"Don't skip lunch."
"Proud of you."
"See you tonight. Love you."
Sometimes Y/N surprised him with homemade desserts after difficult workdays. Sometimes she bought matching mugs simply because they made her think of him.
Neither waited for a special occasion.
Love became something they practiced. And years passed.
The gifts became less extravagant.
A favorite drink, a warm meal waiting on the table, a scarf wrapped around the other's neck before leaving the house, a forehead kiss before work.
A whispered "Drive safely.", a sincere "Tell me what's wrong."
The gestures were small, but they were never absent, because neither of them ever stopped dating the person they had married.
Their love did not survive because it stayed exciting forever, it survived because they kept choosing each other after the excitement faded.
Because somewhere in another life, Dokyeom had stopped.
The flowers became yearly, then forgotten. The handwritten notes disappeared. Conversations became one-word replies. He came home and scrolled through his phone, she watched television alone.
They convinced themselves that comfort meant effort was no longer necessary, but by the time either of them realized love had grown quiet, silence had already settled into every room.
They stood on the edge of divorce, wondering where the years had gone.
But love had never disappeared overnight, it had simply been left unattended, like a fire without another log to keep it burning.
Love dies quickly when it is only expected to exist. It lasts when two people choose, every single day, to kneel beside the fading embers, and gently start the fire again.
SVT-Raitere Lofts 🌼 Otherworld Plaza 🌼 Verdant Springs 🌼 Pinned Post 🌼 taglist :
🏁 summary: vernon gets jealous. and then he gets handsy.
🏁 tags: f1!driver vernon, established relationship, lee chan as a plot device. also jealous vernon.
🏁 rating: mature (mdni!!)
🏁 fic length: 12k
🏁 warnings: no sex/smut, but heavy and absolutely filthy making out. basically a pwp without the sex. mean/teasing dom!vernon, sub!reader, restraints, spit play, LOTS of spit play, fingers in mouths, choking, gagging, manhandling, slight physical punishment (two flicks to reader’s cheek), degradation, dumbification, slight objectification, semi-public (in a public space, but no one is around), but gentle aftercare <3
🏁 a/n: i genuinely don’t know how this happened. this was never meant to exist and then it was never meant to be so long?? i swear i meant to have more plot in it. um. enjoy jealous racer nonie, everyone ^^’
thank you @bubbliegubs and @gent1es3xy for, um, inspiring this? i guess? (geez, you guys.) thank you @horahae for educating me on f1 and where the best places to kiss on the cars would be :D thank you @/gent1es3xy and @/horahae for beta reading for me, and thank you @kwanrose and @svtts for helping me with details and keeping me going lol <3 your reactions made writing this go so much faster heh. divider by @pixopix !
🏁 playlist: anyone - seventeen.
🏁 taglist: @m0rningsnow
“Vernon, what the hell is going on?” you ask, trying to tug out of his grip, but he just tightens his hand around your wrist as he drags you inside the garage. It’s empty, unusually clean and tidy now that the weekend is over, the two cars standing alone in the near-darkness. “Vernon!”
He finally spins around, hand falling from yours. His eyes burn, chest rising and falling from the adrenaline of the drive – and something else? You swallow and massage your wrist.
“You look at him too much,” he mutters. Your heart lodges in your throat. You choke it back down.
“I – what? What are you – do you mean Chan? Are you still mad about –”
“Yes, I mean Chan.” Vernon steps closer. You step back. “Yes, I’m still mad. I beat him, I was beating him the whole race, and you couldn’t keep your eyes off him. My teammate.”
“…So you’re not mad, you’re just jealous?”
Vernon takes another silent step. Then another. You backpedal to keep up, but your back brushes against the garage door. His mouth quirks up in a pinched smile that’s anything but cheery. “Maybe I am jealous. Maybe I want my girlfriend’s eyes on me.”
His palm hits the door beside your head.
The bang echoes throughout the empty garage, and just like that, whatever instinct you had to fight is gone. You swallow thickly. His eyes burn dark in the dim light.
“I’ll make it up to you,” you whisper. Your breath catches at the way your own voice trembles.
But Vernon just grins.
“That’s my girl.”
Your breath hitches way too hard. Vernon’s other hand comes up to cup your chin, deceivingly gentle. His touch burns.
“Yeah, you’re gonna make it up to me, huh? Put those lips to work?”
“Yes,” you whisper immediately, palms pressing into the thin metal at your back. “Yes. I’m sorry.”
“Apologies already, oh, that’s good.” He swipes his thumb over your lips, and your eyelids flutter on their own. When your vision refocuses, he’s closer than before, looming over you. You just stare as your world narrows to him and him alone. His eyes are so deep. His hands are so big, wrapping around your throat and –
Oh. You swallow against his thumb.
The pressure is just uncomfortable enough to make you flinch. The tips of his nails burn at the back of your neck. Your eyes fall shut.
“Yeah,” Vernon breathes. The words flutter over your cheek. “You like that, huh? Dang, you’re so easy.”
Shame rips through you, warming your cheeks and drying your mouth. “I –” you try, but his thumb presses under your Adam’s apple and squeezes the words into a whimper.
“Did I say you could talk yet?”
Uh-oh.
“Oh, relax; I won’t shut you up today,” Vernon murmurs, low voice drawing closer and closer to your ear. “Be as loud as you want. But if you say something I don’t like, I gotta shut you up. Got it?”
Yes, you almost say, before slamming your jaw shut and nodding quickly. You crack one eye open, catch a glimpse of his teeth flashing in a grin, and close it again.
“Good girl.” The pressure on your throat shifts as he starts rubbing his thumb up and down. Up and down. “You know how much I’ve been wanting you? All day? And you couldn’t keep your eyes off of Chan.”
He scoffs over his teammate’s name. Almost spits it. A retort tugs at your tongue – But I wasn’t looking like that, I would never look at anyone but you, he’s just a friend – but you keep your jaw clenched. You know better.
Then Vernon’s lips brush your cheek, and your eyes and mouth fly open with a gasp.
“There we go,” he murmurs. Your breath hitches at the way his voice drips with something like disdain, something that makes your insides curl.
“Vernon,” you whisper, just to say it, just to taste his name on your tongue, just to love him and thank him and beg him for something, but he doesn’t even answer. He just shifts his hand, spreads his palm along your collarbones, and presses feathery kisses across your cheek.
It’s not enough. It’s not enough and he knows. He has to.
Then his mouth settles at the corner of your jaw, and for a blissful moment he’s drawing your skin between his teeth and you’re gasping and clutching at his waist. For a blissful moment, it’s perfect.
Then he pulls away.
His eyes glitter.
“Careful,” he murmurs. Oh, no. His hand disappears from the base of your throat, and your knees threaten to give out with the sudden lack of support. You reach for his jacket, but before you can grab on, his fingers wrap easily around your wrists.
Oh.
Then your arms slam above your head hard enough to rattle the entire door. The sound echoes in your head, almost drowning out Vernon’s words as he purrs against your ear – “I didn’t say you could touch.”
No.
His grip only tightens as you stretch your fingers desperately towards him. “Please,” you whisper – whimper – but he just nips at the lobe of your ear, teeth scraping over your diamond stud and coaxing a shiver out of you. He chuckles. Your cheeks burn. You turn away, as if there’s anywhere to hide, but –
“Stop,” Vernon commands, and your head snaps back embarrassingly fast.
He’s close. So close. Nose bumping against yours, lips only a breath away, the space between filled with a desperate, needy heat that, you realize with a flash of embarrassment, is entirely your own fault.
He grins.
“Cute.”
Something inside you dies.
“But lemme make this clear, okay? You don’t get to touch me.”
The rest of you dies.
“But –” you start to protest – but how can I make it up to you if I can’t touch you? – but he doesn’t let you finish.
“You’re not going to move unless I say you can,” he says slowly, like you need help understanding. His eyes glimmer in the low light. Your shoulders creep towards your burning ears. “You got that?”
“I – yes?” you manage, and he snorts, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“You sure? Try again.”
“Yes, I get it,” you say before you’ve quite realized it. “But, um, how am I supposed to make it up to you if I –”
“If you can’t touch me?”
Your words fall away as Vernon smirks. He shifts both your wrists into one hand, then brings the other to your cheek, tapping out a playful rhythm on your skin.
“Look at that,” he murmurs. “I can touch you without getting in trouble. Huh.”
“Vernon,” you whisper. His eyes are on his fingers, still tapping away, and not on you as he hums in response. You open your mouth to say something else – what, you don’t know – but Vernon’s touch shifts to your lips. Tap. Tap. Tap. Your voice dies in your throat.
“Cute,” he murmurs again, and you might as well be mute. Then the tapping stops, his eyes drop to your mouth, and he tugs at your lower lip instead, pinching and pulling absently as he speaks. It hurts, it taunts, it’s at least something and you should be grateful for it – but all it does is remind you that he’s not kissing you, and that’s infinitely worse. “Yeah, so, I’m just gonna do whatever I want with you, I think. Kinda treat you like a doll. That cool with you?”
His gaze flickers up to meet yours just as his hand drops back to your throat, and the thin rubber band that is your mind gets stretched three directions at once.
“Babe.” Vernon’s fingers press into your skin with the tiniest push and pull, almost like he’s massaging your throat – massaging the thoughts right out of you – and you do your best to exhale like a normal person, but a shaky moan slips out. He snorts, and your cheeks burn. “You’re a freak, you know that?”
Somewhere in the back of your mind there’s a witty retort about how he’s worse than you are. You can’t get to it right now. (Vernon’s making sure of that.)
“Fre-eak,” he sings, tilting your head side to side like a doll. A doll. Oh. You swallow, throat bobbing against his palm, and he just grins, pretty lips stretching wide. “Yeah. Oh, this is gonna be fun.”
Then his mouth is – finally – on yours. You gasp, then whine, then nearly choke trying to inhale as he squeezes your throat.
His lips disappear. You cough, the pressure on your wrists growing as your knees threaten to give out. Vernon just chuckles in your ear, husky and breathy and hot. Too hot.
“Can’t even kiss me right, huh,” he scoffs. “You know, I really thought you’d be better at this.”
“I’m sorry,” you gasp, blinking hard as if it’ll clear your head. “I – I can do better.”
His fingers nudge at the underside of your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his hardened gaze. “You will do better.”
“Yes!”
Vernon examines you for a long moment.
Then he nods.
“Good. Show me.”
And he steps back, dropping your wrists so suddenly that you nearly collapse. You barely catch yourself, braced awkwardly against the door behind you, and look up at him, but he’s just… standing there. Waiting.
Show me.
Somehow you manage to regain your footing. Vernon’s only a step away, but it feels like a mile.
You inch forward. Swallow, take a breath, and take a step. He’s just watching you, his face an unimpressed mask.
If you were braver – more coherent, maybe – you might try something more seductive. Something pretty or flirty. Something he was probably expecting, wanting from you.
But you’re not. So all you can do is lift your hands to his jaw and kiss him.
It lasts all of a second before your back hits the garage door hard enough to make you gasp. You barely realize that Vernon’s mouth is gone, too distracted by the vice grip he has on your wrists, pinning them far at your sides.
“What,” he hisses, his shoulder digging into your collarbone as his lips brush your ear, “did I say about touching?”
“I’m sorry!” you gasp out, distantly realizing that you’re trembling all over. “I thought – I didn’t – you wanted me, to, to –”
“I wanted you to show me that you could obey.” His voice burns your skin. “Clearly, you can’t even do that.”
You inhale shakily. Everything’s hot. Too hot. “I’m sorry. Let me try again –”
“No.”
Everything stops for a dizzying moment.
Then he releases your wrists and grabs your thighs.
He hoists you up, lifting you and shifting your weight against his hips. You try not to cry out, but it’s futile; the sound escapes anyway, a shuddering breath that verges on a squeak. His fingers dig into your skin below the rucked-up hem of your skirt.
“Don’t touch,” he reminds you oh-so-casually, and your arms freeze halfway around his neck. You blink.
“What am I –”
“Behind your back, princess. Yeah. There we go.”
You feel horribly off-balance like this – like you could fall at any moment – but you keep your hands behind your back, clutching your own fingers so you don’t disobey and move. A low hum of approval vibrates against your cheek where you’ve pressed it into Vernon’s neck.
“You want a second chance?” he asks suddenly, and you inhale sharply, nodding and hoping you don’t seem as desperate as you feel. Or maybe hoping you do. “Good. Mess up my neck.”
You lift your head a fraction of an inch. “Mess –?”
“Yep. Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warns, and immediately you drop your lips to the crook of his neck. He grunts. You kiss him again. “Don’t play it safe, baby girl. I wanna walk into the garage tomorrow and I want everyone to know just how good you are for me.”
You cling tighter to your own hands, but obediently your lips part and you swirl your tongue over his hot skin. Then you pull your lips back just enough.
Then you bite.
Vernon’s grip on your thighs tightens quickly enough that you whimper through the skin and muscle clenched between your teeth. He just chuckles in your ear, breathy and cocky, and you bite down harder to keep from letting another noise slip. After another moment, you realize that you really don’t want to break the skin, and quickly you let go, instead coating the spot in tiny kitten licks before shifting higher up his neck and sucking soft, thin skin into your mouth. If he wants you to give him hickies, you’ll give him the prettiest hickies.
Suddenly, he’s walking, moving somewhere in the garage that you can’t see. You press further against him, sucking desperately as though it’ll keep you from falling.
“Time’s almost up,” he says, and though he sounds as stoic and casual as ever, you’re pretty sure there’s a breathy bliss hiding in the back – one that makes you feel a little lick of pride, and a much stronger determination to keep going. You suck and lick and nibble, soothing it all over with kisses, watching dark rosettes bloom over his skin even in the dim light. It’s intoxicating.
Until you break away from his neck with a gasp as something cold and smooth greets the backs of your thighs.
“Time’s up.”
“Wait,” you beg – you only got to one side of his neck, that was unfair, that was so brief – but his hands are already gone from your thighs, your weight is shifting onto the cold metal beneath you, and Vernon’s tugging your arms out from behind your back.
“Nope, you’re done,” he says simply. “My turn now.”
Your mouth opens helplessly, but whatever protest you might have dreamed of saying disappears as he forces your arms above your head and leans over you. Your knuckles knock into something hard, but Vernon’s thumbs force your hands open, wrapping your palms around whatever it is. The cold metal arcs along your back.
You’re lying on his car, you realize with a shudder, and he’s wrapped your hands around the post of the halo.
“Don’t you dare let go.”
“No,” you choke out. You know it comes out wrong – as a protest rather than an agreement – and for a moment you brace yourself, but Vernon must be feeling nice, because he just scoffs and bites harshly on the lobe of your ear. You whimper anyway.
Then he slides away. His hands trail down your arms, over your sides, around your hips and along your legs as he guides your body to lay fully on the thin nose of his car. It’s something of a balancing act, trying to keep yourself centered with your arms locked above your head, but Vernon makes it easier when he steps over the front axle and locks your thighs between his.
He leans on the tires, tilted just slightly back, just enough for your eyes to drag down his torso. His Mercedes jacket usually hides his actual form, but right now it’s fallen open, and the loose tank top beneath hangs alluringly from his shoulders. It doesn’t show much, but it doesn’t hide much, either, and you find yourself staring.
Then Vernon shifts, and the jacket slides off his shoulders. Your eyes widen. You know what he looks like beneath his usual baggy clothes, of course you do, but there’s something about seeing him like this – towering over you, eyes dark, neck mottled, lean muscle shifting under his skin as he tugs his jacket from his wrists and drapes it over a tire – something about this that makes you swallow, bringing your elbows together to try to hide behind them.
Bad idea, of course.
Vernon leans forward just enough to flick your arms open again. Then he leans closer, left arm bracing against the car while he drags the backs of his nails along your cheek. You shiver, but somehow manage not to look away.
“Well?” he murmurs, raising his eyebrows. “How do you think you did? Is Chan’s jaw going to drop when he walks in tomorrow?”
You drop your eyes to his throat for just a moment. There is an impressive amount of purple, even the lingering press of your teeth, but it’s all on his right. The left side of his neck is almost embarrassingly clean.
Vernon’s hand leaves your cheek to prod at his own skin, pressing on hickies and not even flinching. His fingers skim over the bare side of his neck with a click of his tongue. “Feels a little lopsided, babe.”
“Let me fix it.”
But he scoffs. “No. Like I said: My turn now.”
He cradles your cheek then, big palm burning your skin. He thumbs under your eye, his fingers press against your ear, and you let your eyes fall shut and hope that he lets you have this little reprieve.
For a moment, he does.
But then you feel his hand sliding down towards your jaw. He drags over your lips with a sudden pressure, parting them easily. And then his thumb is in your mouth.
Just the tip of it. Just up to the first knuckle. But it’s enough to make your eyes fly open with a gasp.
Vernon’s grinning.
“Look at you, huh? Always so happy to get my fingers in your mouth.” He tugs on your bottom teeth, and you let your jaw fall open. He nods. “You’re always so obedient like this, too. Good girl.”
A whine slips from the back of your throat. Your cheeks burn at the way Vernon’s grin widens.
“Yeahhh,” he breathes, pushing his thumb in further to tease at the tip of your tongue. You whimper shakily. He presses further, the pad of his thumb pinning your tongue down with the lightest touch imaginable. You could probably move away if you wanted. You would rather die. (You want more of him, more of his fingers, more of his hand.) “You’re so pretty like this, you know,” Vernon says, voice lazy like he’s reciting a simple fact. “Spread out. Hands on the halo. One finger in your mouth while you’re clearly desperate for another.”
The heat that tears across your skin must be so visible, because Vernon laughs.
“Yeah, you’re desperate. Unfortunately for you, I don’t have to do anything you want,” he says, and then his thumb slips away, and your lips close on nothing. You almost open your mouth to protest, but then something wet rubs against your cheek.
Vernon’s thumb.
He’s wiping your saliva off. On you.
Your protest turns into a trembling moan.
“Mm, you like that too? Being the rag I clean myself up on?”
You slam your mouth shut. Vernon just laughs, something like disbelief in his tone.
“Wow. I knew you were dirty, but this…”
“Stop,” you beg. Shame is already curling in your stomach and licking across your cheeks, burning in a way where you can’t tell whether or not you like it. Vernon’s eyes feel much the same way, roving over you with a heat that makes you want to curl up and scream.
But you don’t, because Vernon’s trapped you here, against his car, and there’s nowhere else where you’d rather be.
“Freaky, filthy doll,” he breathes, and you almost choke. “You think you can flirt with whoever you want and get away with it, huh?”
“No,” you gasp, the word strangled and weak. “No, I didn’t –”
“Stop lying. You were flirting.”
His hair hangs in his eyes, dark and belittling in a way that makes your stomach twist. You find yourself nodding.
“Say it,” he murmurs, and the words spill easily.
“I was flirting.”
“Use my name when you talk to me, doll.”
“I was flirting, Vernon,” you say immediately, and his eyes glint. He presses his fingers suddenly into your jaw, prying it open, and you can’t do anything but let him.
“Good,” he says simply. “Never do it again.”
“I won’t!” you promise desperately, shaking your head even though you can barely move with the grip he has on you. He just scoffs.
“Cute. I don’t think I can trust you, though.”
“You can!”
His eyes narrow along with his grip. “Can I? Cause you don’t seem to get that you’re mine.”
Your heart skips a beat as he leans in.
“Maybe,” he murmurs, nose skimming yours, “I should make it a little more clear. Once you’ve licked a cookie, it’s yours, right?”
His head dips. Something hot and wet swirls at the hinge of your jaw.
Then Vernon licks a long, slow, filthy path across the curve of your cheek. All the air leaves your lungs as you moan. Your whole body spasms in his grip. He pulls away only to blow over the wet skin, sending a shockwave of cold air across your cheek.
“Vernon,” you gasp, the word barely forming, but he’s not done. He forces your jaw open wider, and spits.
You inhale so hard you nearly choke. You try to close your mouth so you can swallow, but then something else pushes past your lips.
Vernon’s fingers.
“Don’t swallow yet,” he warns as he slides his index and middle finger deeper. “I gotta mix it in.”
Your whine rises into a moan as he circles his fingers inside your mouth, pressing against his own spit on your tongue and mixing it into the saliva gathered at the back of your throat. He’s so far back that you nearly gag, but Vernon chuckles, watching you with a dark amusement as he pulls back just enough to pet over the surface of your tongue.
“You get the point now?” he whispers, eyebrows raised. You try to hum a response, try to nod, but everything’s in shambles. The most you can manage is a pitiful whimper around his broad fingers, and he just grins. “Aw, look at you. Choking on my fingers and my spit. And you just love it, don’t you?”
He presses down on your tongue, and you have to fight not to gag and swallow and disobey. There’s so much saliva pooled in your mouth right now, so much that you don’t know how much longer you can hold on. It’s taking everything in you to focus on not swallowing.
It must show in your eyes, because Vernon chuckles and lifts his fingers. It’s a small reprieve – but only a small one.
“Play,” he orders. You blink dazedly. What? “Play,” he repeats, curving his fingers to scrape along your tongue, and then you get it. You curl your tongue around his fingers, between them, trying not to choke or lose your mind from the thought that you might drown in your own saliva – and the knowledge that it’s mixed with his.
Then suddenly he flicks your tongue aside. His fingers curl, then slip out of your mouth, dragging an obscene amount of saliva with them.
Saliva that he smears across your cheek, sticky and hot and wet and filthy.
“Messy,” he chides, and you shudder, closing your eyes. You can’t. You can’t look at him anymore, not when your throat is trembling with the effort it takes not to – “Swallow.”
Oh.
You do. You swallow, and relief courses through you. Finally you start to inhale.
Vernon’s hand, tacky with spit, closes around your throat, and you freeze. The corner of his mouth quirks up, amused, and then he bends over you and sucks your trembling lower lip into his mouth – and bites.
It’s heaven. It’s hell. It’s something horrid in between. His teeth all but grind against your skin for a moment, before he releases your aching lip and soothes his tongue over it instead. He keeps shifting his grip on your throat, too; tightening and releasing like he’s trying to control your breath. Maybe he is, because somehow, it’s working. You find yourself inhaling and exhaling in rhythm with his pulsating grasp, even as he sucks so harshly on your lip that you think he might pull it off.
He pulls back, teeth dragging off your sore lip and letting it snap back with a soft pop! His hand keeps squeezing, and you keep breathing in tandem with the pressure, even despite the way each exhale ends with a shudder.
“Look at you,” Vernon murmurs, and you whimper just from the sound of his voice. His husky laugh rolls over you and almost coaxes out another embarrassing noise, but this one you manage to swallow (even past the pressure of his palm). “You’re even breathing the way I want you to. You’re so obedient.” He cocks his head, his fingers tighten, and you stop with a breath in your throat. “Huh. Good.” He waits a moment longer. You hold your breath. Your pulse throbs against his thumb, the pressure starts to build, and you squeeze the halo as a thread of panic slips in – but his hand drops away, and you gasp for air, sagging back against the car. It’s warm now, where you’ve been lying on it. “You’re being such a good doll,” Vernon breathes, leaning back. “Let’s keep it up, yeah?”
You nod, staring up at him through heavy eyelids. Oh, he’s pretty like this. Pretty? Hot? Both? Everything?
“So, what do you think? Can we say you know you’re mine now?” he says casually, hands settling on his own thighs but so, so close to your hips. You swallow and nod.
But Vernon clicks his tongue. “Bzzz. Wrong answer, babe. The claim’s gotta go both ways before I can believe you.”
What?
You open your mouth, but that’s as far as you get before Vernon grabs the waist of his shirt and strips it over his head, and part of your brain stops working.
He’s beautiful.
He’s lean and taut, muscles corded and veins strong, his skin smooth and shining with the thinnest sheen of sweat. The subtle lines of his abs catch the light, while his collarbones cast enticing shadows over the soft curve of his pecs.
It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.
But it’s everything.
“Eyes up here, babe.”
You snap your eyes up to his immediately, cheeks burning at the amusement littering his expression. He tosses his shirt into the cockpit over your head as he leans forward, and you inhale sharply. But you can’t pull away. There’s nowhere to go.
He braces his arms on the top of the halo, looming so, so close above you. You’re breathing too fast, but you can’t stop. Not with his dark eyes just inches away.
“Your turn,” he breathes, a hot rush of air on your burning cheeks. You blink.
“My turn –”
Vernon lifts one hand and touches two fingers to the base of his sternum, right between his pecs. Then he slides slowly up, until he settles at the dip above his collarbones.
“Your turn,” he repeats. “Lick.”
Oh.
You swallow. Your mouth is dry, too dry for this. Especially this. But Vernon’s shifting higher, thighs bracketing your waist now, and he’s leaning down, arms flexing where they’re braced against the halo, his chest positioned just over your face –
He stops just as your nose skims his skin. This close, you can smell his cologne; thick and heady with a hint of spice that makes your head spin (as if it wasn’t already).
Your mouth isn’t as dry now, you notice, and the air burns hotter as you realize that you’re salivating. Oh. You’re thinking about how his skin will taste on your tongue, and you’re salivating.
“I’m waiting,” Vernon whispers, and immediately you tilt your chin up and press your lips to the space between his pecs.
He’s soft, is your first thought. No, not soft – smooth. Perfectly smooth. His pecs themselves look softer, gentle swells on either side that tempt your attention, but he grunts and you drag your traitorous brain back to the task at hand.
Lick.
A shiver races down your spine as you part your lips.
He tastes like salt and heat, the thin glimmer of sweat that, you realize with a jolt, isn’t from the weather. It was chilly outside, it was temperate at best when you first entered the garage, and yet now you’re both burning up. Body heat, your brain supplies helpfully, and you almost want to sob but instead you flatten your tongue against his smooth, sweet skin, and you drag.
The groan Vernon lets out is guttural. It’s long and low, vibrating against your tongue, and you can’t just stop at his collarbones. Not when he’s like this. You let go, one hand against the car to push yourself up while your other hand slips into the soft hair at the base of Vernon’s neck, and you trail your tongue up and up and up.
You lick your way right into his mouth. It’s heaven. Or maybe it’s hell, with how hot he is around you and how sharp his teeth are as they graze your tongue. Either way, you don’t think you mind. Your fingers curl tighter into his hair, tugging him down so you can bring your other hand up to reach for his pecs. You can already imagine the give of his skin, how nicely he’ll fit against your palm, how he’ll shiver when you brush your thumb over his –
Vernon’s hand snaps around your wrist. His other hand bites into the back of your neck. The barest tip of your middle finger grazes his pec before he forces your hand back down, and he pulls you away from his mouth, teeth scraping your tongue all the way out.
His eyes burn.
“You had to go and spoil a good thing.”
“I’m sorry!”
“Shut up.”
“Please –”
You gag as Vernon’s fingers hit the back of your throat. Three of them, all at once, with so much force that your head snaps back.
“I said shut up. Geez, you really can’t do anything right, can you?”
Answering isn’t an option. Your throat convulses, tongue trying in vain to alleviate the pressure, as Vernon’s thumb curls under your chin.
Then he starts pushing you down, forcing your back against the car once more. His grip on your jaw is iron. It’s so firm that you have to push back or else your skull will ricochet off the car. Pushing back, though, means that his fingers just wedge deeper into your throat, and it only takes a moment before you’re flat on your back and drained and coughing for your life, free hand scrabbling at Vernon’s steady arm.
“Pitiful,” he grits out, and you want to scream.
But he lets you go.
Well, more accurately, he slides his fingers half out of your mouth, hooking your jaw open and staring down as you pant and whimper and shake. Your arms fall limp against the car. His pupils are so wide that his eyes are black, his gaze mocking and predatory in a way that makes your skin crawl.
You’ve never felt so much like prey: caught, pinned, and eyed like he’s going to eat you alive.
Maybe he will.
Vernon curls his palm around your jaw, fingers still heavy on your tongue, and directs your head to the side. Your gaze settles on his thighs. You close your eyes. Every breath is ragged. Your throat aches.
“Don’t move this time,” he warns. “I know you’re dumb, but you can’t be dumb enough not to understand that.”
Your cheeks burn against the cool metal of his car. You’re not going to move this time. Not at all. Not even to breathe, if that’s what it takes. His fingers slide out, leaving your mouth gaping around nothing – wait. He’s back.
He pinches the tip of your tongue, and you have to fight not to twitch, forcing your mouth to stay lax. He pulls it out of your mouth. Then he lets go. Your tongue falls limp against the side of your mouth, but the tip of the muscle touches something far colder and far smoother.
The car, you realize dazedly. Somehow you manage not to flinch, even as saliva starts to pool in your cheek from the strange, open-mouthed inaction. Even as it starts to creep towards your parted lips. Even as it threatens to spill.
You inhale sharply and only barely keep from jerking as Vernon’s hand settles on your stomach, broad and heavy. Something’s rustling. You can’t see. You don’t want to. His weight settles a little more firmly over your hips, and his hand disappears.
He drags your arms above your head with a ruthlessness that jostles your entire body. The insides of your wrists bump into what must be the spine of the halo. Then he jams your hands together and binds them so tightly with a bulky piece of fabric. He tugs at your elbows, knocking your wrists against the spine, but the knot holds firm.
You’re trapped.
“There we go,” Vernon murmurs. His hand trails down the length of your arm and slides into your hair. He runs his fingers through it, tugging out a small knot, surprisingly gentle. You brace yourself for a harsh tug, but it never comes.
Instead, Vernon backs up, his thighs bracketing yours again. He leans in.
Then his lips ghost along the column of your neck, and the saliva pooled in your mouth spills over. You stay stock still, though you have to fight for it. He kisses slowly up and down the length of your throat, and drool gathers where your cheek meets the car, sticky and wet and filthy. But you don’t move.
“Look at you,” he mutters, low, lips brushing against your throat. “Shameless. Drooling all over the paint job. Makes me wonder what else you’d do for me.”
Anything, you want to say, but that would mean moving your mouth. Are you allowed to do that yet? It’s gross, gross, the amount of saliva that’s just dribbling out of you, but you’re not supposed to move. So you don’t.
“Pretty little thing,” Vernon breathes, air coursing over sticky skin, before biting down harshly at the skin behind your jaw. You flinch, whimpering, and drool just drips from your mouth, torturously slow, dragging down your tongue. It’s awful. It’s almost worse when Vernon releases your skin just to kiss it. “You’re such a good girl for me,” he whispers, “letting me truss you up like a doll and take whatever I want. So willing. But I wonder,” he continues, his hand suddenly kneading your hip, “if you’d let Chan do it, too.”
No, you almost scream, but Vernon’s still going.
“I wonder if you’re just so desperate to be used that you’d let anyone tie you down. Maybe you like the idea, huh? You like the idea of Chan seeing you like this, all filthy and helpless, just a doll for the taking?”
No!
But you don’t move. You whine, skin burning with shame, but you don’t move.
Then a phone starts to ring.
You snap your head up, eyes opening to see Vernon grinning down at you. He’s holding his phone to his ear.
“You think he’ll pick up?” he asks.
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.
“No,” you beg, tugging at your hands, but he did a good job. You’re not going anywhere. “Nonie, no, I don’t –”
Vernon’s broad hand clamps over your mouth as he shoots you a look with so much disgust and disdain that it makes your skin crawl.
“Dolls don’t talk.”
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiii –
“Hey,” Chan’s voice says, tinny over the phone. “What’s up?”
Vernon’s grin turns every joint in your body to mush. “Not much. I’m just swinging by the garage. You need anything?”
He sets the phone to speaker. Chan’s voice echoes in the space between you.
“From the garage? Um, no, I don’t think so. What’re you doing there?”
Vernon balances his phone across your collarbones.
Then he removes his hand from your mouth.
“I just felt like it,” he says, eyes burning into yours as he slowly, slowly smiles. Your pulse races in your ears. You can’t move. But at least you just need to stay still and quiet. You can do this. This is fine. You’ll be –
You have to stop yourself from gasping as Vernon’s tongue flicks across your cheek. For a moment you want to glare at him, but then he starts licking at the saliva clinging to your skin – your saliva – and all thoughts beyond oh no and stay quiet fade into obscurity as his tongue slides and swirls and dips.
Chan says something. It doesn’t stick in your mind.
Then you hear your name, and zero in so hard that you miss half the sentence.
“…doing okay? You two looked kinda tense during dinner.”
Vernon’s lips curl against your cheek in a smile. Then he pulls away.
“Yeah, we’re fine,” he says easily, like he’s not on top of you, like your saliva isn’t coating his tongue, like you’re not making out on his car. “She’s with me, actually,” he adds, and panic shoots up your spine. No. No. No, you can’t – “She just ran to the bathroom,” Vernon finishes then.
Oh. You relax, eyes fluttering closed. Vernon’s a tease, but he’s not that mean.
Then Vernon’s thumbs press into your neck.
“Oh, cool. Say hi to her for me?” Chan sounds casual, too casual for the way Vernon’s massaging the sides of your throat, too casual for the effort it’s taking not to gasp and whimper and moan.
And Vernon knows. He smirks and squeezes a little tighter, palms sliding against the back of your neck. “Sure, yeah.”
“Thanks. Oh, by the way, I think she left her purse behind, you guys left so fast.” Your breath almost hitches. You completely forgot. Vernon’s gaze narrows on you as Chan continues, and you want so desperately to grab the phone and hang up but you can’t. “I grabbed it and threw it in my car, so just let her know about that, could you?”
“Yeah,” Vernon says slowly. His fingers curl into your hair, tugging slowly and painfully, but you can’t make noise. Your eyes threaten to start watering. “I’ll get it from you tomorrow.”
“Okay, cool. Good job today, by the way.”
“Thanks. Maybe next time you’ll catch up.” Vernon’s teeth clip the skin along your jaw in measured, even bites. Each one stings more than the last, and each one requires a renewed effort not to gasp. The phone is right there.
“Oh, that’s how it is? I’m going to crush you next time. Just for that.”
“Sure you are,” Vernon says in your ear. Don’t whine. Don’t whine. Don’t whine. Then he pulls back. One hand slides around the front of your throat, the other reaches for his phone, and he squeezes so tightly you can’t breathe anymore. Your pulse pounds in your ears, drowning out Vernon’s words, but your eyes stay locked on his lips as he says something into the phone.
He hangs up.
You gasp for air, shuddering, as his hand falls away. As he leans away, back towards the tires to balance his phone there. Your head spins, vision bordering on fuzzy, your only anchor the point where his thighs trap yours. The memory of his tongue still glides over your cheek, painting you three shades of filthy.
Then suddenly he’s leaning over you again, forearms braced against the halo, bare skin tantalizingly close. A long line glistens between his pecs, trailing up towards his mouth, and the realization that you did that hits you square in the stomach.
Vernon grins as you gape.
“Chan says hi.”
“Vernon,” you plead, but he just tsks.
“Maybe I should have invited him over. I thought about it,” he murmurs, and you shake your head desperately. He raises a perfect eyebrow. “No? You don’t want Chan to see how good of a doll you are for me?”
“No!”
“You didn’t leave your purse behind as an excuse to see him again?”
“No, I swear –”
“Prove it.”
You stare up at him, mouth open, thoughts too scattered to think. He raises an eyebrow.
“Talk,” he says, and the words flow.
“I don’t know what you want me to do,” you whisper, voice cracking. “I don’t know – I can’t think, I just, please, Nonie, I never meant to, I wasn’t trying, I don’t want – I just – how?” You’re babbling now, you know you are, breath hitching and words slurring together, but Vernon’s still looming over you, and you can’t stop. “I don’t know, please, just tell – tell me what you want and I’ll, I’ll do it, anything – please, please, please please please –”
“Stop.”
Your jaw snaps shut. Your chest heaves. Vernon smirks.
“Dumb little doll can’t think anymore, huh?” he breathes, and a whimper slips past your traitorous lips. His teeth flash in a grin. “Good.”
“Nonie,” you plead. He clicks his tongue.
“Not my name.”
“Vernon?”
“There you go.” He shifts his arm against the halo, reaching down and running the tip of his index finger over your lips. It tingles. You open, reaching up to take his finger into your mouth, but he tsks and flicks your cheek instead. You flinch. “Less obedient than I thought. Wait for permission.”
“Yes,” you whisper, but you catch yourself immediately: “Yes, Vernon.”
He grins and runs his finger over your bottom lip. “Good girl. Now, before I make you beg,” he says, sending a shiver down your spine, “I have a couple questions. And I need you to think very hard about this, okay? I know it’s a lot for your messed-up little brain.”
Your skin is burning. You don’t want to think about how red you must be. “Yes, Vernon.”
“Good. Now, here’s the first question. You ready? Yeah?” he asks as you nod desperately. His finger still traces your lip. “Who do you belong to?”
“You.”
“Do you say that to all the guys? Use names, pretty thing.”
“Vernon! I belong to Vernon.”
“Better. Who owns you?”
You swallow. His voice sounds deeper than a moment ago. “Vernon.”
“Whose permission do you need before you can choke on his fingers?”
“Vernon.” Please, you want to –
“So whose name are you going to be moaning in a few minutes?”
“Vernon,” you whisper, and he grins.
“Yeah. You’re not allowed to say anything else, okay?”
“Okay –”
Vernon flicks your cheek again, and you gasp.
“What did I just say?” he says slowly. Dangerously. You shrink back as much as you can – which is not much. “Forget every word but my name, baby girl. Forget every name but mine. Alright? Is that making sense to your dumb little brain?”
Unfortunately your brain feels horribly, horribly dumb. But you nod. “Vernon,” you whisper. It comes out more shaky than you intended.
But he grins. “Attagirl. Here, take your reward, since you’re so desperate for it.”
His index finger brushes against the seam of your lips – not pushing, just hovering, waiting – and you tilt your chin up and welcome him in.
The taste of him fills your mouth, that taste you know so well and yet can never get enough of, familiar and grounding and transcending all at once. For once, he’s not pushing or prodding; he just lets his finger lie on your tongue, and you’ll take it. He’s not in very far, just two knuckles deep, but it’s enough that you can curl your tongue under his fingertip and slide over his nail.
But that’s as far as you get before he pulls his finger out, leaving your mouth searching for nothing.
“I forgot,” he says, lowering his head to nuzzle right by your ear. The slick tip of his finger tracks along your collarbone. “I said I was going to make you beg.”
So beg you do, pleases spilling from your lips.
But the realization hits as Vernon draws silently back. Cold air floods between you. His hair hangs in his eyes, damp with sweat, but it does nothing to hide the cold, hard disappointment in his gaze.
You swallow while you still can.
“Baby girl,” Vernon breathes, his voice lower than you’ve ever heard it, “you are so bad at this.”
The apology you can’t say sticks in your throat. All you can do is whimper and wait.
Vernon’s weight disappears from your hips.
He slips off to your right side, his warmth disappearing completely as he crosses his arms and leans back against the tire. And he just… looks.
And it’s awful.
He feels impossibly far away. Realistically, there’s barely twelve inches between you, but hell if it doesn’t feel like more. So much more. You don’t want to move, lest you incite something worse, but the effort it takes to stay balanced on the nose is exhausting. And you can barely see him right now, which is somehow worse. But is it worth it to turn your head? Or would it bring elongated suffering? You can barely tell where he’s looking right now, though, and that’s the deciding factor.
You turn to look. Your cheek settles in the pool of saliva you left behind.
But Vernon’s staring directly at you, his eyes burning black.
A long, slow second passes.
“Vernon?” you whisper tentatively. He just huffs in response.
“Be patient, doll. You have no right to ask anything of me right now.”
Sorry dies before it reaches your lips. You swallow and keep your mouth shut. A hint of a smirk flits over Vernon’s face, but he’s still watching you.
He drops one hand, fingers brushing the edge of the car.
Brushing the edge of your hip.
Your breath catches. Vernon’s eyes break away from yours, dropping instead to his hand. His touch is feather-light, barely even there, just pure sensation as he circles the bone of your hip through your skirt.
“Vernon,” you start, but his touch vanishes. His gaze still lingers.
“No more talking,” he says, voice low and cold in a way that makes you shiver. “You’ve lost that privilege.”
Three long seconds pass in silence before his touch returns. This time, his fingers hover over your ribs, brushing against the fabric of your shirt and sending sparks racing across your skin.
But it’s not enough. It’s too light.
And he’s not looking at you.
He moves over your stomach, tracing down your shirt and running along the edge. You can’t see his hand, you couldn’t even if you craned your neck, but you can feel it as his fingers dip past the risen hem and ghost over the bare skin of your abdomen. It tingles.
And then it’s gone. Vernon’s readjusting, shifting his footing and the way he’s leaning against the tire, and you realize that your entire body is tense. You force out a breath and will your limbs to relax, but the way his eyes flick up and over your shifting legs does nothing to help.
He reaches out again, and you flinch, eyes snapping shut and shoulders tensing back up as though that’ll do anything to prevent it.
It doesn’t. Vernon’s finger brushes along the inside of your arm, from your wrist all the way down, coaxing your pulse higher and higher, your breath faster and faster –
Then it’s gone. Again. A broken sound crawls out of your mouth. You turn away from him, eyes still screwed shut, cold air stinging your cheek as the tackiness of drying saliva meets the air.
His knuckles drag along your jaw, and then one long finger hooks under your chin and pulls you back. You keep your eyes and mouth firmly shut, your heart pounding.
“Open,” Vernon commands, and you whine but you part your lips. He sighs. “All the way, baby girl.”
Your jaw drops open.
Familiar fingers push a wad of thin fabric past your lips. Your body seizes up. Your eyes flash open just to find Vernon’s gaze locked on your jaw, fingertips systematically tucking more and more fabric into your mouth, his expression purely apathetic. The edge of the white material grazes your nose, and spicy cologne floods your senses with a humiliating realization.
This is Vernon’s shirt.
Something pathetic builds in your throat and dies, smothered by the shirt crammed behind your lips. Vernon grins.
Then he just… pats your cheek.
“Quiet and dumb. It’s a good look for you.”
He shoves at your jaw, and your head snaps away so roughly that you cry out – but, of course, it’s muffled. He’s effectively muted you.
You close your eyes, press your cheek against the car, and wait for the inevitable.
It takes a miserable eight seconds – yes, you counted – before Vernon touches you again. But when he does, it’s not his fingers.
It’s his breath, hot against the column of your neck. Not his lips. Just his breath. Each soft puff of air burns like nothing else. Any second now, he’s going to kiss you, surely – you can almost feel it, the lightest touch of his lips on your skin; or maybe he’ll be meaner about it and jump straight to his tongue –
The tip of his nose touches your jaw.
Then he’s gone.
Your breath shudders out through your nose as the damp material of Vernon’s shirt stifles your groan, part relief and part disappointment.
His shirt. His shirt. You almost forgot it was his shirt keeping you quiet. Is it insane to think you can taste him on it? The curl of his cologne, the tang of his skin, the warmth of his –
Your brain fades to white noise for a moment as his palm ghosts against the inside of your calf. You think you make a sound. You don’t know what. Your eyes fall dazedly open, flashes of the garage wall greeting your return to the physical world.
Vernon’s low chuckle taunts you. His hand runs up and down your leg, never fully resting on your skin, just barely touching the hem of your skirt. Every rapid breath burns your nose. You think you might be shaking. “Look at you,” Vernon murmurs, and you know you are.
For one glorious moment, his hand covers your knee, fingers pressing into the flesh of your thigh.
Then he’s gone, and the heat of your skin clashes with the chill in the air. Your brain spins. A scream of frustration tears into Vernon’s shirt, but only the faintest whisper of it reaches your eardrums.
Vernon laughs again – closer than before.
Then he drags his tongue up your throat.
He presses blunt nails into your thigh.
He brushes a gentle hand through your hair and pulls it hard enough to make you scream.
And you start to lose track.
He’s everywhere and nowhere, all at once; pressing and touching and licking and biting, but never long enough for it to feel good. Just enough to give you a taste – a tantalizing, torturous taste.
You’re noisy now, so noisy, and so thankful for the gag, even if you can feel the saliva gathering in the back of your throat and it’s taking way too much effort to breathe through your nose. You couldn’t stop now if you tried. Your brain is melting into a desperation that bleeds out in constant, unintelligible noises.
Vernon’s teeth break through the haze for a brief moment, digging into the inner flesh of your bicep, and your moan rises into a scream, your body tensing so dramatically that you swear your hips arch off the car. Not that you know what’s real anymore.
Everything crumbles into oblivion again the moment he pulls away.
Then Vernon’s weight settles across your thighs again, and you moan loudly, desperately, blinking through the sudden blurriness in your eyes. Please, you want to cry; please. Just please. But you can’t, so you just whine and whimper and moan as loud as you can.
Vernon’s low whistle cuts through the noise in your own mind, flushing your cheeks and cutting away your pleading moans. Most of them, at least; a pitiful whimper still lingers.
“Are you about to cry?” he scoffs in disbelief. His thumb drags roughly along the seam of your eye, and through the sudden clarity you watch the sparkling drop on the pad of his thumb disappear between his lips. His mouth curls in a grin. He pulls his finger out with a pop. You swallow and barely manage not to gag. “You are. Geez, did I break my doll?”
You whimper into the ether as the budding tears return, smearing your world into glistening darkness.
Then his shirt nudges a little deeper into your mouth.
Your first thought is panic as you gag on it. Your body spasms without your control, hands tugging at their restraints, but then the pressure lifts – and keeps going. Vernon pulls his shirt from your mouth, the sopping mess that it’s become, and you gasp. Saliva dribbles over your cheek as he tosses it away. Air floods your lungs, scraping almost painfully through your abused throat, and your mouth feels so horribly empty.
So you fill it with the one thing you can: Vernon’s name.
Over and over and over again.
His hum of approval rings in your ears. You keep rambling some semblance of his name, even as his finger drags along your cheek, gathering the fallen spit and tucking it back into the corner of your mouth. Your lips, cracked and stretched and dry, just brush the tip of his finger, whispering Vernon, Vernon, Vernon like your life depends on it.
Vernon leans closer. You can feel him, the heat of his body burning close. Your voice gets louder, raspy and grating almost painfully against the back of your throat, but it doesn’t matter. It’s worth it if it works. It’s worth it if it’s what he wants.
Vernon. Vernon. Vernon. Vernon –
A sudden tug on your wrists makes you stutter.
“Vernon?” you whisper.
Then his lips press to yours, and your brain fades to static.
Finally.
Heat burns against your eyes and trickles down your cheeks as Vernon’s tongue slips easily between your lips. Your breath shudders in your chest. But tension drags through every limb, forcing your body still and obedient beneath him, because you’re not taking any more chances. If he pulls away again –
Something shifts around your wrists, and suddenly they’re free. Vernon’s hands curl around yours and start pulling them down from above your head. Your breathing starts to stutter, gasping into his mouth, and he just nips at your lip.
Your palms brush the smooth warmth of his shoulders. He flattens your hands more firmly against him, fingers pressing between your bones. You whimper, almost trying to pull back – is this a test? A trick? What if he leaves? – but then Vernon whispers against your lips.
“What, are you shy now? C’mon, touch me, princess. All over.”
You whimper. Your fingers twitch against his skin.
“Now.”
Your next breath is from his mouth. His hands fall from yours, landing on the car beside your head with a thud that rattles your skull and shocks you into squeezing his shoulders.
He hums into your mouth, and you squeeze again. Another hum.
You do have freedom.
…You basically have an order.
Touch me. All over.
So you do.
You run your hands up into his hair, fingers curling, tugging him down into you until you swear his tongue reaches the back of your throat. Or maybe it’s his groan, reverberating in the depths of your bones, that does it. Regardless, you want more, you need more, and your hands slip down to spread over his chest.
Soft. Soft soft soft. And smooth, your thumbs pressing into his curves as you dig your nails in near his collarbones. He breaks away from your mouth to hiss in pain, but a whine tumbles from your lips, and he’s back, one hand diving into your hair. You drag your hands further down, skimming your palms over his nipples, and he yanks on your hair so sharply that it has to be pure reflex. His teeth attack your lower lip a moment later, and the heaving of his lungs beneath your touch becomes the only thing you know.
The world disappears. It’s Vernon that matters now, Vernon and nothing else; Vernon and the way he feels above you, under your nails, in your mouth. Vernon Vernon Vernon.
It’s only when salt touches your tongue that you realize you’re crying. Sobbing, maybe, with the way your chest heaves. Your nails dig into Vernon’s back and scrape through taut muscle as your body shakes and your arms start to fail, dragging down towards his hips. He groans again, pressing his forehead against yours, and the shaky tremor of your sobs finally reaches your ears.
Your hands fall to the sides of the car. You hear them hit more than you feel it. Your legs seem to have slipped, too; something cold sits behind your bent knees. The car is vibrating beneath you, unless… no. No, the car isn’t shaking. You are.
“Oh, baby,” Vernon whispers, his voice rough and breathy against your cheek, and then he captures your lips in a brief, gentle kiss.
You can’t even kiss him back. You’re crying too hard.
“Baby,” Vernon murmurs again. Warm palms cradle your cheeks, gentle thumbs wiping under your eyes, and you just tilt your head into it. It’s grounding. He’s grounding. You can’t feel your fingers. “Baby,” he repeats, but this time there’s something urgent to it. “Hey, are you with me?”
You manage to nod, just barely, just once. Vernon’s lips press against your cheek.
“Good. Okay. Stay with me. You did so well, okay? So good for me.”
A tremor ripples through your body. You turn and muffle another sob in Vernon’s palm. His thumb rubs along your cheekbone, slow and steady.
“I’m gonna get off you, okay? Is that okay? I’ll be right here, baby; I promise,” Vernon whispers. His nose skims along your cheek. “I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”
Everything fades for a moment, but you must have nodded, because the weight across your hips lifts. Panic spikes in your chest. You cry out, heartbeat pounding in your ears, but your trembling body won’t move, won’t follow Vernon, won’t –
“Baby, baby, shh,” he whispers as he squeezes your shoulder. His other hand settles over your stomach, resting, just enough pressure to calm the panic. You exhale with a violent shudder. He’s here. “Oh, babe, I’m sorry. Deep breaths. I’m here, okay? I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Vernon’s hands slip down, curling around your thighs and your stomach, and then you’re moving. He coaxes you upright, and you settle on the car where he guides you. Your head falls into the crook of his neck. He’s warm. Your tears mar his skin.
“Sorry,” you choke out. His hand cradles the back of your head, smoothing over your hair.
“You don’t have to say sorry. You’re okay. You did so well, yeah? Such a good girl.”
You just whimper and press closer to him. He presses his lips to your temple.
“What’s my name?” he whispers, and you stiffen immediately, breath hitching over Vernon, Vernon, Vernon – but he shushes you, and you stop, breath lodged in your throat. “Okay, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Can you tell me your name?”
Doll sticks to your tongue, but you’re able to drag your mind back long enough to remember your real name. Vernon nods, cheek brushing the top of your head.
“Good job. You’re doing great, okay? I’m so proud of you.”
Doing great. Proud. Good job. You swallow, forcing your arms to curl loosely around Vernon’s waist, and he steps closer. He nudges between your knees and hugs you against the warmth of his bare skin.
“Just breathe with me for a bit, okay?” he whispers into your hair. You sniffle, but you nod. He hums. It vibrates in his sternum, in your ear. He hooks his chin over the top of your head. “Good. Just breathe.”
His chest rises and falls steadily against your cheek, and slowly your hiccuping, stuttering breathing smoothes to follow his rhythm. He rubs gentle strokes up and down your back. Time passes. You’re not sure how much. But eventually he pulls away, just a little, his warm hand cradling your jaw.
“Hey. Are you okay?” Vernon whispers, and you pry your exhausted eyes open. His gaze is locked on yours, drenched in worry. “Like, actually. Did I go too far?”
You take a moment to breathe. Your brain still feels scrambled, but a little more solid now, maybe? Your lips are dry. You lick them, and it stings. But – “No,” you mumble. Then you swallow and clear your throat. Your voice still comes out raspy. “I’m okay. It was – good. Too good.”
“Too good,” Vernon repeats, but the crease in his forehead has smoothed out. “You mean… like, in a good way? Or like, it was too good in the sense that it was too much?”
You blink. His hand is warm against your cheek, and it’s all you can think about. “Good,” you repeat quietly. Vernon’s expression softens. He presses his lips to your forehead and lets it linger. Then he whispers against your skin, barely a breath, “I love you.”
A whine slips out unbidden. You swallow, shy, and lean into his touch. “Love you too.”
“I know.”
Time slips away again. You almost do, too; exhaustion hangs from your bones. But you’re not as sleepy as you are just pure worn out.
“Babe?” Vernon says gently, breath rustling your hair.
“Hm?”
“Can I clean you up?”
Your cheeks burn as you remember his slick fingers smearing against your skin. You nod, but bury your face in the warmth of Vernon’s chest. He laughs softly.
“Yeah, we got a little messy, didn’t we?” he says, tone somewhere between amused and apologetic. It still makes you whine, but he lifts your face from his chest and kisses your forehead. “It’s okay, babe. Can I go get a towel? Will you be alright alone for a minute? I’ll be right back, I promise.”
You nod into his hands. He kisses your lips for a sweet, lingering moment. Then he nudges you back onto the car and moves away, and you regret nodding. At least you can watch him as he walks around the garage. And at least the bench where he lingers isn’t too far.
Oh. The marks you left on his neck are visible even from behind him. And bright red lines stand out along his lower back. Oh…
Your cheeks warm when Vernon turns back to find you staring. He just raises an eyebrow on his way back over, lifting the towel and water bottle in his hands as if to show them off. You smile shyly. He kisses your forehead as he slips back between your knees.
“What’re you looking at?” he asks, setting the towel in your lap with a grin that says he already knows – but also the lilt in his voice that says he wants you to answer.
“…Your back,” you admit. Vernon nods sagely, cracking open the water bottle.
“Yeah? How’s it look?”
You drop your eyes as he picks the towel back up. He turns to the side, then, reaching away from you as he pours half the water bottle over the towel.
“Pretty,” you say to the subtle lines of his abs where they twist with his torso. He squeezes out the towel. Water splatters against the resin floor. The ends of red lines trail above his hip.
“Pretty,” Vernon repeats. He’s busy with the towel still, setting it on the car next to you. The lines are enticing. “Well, you know you made it that way.”
You reach out and brush your finger against one of the lines. Vernon’s breath catches. The muscles in his arm jump. His eyes are already on you when you look up sheepishly.
“That stings, you know.”
“Sorry.”
“Nah, don’t be. You know I like it.”
Vernon flashes a grin before kissing your cheek – the one still tacky with embarrassing layers of drying saliva.
“Open up,” he says, and your breath catches before you notice the open water bottle in his hand. Your cheeks warm instead, and he grins. “Geez, get your head out of the gutter. I’m just trying to hydrate you.”
“Sorry,” you mumble sheepishly. He just taps your chin, and you part your lips obediently to accept the mouth of the water bottle.
“You’re alright. Small sips, okay?”
“Mhm.”
Vernon tips the bottle carefully up, just enough for you to drink at your own pace without being waterboarded. Your first sip is careful. Then as it hits your tongue, you realize how thirsty you are, and Vernon starts laughing as you drain another quarter of the bottle. Finally he pulls it away, thumb running over your lips to catch the little dribble.
“Don’t drown yourself,” he scolds teasingly. “Slow, remember?” You nod, a little out of breath, and he just grins before tilting his head back and draining the rest of the bottle. You stare a little too hard at the way his throat flexes and bobs, and he totally knows, but mercifully he doesn’t comment on it when he’s done. He just crushes the bottle and twists the cap back on, although he does flash you a small smile as he sets it next to the wet towel.
“Let’s get you cleaned up now, okay?” he says, grabbing the towel now, and you nod. “Alright, great. Sorry it isn’t warm,” he adds, one hand gently taking hold of your chin. His fingers are damp. “It’s not ice cold, at least.”
He guides your head to the side, and then the cool, damp towel smoothes over your skin. Your eyes flutter shut. Vernon’s as gentle as he always is, whenever he cleans you up, but a part of you thinks he might be rubbing even lighter than normal today. Not that you’re about to complain. You reach out blindly with one hand, finding his waist and hooking your finger through the belt loop of his jeans. Just to hold him, really. That’s all you need. He chuckles and leans closer.
“What do you think about a warm shower once we get home?” he says, and you hum. He’s wiping over your lips now, so that’s the best answer you can give. He gets it. “Yeah, sounds good, doesn’t it? I’ll throw your towel in the dryer, too. And the blankets, while I’m at it. We can watch your cooking show in bed. Yeah?”
This time, you hum and nod, even if you can’t move much. Vernon laughs under his breath, tilting to reach your other cheek.
“Cool. You deserve it, babe. You did really, really well for me tonight.”
The praise pulls a little smile over your lips. Vernon drops a kiss on it, and you giggle.
“Cutie,” he murmurs. He gently nudges your chin up, wiping carefully over your neck and collarbones. He’s silent until he finishes, and then he brings you back down and lingers. You open your eyes and meet his gaze. He’s concerned again. “Are you sure I didn’t go too far?” he repeats, but you nod.
“I’m sure. It was good,” you say again, tugging at his belt loop like that serves as proof. You still feel like jelly, but at least some of your brain is working again. At least you can remember how you got here.
That thought brings a small frown, though. You tug again.
“Non, I really wasn’t flirting, though. I swear. I would never.”
He shakes his head, setting the towel aside to cradle your cheeks. “I know, babe. I trust you. I wasn’t really mad, either; just pent up from the race, I guess.”
“I know.”
You look at each other for a moment. Then Vernon cracks a small smile.
“You were talking to Chan a lot.”
“Vernon!” you whine, but he’s laughing.
“It’s alright, I know you’re just friends. I was only a little jealous.” He leans in and kisses you. It starts as a peck, but you chase after him for more, and he indulges you for a long moment before gently squeezing your thighs and pulling away for real. He taps his forehead gently against yours with a smile. “Alright. You feeling ready to go?”
You wrinkle your nose, but nod. “Cuddles at home, though?”
“Cuddles at home. Promise.”
“Mkay.”
Vernon smiles and kisses the corner of your mouth. “I love you.”
You kiss him back. “I love you too.”
His nose scrunches with his grin. “I know. C’mere, let’s get you down, babe. Then I gotta wipe down the car, and we can go.”
You nod, slipping your hands up to his shoulders and holding on as he lifts you by the hips and sets you on your feet. He steadies you, hands firm, until you nod.
“You good? Alright. Gimme two minutes.”
He kisses your forehead and squeezes your waist before pulling away. You wobble a little, legs not as sturdy as you thought, but brace yourself against the car to watch him scan the garage. His phone gets rescued from the tire and tucked into his back pocket; the crushed water bottle he tosses into a trash can a few steps away. He bends down on his way back to the car, plucking a wad of white fabric from the ground.
Maybe your legs weaken again as he shakes it out, and you realize it’s his tank top. It’s dark with your saliva still, and you half expect Vernon to throw it away – but he tosses it over his shoulder. He catches your eye when he looks up, and shrugs, half grinning.
“What? It’ll be perfectly good once I wash it. I think I might wear it more often now.”
Your cheeks burn at the thought, and you look away, but all he does is kiss your cheek and grab the wet towel beside you. He rounds the tire and reaches up towards the halo, and you turn to watch, only to realize that he’s wiping your puddle of saliva off the silver paint.
Whoops.
The realization must have shown on your face, because Vernon shoots you a grin as he finishes up and pulls away, running the towel down the nose of the car, over the painted 13 and all the logos –
Wait.
13?
Vernon’s number is 12. The number 13…
Oh. Oh, no.
“Vernon, this… this isn’t your car.” Your foggy brain drags itself back together, staring at the number, and familiarity clicks with a dizzying certainty. How did you not notice? You lift your head, turning to Vernon in horror. “This is Chan’s.”
He glances at you, then the car, then back at you. “Yeah?” he says, turning back to the pile of dirty towels with a poorly hidden grin. “That was kinda the point.”
“O-oh.” You clutch at the halo. Your legs feel suddenly like jelly. You were kissing on Chan’s car. Vernon had kissed you filthy on Chan’s car. Crap, you had drooled all over Chan’s car.
A gentle touch at your elbow jerks your head up. Vernon’s draping his jacket over your shoulders, brow just slightly pinched. “You okay? Need me to carry you out to the car?”
“No – maybe,” you concede as your knees wobble. “But that’s not – This is Chan’s car.”
“Yeah.”
“Chan’s car.”
“I did say I was a little jealous.”
You swallow, staring at the paint that Vernon just wiped your saliva off of. Crap. “…How am I supposed to look him in the eye now?”
“Simple. Don’t.” Vernon’s arms snake around your waist, chin hooking over your shoulder with a little huff of a laugh. “Even better, don’t look at him at all.”
“He’s your teammate!”
“Mhm. Exactly.”
“Vernon…”
He chuckles. Then he swings you into his arms, laughing louder as you squeak.
“Just don’t think too hard about it. You’re mine, anyway; you shouldn’t waste thoughts on other guys.”
You roll your eyes, but curl against his warm, bare chest. “You’re lucky I’m tired.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“…Shut up.”
“I love you,” Vernon says, and though his tone is lilting and light, you know he means it. You press a lingering kiss against the dip of his collarbone, then smile against his skin.
Genre:Romantic Smut / Established Relationship / Teasing Fluff
Warnings:Explicit sexual content (18+ only), detailed smut, size kink/teasing, light dirty talk, unprotected sex, sensual & romantic tone, just playful banter leading to a steamy night.
🎧Song Recommendation:“Earned It” by The Weeknd
The front door clicked shut, and you looked up from the couch with a mischievous grin already tugging at your lips. Joshua stepped in, loosening the top button of his shirt, his hair still perfectly tousled from the day’s filming.
The Buzzfeed video had dropped two hours ago, and you’d watched it twice once for the genuine laughter, and once to memorize the exact shade of pink that had crept up his neck when he read that tweet.
“Welcome home, Hong Joshua,” you called sweetly, setting your phone aside. “Or should I say… Joshua Hung?”
He paused mid-step, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. Those warm brown eyes narrowed playfully as he shrugged off his jacket and walked toward you.
“You watched it already?” His voice was soft, a little husky from all the talking he’d done today. He stopped in front of the couch, towering over you where you sat.
“Twice,” you admitted, tilting your head up at him. “The way you explained it to DK and Dino was adorable. ‘It means someone has a big dic—’” You tried to imitate his gentle tone and failed miserably when laughter bubbled out.
Joshua groaned, running a hand through his hair, but he was smiling. “I can’t believe I said that on camera. Vernon’s going to tease me for the next decade.”
You reached up, grabbing the front of his shirt and tugging him down until he braced his hands on the back of the couch, caging you in.
“I don’t think you’re that big, you know,” you whispered against his lips, voice dripping with teasing challenge. “I might need… convincing.”
The shift in his expression was instant. The playful sparkle darkened into something hotter, heavier. “Oh?” His breath brushed your mouth. “You’re really going to test me tonight, baby?”
You bit your lip, nodding.
“Prove me wrong, Joshua Hung.”
He let out a low chuckle that sent heat straight between your legs. In one smooth motion he scooped you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the bedroom. His mouth found yours slow at first, sensual and deep, the kind of kiss that made your toes curl.
He tasted like the mint he always kept in his pocket after long shoots.
He laid you down on the bed with care, but there was nothing careful about the way his hands moved after that.
He peeled your clothes off piece by piece, lips trailing every inch of newly exposed skin. When you were bare beneath him, he sat back on his heels and took his time undressing himself, letting you watch.
Your eyes followed the lean muscle of his shoulders, the defined lines of his chest and abdomen, and then lower. He was already half-hard, thick and flushed. You swallowed.
“Still doubting?”
he asked, voice low and velvet-rough as he crawled over you again. His fingers traced down your body, slipping between your thighs to find you already wet. He hummed in approval, circling your clit with slow, deliberate strokes until your hips lifted off the bed.
“shua…” you breathed.
He kissed the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the sensitive spot beneath your ear.
“I’m going to show you exactly how big I am, sweetheart. Nice and slow at first… so you feel every inch.”
He reached for the lube on the nightstand always prepared, always thoughtful coating himself generously before pressing the blunt head of his cock against your entrance.
He pushed in gradually, stretching you open with a delicious burn that made you gasp. You clutched his shoulders, nails digging in as he sank deeper, deeper, until his hips were flush against yours and you felt impossibly full.
“Fuck,” you whimpered, breath shaky. “You are… big.”
Joshua groaned softly, forehead pressed to yours. “Told you.” He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust, kissing you tenderly through the stretch. “You feel so good around me. So tight and warm.”
When you finally nodded, he began to move long, sensual rolls of his hips that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you. The pace was unhurried at first, romantic and intimate, his eyes locked on yours the entire time. Every thrust pushed a soft moan from your throat.
He whispered praises against your skin— “So beautiful like this,”
“Taking me so well, baby,”
“I love how you squeeze me” —until the heat built higher and higher.
You wrapped your legs tighter around him, urging him deeper. “Harder, Josh… please.”
He obliged, shifting his angle and snapping his hips with more force. The wet sound of skin meeting skin filled the room alongside your mingled moans.
He reached between you, thumb circling your clit in perfect rhythm until your back arched and pleasure crashed over you in waves. You came with his name on your lips, clenching around his thick length.
Joshua followed soon after, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you with a low, broken groan. His body trembled against yours, hips stuttering through the aftershocks.
For a long moment, the only sounds were your heavy breathing and the soft press of lips as he kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your mouth.
He pulled out gently and gathered you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back.
“So,” he murmured, amusement threading through his voice, “still think I’m not that big?”
You laughed breathlessly, hiding your face in his neck.
“I take it back. You’re Joshua Hung. Officially.”
He chuckled, the sound warm and content.
“Good. But next time you tease me like that…” He kissed the top of your head, voice dropping to a velvet promise,
“I won’t go easy on you.”
You smiled against his skin, heart full and body deliciously spent.
“I’m counting on it.”
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