you think minghao is already asleep by the time you lay down beside him, body finally relaxed after such a long, hectic day.
your hair is a bit damp from how hot the shower was, but you don't mind - and you know that neither does minghao. in fact, as you make yourself comfortable on the bed, you feel one of his arms wrapping around your torso, pulling you closer to his chest.
"you changed your lotion."
it isn't a question, but it's not a full statement either; it's as if minghao has commented on something in his sleepy state. you even doubt if you have actually heard him, but then he lays his lips on the back of your neck, nostrils breathing in your scent.
you did in fact change your lotion to a new one.
"you like it?", you ask him, a soft smile on your lips.
minghao only hums, telling you he did. you think you hear him mumble something like 'it's good', but right after you hear his soft snores in your ear, and you know he's back in dreamland again.
Xu Minghao x f!reader
content: fluff, established relationship
Synopsis: after years of missed timing, you finally get to travel to china with minghao and spend one of your last nights there walking through the streets of shanghai together.
you’ve never been to china. not once. ever since you and minghao started dating, it’s been on your list. a country he’s always loved, a place he’s always wanted to show you.
every time he went, he’d come back with little things. a box of tea, carefully wrapped. a tiny porcelain cup he said “reminded me of you.” sometimes a scarf or a bookmark with delicate chinese characters. every time, he’d hand it over like it was treasure, his smile soft and proud, saying, “i wanted you to see a little bit of it, even if you can’t come yet.”
you always smiled, sometimes laughed, sometimes quietly let your heart catch at how thoughtful he was. and somehow, work and life and time had kept you away, until now.
you always meant to go. work got in the way. timing never lined up. it stayed a “someday.”
until now.
you finally got the opportunity.
here you are in shanghai, two days left of your vacation together, after traveling to his birthplace and spending days doing everything and nothing at once. walking too much. eating until you were full. laughing at things only the two of you would find funny.
right now, you’re walking beside him through the city, his hand loosely holding yours as he leads you toward the restaurant he chose for tonight’s date.
“you’re quiet,” he says, glancing over at you.
you hum. “just thinking.”
“about what?”
you look around, then back at him. “that you’ve been bringing this place to me for years… and i’m only just seeing it.”
he smiles at that, small and fond. “told you i’d bring you someday.”
“you were patient,” you say. “i wasn’t.”
you smile, heart feeling a little too full. before you can say anything else, he leans in, not rushed, just a soft kiss, brief but warm.
when he pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours.
“worth the wait?” he asks quietly.
you nod, still smiling. “more than anything”
his thumb brushes your knuckles, and only then does he tug you gently toward the door.
★ | member — husband!minghao x wife!reader
★ | genre — romance, smut, fluff, newlyweds au
★ | word count — 3k
★ | synopsis — the only thing on minghao's mind tonight is you.
★ | warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, a lot of making out, wayyy too eager & desperate minghao, hints of a marriage kink, disgusting sappy feelings, emotionally prepare yourself bc they're Making Love™
★ | notes — requested by anon — this ask is from over 2 years ago i am SO sorry anon but if you're still here please lmk if you see this :) if you liked this style of writing, please reblog and tell me your thoughts in the tags!! reblogs are what makes tumblr work, and they show me that this is something you want to read more of <3
minghao isn’t usually the clingy one in your relationship, but he hasn’t been able to keep his hands off of you all day.
he’s never been the type to publicly show off his affection, always preferring whispered words and touches in private. those are the things that mean the most to him, you always thought. but as soon as you heard the words “you may now kiss the bride” at the altar he was suddenly pulling you in and kissing you harder than ever before, the warmth of his lips melting into yours. in that moment everything else melted away, too; the dying sunlight, the rustle of the wind in the palm trees, the clapping and cheering of your friends and family behind you.
even after you’d changed out of your long white gown into a shorter, more comfortable party dress for the reception, his hand had stayed on your thigh the entire time. food was served, guests came to greet you at your table, and all the while there was his warmth on your skin, only letting go so you could make your way to the dance floor. persistent, offering the reassurance you need that he'll always be by your side. although tonight, you're not sure if you're the one who needs it most, or if it's him.
and then your first dance. his hands were just a little too tight on your waist, his lips lingering just a little too long against your cheek as he held you close.
“baby, what’s gotten into you?” you giggle breathlessly as he pushes you against the wall of your honeymoon suite, not-so-quietly slamming the door shut with his foot.
“you,” he breathes, and you’re surprised at the way his voice comes out deep and raspy. “you… are so fucking beautiful. and now you’re my wife.” he gives you a glance up and down, a look you're used to by now, but this time it seems so much more special than usual. maybe it's the way his eyes pause on your hand, the glittering new ring that shines there. maybe it's the reverent way he watches you begin to undress for him, slipping the straps off your shoulders one by one, trying so hard to contain himself and not ruin this moment. it's been an exhausting few months, and it's a relief now that everything is finally over. “ … my wife.”
no. that's not right, it suddenly hits him. everything's not over. it's only just beginning.
with that realization he snaps into action. his hands are everywhere, holding your sides and sliding down to your ass, then sliding back up to your shoulder blades. he holds you tight then loosens his grip, as if his brain is short circuiting at the fact that you're finally completely alone for the rest of the night, a night that's been so eagerly-awaited for song that he's almost hesitant in fear of messing it up. but he can't hesitate, not now. not when he's finally got you.
in all the years you've known him you don't think he's ever kissed you this passionately, this intensely, this hungrily. you've barely walked through the goddamn door and he's acting like it's the last night he'll ever get to see you. but really, it's the first of many.
you wrap your arms around him and try to keep up, hugging him as tight as you can and chasing his lips. you're fighting your hardest to keep your knees from buckling, and even with your back pressed against the wall for support it's not enough to extinguish the fire that's alight inside your chest. minghao kisses you like he's trying to steal the air from your lungs while simultaneously breathing life into you, like he needs to remind every cell and molecule in your body of how much he loves you.
he pulls away only once he feels himself start to go lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, or maybe he's just lightheaded in general because you're finally, officially his. but even that short break doesn't last long, allowing himself only a few precious seconds to breathe before he reattaches his lips on your jaw and starts kissing down your neck.
your eyelashes flutter as he moves down, his breath tickling your throat as he presses his face into your skin while he lets out heavy breaths through his nose. there's that warmth again; the heat of his eagerness, every hot exhale filled with life that he breathes only for you.
he pushes his nose into the corner of your neck and shoulder, inhaling the memories of the day. the fading scent of your perfume fills his nose as he kisses against your collarbone, reminding him of everything that led him to this moment.
he tries to imagine how you looked getting ready in the morning, a past that already seems lifetimes away. he pictures you slipping on your dress while friends and stylists crowd around you, talking and giggling as they fix your hair and your makeup to make you look as perfect as possible — though to him, you already are. he wishes he could’ve seen that moment, had it not been for stupid tradition. he's usually a fan of traditions, but not this one. every second he spends away from you is agony, but it's worth it a million times over for what he gets to experience right now, the excitement, the anticipation, and now, the payoff.
he vaguely remembers the cake, the dancing, the music, the applause, the toasts. all of it is still a blur, a rush of emotions he hasn't quite had time to sit with yet. maybe tomorrow, or in a few days, or even a few years, it'll sink in. maybe he's stuck in the honeymoon phase and this, too, will fade over time. but somehow he knows it won't.
what he remembers as clear as day are the vows he said to you at the altar, and every single word is something he'll never forget as long as he lives. he remembers vividly the way you walked towards him, almost in slow motion, gliding down the aisle straight out of a dream. he didn't think he'd cry; he's never one to get emotional in front of people, and you've rehearsed this day together more than a few times. but then suddenly there you were standing in front of him, holding his hands and looking up into his eyes, and he had to fight to keep himself from getting choked up at the sight of you, the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
he kisses your neck again and moans, out loud and unabashed, like he's been holding it in all day. in all honesty, he has. he isn't the type to be jealous, either, but he would be lying if he said letting you go to dance with other people after the ceremony wasn't one of the hardest things he's ever had to do. he never wants to leave your side, never again.
minghao knows he isn't normally a desperate man. but tonight it's like he's become a brand new man; a man who needs you so badly, more than he's ever needed anything before in his life. he needs to touch you, kiss you, hold you, please you, do everything that he possibly can with you, for you.
“h-hao?”
you let out a breathy gasp of his name and it finally gets his attention. his eyes find yours in an instant, silently pleading with you to tell him what you want. he needs to give you whatever you want.
“we can— do you… baby, there's a bed,” you finally settle on, trying to straighten out all the words that are jumbled in your head as you motion across the room. he's still got you caged against the wall, barely a step away from the door.
that finally seems to snap him out of his daze, and the familiar understanding you're used to seeing flashes across his eyes. so caught up in his eagerness he almost forgot the most important thing: that you're here too, with your own needs and wants, and you're probably feeling exactly the same things he's feeling. he's got to remind himself that this is as much of a new thing for you as it is for him, too.
so he nods, kissing you again and forcing himself to slow down. there's no rush, no need to do everything all at once immediately. he has all night with you, and several other nights with you after tonight, and then after that, the whole rest of your lives. for a few fleeting days he gets to be here with you: no interruptions, no commitments, and no responsibilities. just you and him. he wants every second of your time, and he wants to give you every second of his.
he sweeps you up into his arms and whisks you around before laying you gently on the bed behind him, his cheeks rosy and his smile soft. and for the second time today, the whole world melts away, leaving just you. just you, and him.
his hands hold your hips tightly as he drags his lips across your stomach, pressing kisses all over your body. he lifts his eyes to meet yours as he kneels between your legs, and his long fingers dig into your sides when you whimpers softly for him. he could truly spend hours here, coaxing moans from your beautiful lips and working you up into a perfect state of bliss.
and that's exactly what he does. he fills you with air and then leaves you breathless, cleansing waves washing over you again and again until you forget what it was ever like to be with him before this. it's different but not noticeably so; it's a familiar feeling lingering in the back of your mind, but the memories are so much brighter now, as if the colors have been restored and remastered like an old, well-loved movie. everything comes easier now, a routine you'll never get bored of, and the feeling of fitting together is more natural than anything you've ever felt in your entire life.
long after your bodies have become a sweaty mess and half the sheets are on the floor, he slips away from the bed to tug on a pair of boxers from his suitcase, bringing your swim cover-up back with him for you to wear like a robe. all you have the energy to do is shrug it onto your shoulders, the fabric twisted and folded and barely covering anything, but you can't find it in you to care.
the night is so warm and you're so comfortable, lying practically naked curled up against minghao's body. you let out a long, deep breath, feeling the air fill your lungs in a calming rhythm. in, out, in, out. he moves to sit up a little, adjusting his position against the mountain of pillows on the bed, but you catch him with a hand on his thigh and he pauses, his attention returning to you in the blink of an eye.
“stay with me, will you?” you hum out softly, letting your thumb rub languidly along the hem of his shorts as he leans down to press a kiss to the top of your head.
“wouldn't wanna be anywhere else, my love.”
you open your eyes a while later, and you're only a little surprised to see that minghao is still awake. as promised he didn't leave your side, still sitting up in bed with your head resting on his lap. his gaze is fixed on the open back door, quietly watching the waves crashing on the shore. you’re not sure how long you’ve been napping, but however long it's been he doesn’t seem to mind.
you pull yourself up onto your elbows and his head instantly swivels to look down at your motion. your muscles ache, but it's a satisfying sort of soreness, one that you don't mind if it lingers for a little while. you manage to sit up all the way, leaning your head against his bicep, and he adjusts ever so slightly to make it more comfortable for you.
“wanna go for a walk?” you finally break the silence, your thumb gently brushing against his arm. if it were any other day than today, he would've teased you and questioned if you even had the ability to walk anymore, but both of you can tell this isn't the moment for that. not after everything you did, everything you said, everything you shared.
he doesn't reply, only nods and carefully slips off the bed, holding out his hand to help you after him. it's impossible to miss the way he squeezes your hand so gently, lacing your fingers together and leading you out the back door.
the ocean comes right up to the backyard of the house, so you decide to forego shoes and walk straight out into the sand. the town is quiet at night, and for a view this beautiful and private you know it must've cost minghao a fortune. but he refused to tell you the price, insisting that since you planned the wedding he was in charge of the honeymoon, his gift to you. to him, you’re worth more than anything money could buy, but that doesn’t mean he won’t spend all of his on you.
there's a log a little ways from the shore, close enough to see the glint of the moonlight on the water but far enough to avoid the waves. it's an old piece of driftwood filed smooth by the wind and weather, soft enough to sit on without splintering, and it crosses your mind to wonder how many couples this log has seen throughout the years, in the same position as you. how many people have come to this beach, sat in this spot under the dim light of the moon, filled with so much love and joy and hope for the future.
you sit down and gently tug on his hand, still entwined with yours, to pull him down beside you. there's no way of telling what time it is, but it's clearly late. you didn't leave the reception until everyone was too tired to party any longer, and then the hour's drive up the coast, plus however long you slept for. it's probably some early hour of the morning, but time is nothing more than a fleeting thought in the back of your mind at this point. time doesn't feel real here; counting the hours would be a waste of precious seconds you could spend on him instead.
“i don't want this night to end,” minghao says softly, as if he's reading your thoughts. he's staring off at the water again, mesmerized by the foamy waves rushing up the sand and the reflection of the moon that makes the surface of it almost seem to glow.
it's odd, to see him so vulnerable like this. it's unlike him, but that's exactly how you know it means so much to him. if he didn't care so much, he wouldn't have held you the way he did, kissing you and worshipping you like you're the only thing he's ever known. he wouldn't be acting so unusual if you didn't turn his world completely upside down every time you kissed him back. if you meant less to him then maybe he'd be able to collect himself the way he always does, a calm demeanor and a knowing smile assuaging your own nerves. but he can't. not today.
you can tell that it's finally starting to sink in for him now. how different things are, and yet they're still exactly the same. the rings and the expensive clothes and the fancy venue are just for show. a distraction, almost, from the real reason why you're here with him right now. at the end of the day he would still be fine without all that, but you? you're the one thing he never wants to be without. and now, he's realizing, he never has to be.
if you didn't know him so well, you'd think he was melancholy or even insecure, but as the silence stretches on you can tell what he really means. you know his words aren't regretful of a night ended, they're in anticipation of the day that's about to begin. many, many more days and nights he'll get to share with you. perhaps not as intense or special as tonight, but still filled with just as much passion and love.
“it will end, eventually. soon.” you say. it's still night but by now the moon is just barely hovering over the horizon, waiting patiently to take its reprieve and let the dawn break forth into morning instead. he knows it's a fact, there's no use trying to pretend otherwise. but that doesn't make it a bad thing. it just makes it a fact. your voice is soft, clear as the night sky. “you and i aren't going to, though.”
he finally looks over to meet your gaze, and even in near-darkness you can read his expression.
he's quiet for a long moment, just sitting and watching. watching the wind blowing through your hair, watching the moonlight illuminating your face, watching the sand sticking to your legs as you pull your knees up to your chest.
“i love you,” he says, so quietly that it almost gets swallowed up by the crashing sounds of the waves.
but you hear him, and you can tell he means it so sincerely. maybe even more sincerely than when he whispered it earlier to you as he was putting the ring on your finger, because this moment is private. in the stillness of the night, in the seclusion of the beach, where it's for you and only you. not to say that all the times he said it in front of your friends and family and guests weren't sincere, but this time is personal; a moment that no one else gets to witness but you. and that's exactly how you want it.
you sigh. it's another soft sound, barely audible over the wind, but you know he hears you, too. he always hears you, and you always hear him.
i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, please reblog or leave a comment or an ask! it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! i put a lot of time, love, and effort into my writing, so feedback is really appreciated and motivates me to keep posting :) thanks for reading!!
genre: best friends to lovers · humor · fake texts · witty banter themes: casual chaos, sharp wit, playful teasing, reluctant affection, unexpected sweetness, love disguised as sarcasm. cw: suggestive tone
ps: there’s a little something under the cut. make sure to check it out so you don’t miss the story’s context lol
from kai: hi friends 🫶 just a quick note: i've been super low energy these days bc a toothache decided to turn into a whole dental abscess (love that for me). i've got quite a few things ready to post (fics, requests, all of it) but i haven't had the headspace to revise anything or answer comments properly :(
so instead of leaving things too quiet im dropping this smau for now 💌 hope it keeps you company while i rest a bit. i'll be back soon (hopefully not with another plot twist from my teeth)
you weren’t exactly expecting minghao to suggest the aquarium for a date. it wasn’t like him to pick something like that or at least that’s what you thought until he hit you with the classic “i want good lighting for the inevitable photos where you pretend you’re not staring at me.” you almost rolled your eyes, but okay, that was fair.
he met you outside the building, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, hair still damp from the rain. he was smiling before you even reached him. one of those lazy, sideways smiles that looked like he knew something you didn’t. he didn’t say anything at first. just looked you up and down and nodded like okay. cool. she showed up. you rolled your eyes. he laughed.
inside, the light turned everything blue. it reflected off the glass tanks and rippled across his face when he leaned in to read the little signs, pretending to be more interested in the fish than he actually was.
"you think they’re on a date too?" he said at one point, pointing to two jellyfish drifting suspiciously close to each other. "you think they’re in a situationship" you corrected. "true..." he nodded, dead serious. "classic avoidant behavior."
you didn’t know what was weirder: the fact that minghao had picked the most romantic possible location and still managed to make it sarcastic or the way he kept hovering close. his shoulder brushing yours. the warmth of his arm when he let you loop your hand through it without a word. he never did that before, not like this. not without an offhand "ugh, you’re clingy" to deflect the fact that he was always the one standing too close.
but today, he didn’t pull away. he didn’t even try to be funny about it.
you caught him looking at you once, near the tank with the sea otters. you were squatting down to get a better view, probably saying something dumb like “why do they hold hands, that’s so cute”, and when you turned to look at him, he didn’t even flinch. just kept looking, like this was something he’d been doing for a while and only now got caught.
he smiled. not the usual teasing one. a quieter one. a little softer.
“what?” you asked.
he shrugged. “nothing. you just look really into this otter romance.”
you didn’t have a comeback for that, so you stood up and walked away, heart doing things it definitely should not be doing on a date that may or may not have been real.
you ended up in the gift shop because of course you did. and of course he bought you a stupid plush keychain of a stingray that he claimed “looks like your resting face.” you told him he was annoying and he just said “i know” and paid anyway.
the sun was going down when you left. the sky was pink and the pavement still wet and you didn’t even notice that you were still holding onto his arm until he stopped walking.
“you know this means we’re dating now, right?” he said casually.
you blinked at him. “what?”
“this. today. me choosing the most coupley location possible. buying you a gift. not roasting you the entire time, even though you wore socks with holes in them...”
you smacked his arm. “you weren’t supposed to notice that.”
he laughed. “i notice everything. i’ve been screening all your crushes for years, you just never asked.”
you stared at him. he stared back. no smile now, just something very real in his eyes.
“look” he said, voice dropping just enough. “i meant what i said. i’m the best option. and i like you. so unless you’re planning on fighting me about it…”
you didn’t say anything. you didn’t need to. your fingers found his, and he squeezed your hand like he’d been waiting for that confirmation all day.
“yeah” he said. “thought so.”
he walked you home after that. didn’t even let go.
his voice is shy but steady. “i miss you deeply, unfathomably, senselessly, terribly.” ⸻ the lost in translation couple.
📖 pairing. xu minghao x interpreter/translator!reader.
📖 word count. 4k.
📖 genres/includes. romance. established & secret relationship, quotes & excerpts from letters to milena, hints of long distance, google translated mandarin & japanese. this is an offshoot from my longer fic, lost in translation, but it is not necessary to read that before this. title from the song umuwi (eng tr: 'to go home') by never the strangers.
📖 footnotes. turned twenty-something today and figured the best way to celebrate it with a soft hao fic ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ shoutout to viv for planting this idea in my head!!!
Dear Milena, I wish the world were ending tomorrow. Then I could take the next train, arrive at your doorstep in Vienna, and say: “Come with me, Milena. We are going to love each other without scruples or fear or restraint. Because the world is ending tomorrow.”
One night, you slipped a book into Minghao’s bag before he left for tour—a tender gesture that said more than any text could. When he returned it weeks later, you found the pages marked, underlined, little notes scrawled in the margins in his tight handwriting.
Since then, it’s become your ritual: a different book every month, passed back and forth between hotel rooms and airport lounges, sentences stitched with the weight of two voices instead of one.
This month, it’s Kafka’s Letters to Milena. The spine already softened by your hands, now passing through his. Minghao’s highlighter bleeds faint yellow across the thin pages, his neat characters slanting in Mandarin, sometimes Korean, sometimes both. He doesn’t always translate for you. You think he likes watching you puzzle it out.
Tonight, you’re curled against the window of the hotel room, the hum of traffic muffled by glass. Minghao’s in the shower, and you’re leafing through the book when a highlighted line catches your eye:
Perhaps we don’t love unreasonably because we think we have time, or have to reckon with time. But what if we don’t have time? Or what if time, as we know it, is irrelevant? Ah, if only the world were ending tomorrow. We could help each other very much.
You press your thumb against the words, rereading them until they blur. He had drawn a small star beside the passage, his unspoken way of saying look closer. It isn’t lost on you that he chose this line—this question about time, about endings.
When Minghao emerges, hair damp and curling at the ends, he finds you still staring at the page. He tilts his head, towel slung around his shoulders. “Found something?”
You nod, tapping the margin. “This one.”
He sits beside you, close enough that his knee brushes yours. The warmth of him seeps through the fabric of your pants, steady and grounding. His eyes flick down to the passage, then back up to yours, searching. “Too dramatic?”
“Too honest,” you answer softly.
For a moment, neither of you speak. The air is filled only with the distant city and the faint drip of water from his hair onto his collarbone. You wonder if he feels the weight of secrecy more than he lets on—every smile measured, every glance rehearsed. You’ve hidden this part of your life from his group, from the company, from everyone who might turn your closeness into a problem.
Sometimes, you think it’s easier for you. You’re used to working behind the curtain, unseen. But Minghao lives on stage, in cameras and spotlights. You wonder if keeping you a secret leaves him restless at night, if he ever regrets it in the stretches of travel.
He nudges your shoulder gently, pulling you back from thought. “Why that look?” he prompts.
You shake your head, but your voice betrays you. “Do you think it’s taking something from you? Hiding us like this.”
Minghao doesn’t answer immediately. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, fingers brushing yours where the book rests. His silence is not avoidance; it’s the pause he always takes, the one that makes you feel like his words are chosen as carefully as his brushstrokes.
Finally, he says, “I think it gives me something, too. These little spaces no one else sees. Our own book. Our own pages.”
You swallow, the line in Kafka’s letter echoing in your chest. If only the world were ending tomorrow.
Minghao closes the book, but keeps your hand under his. “Time is strange,” he muses. “Sometimes it feels like too much. Sometimes like none at all. But when I’m with you…” He trails off, then smiles faintly. “I don’t want to reckon with it. I just want it.”
The hotel room feels smaller for it, but safer too. You don’t say what’s knotted in your throat—that secrecy may be its own kind of ending. Instead, you tilt your head onto his shoulder, letting silence stand in for the answer you don’t know how to give.
Minghao’s arm comes around you. His hair still smells faintly of shampoo, his skin warm against your temple. In that heartbeat, time doesn’t matter. Not the flights, not the rehearsals, not the lies by omission. There is only the margin notes between you; the book closed but still breathing with your words.
I long for you; I who usually long without longing, as though I am unconscious and absorbed in neutrality and apathy, really, utterly long for every bit of you.
You aren’t there for every stop. It depends on who the company sends, who’s available, who draws the short straw. Sometimes, weeks pass without your name appearing on the list, and you make do with texts and late-night calls, with his annotations waiting like crumbs across pages.
But you’re lucky tonight. Lucky that it’s you, loitering backstage with your headset dangling around your neck, your job for the first half of the concert already done. Safety reminders doled out. Ments transposed to the best of your ability.
The stage lights are a dull roar from where you stand, muffled by the walls, the crowd’s energy bleeding through like static. Technicians pass by in a flurry of headsets and clipboards, and you tuck yourself into a corner with the monitor, half-watching Minghao move like smoke, sharp lines dissolving into fluidity. He is all precision on stage, but you know how easily that polish dissolves once the curtains close.
You’ve opened the book again. Kafka feels almost inappropriate here, his letters trembling in your hands while bass shakes the floor and cheers rise like waves. You trace his words with the tip of your pen, underlining slowly as if you could anchor them: I long for you; I who usually long without longing, as though I am unconscious and absorbed in neutrality and apathy, really, utterly long for every bit of you. The words thrum in your chest, oddly in sync with the rhythm leaking through the walls.
“Working hard?” His voice startles you before his presence does.
Minghao slips in through the curtain, already halfway out of his jacket, a stagehand trailing with another in hand. He smells a bit of sweat and cologne, and there’s a streak of glitter caught on his jawline, catching the dim backstage light.
You snap the book closed too fast, clutching it to your chest. “Shouldn’t you be focusing on your quick change?”
“Multitasking,” he says lightly, eyes flicking to the book still in your grip. His smile is a little breathless, but it’s warm around the edges. “Did you underline me?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Kafka. Not you.”
“Same thing.” He takes the fresh jacket, shrugs it on with practiced efficiency, but his gaze doesn’t leave you. The corners of his mouth tug upward, like he’s savoring the private joke no one else will ever catch. You can feel the tether of it pulling tight between you, even as people dart around, too busy to notice.
You roll your pen between your fingers, willing your pulse to even out. “He says he longs without longing,” you say, reaching for a joke. “Don’t think that’s you.”
Minghao pauses, hands busy with fastening buttons. “No?”
“No. You’re terrible at pretending you don’t care.”
That earns you a quiet laugh, breathy and quick, the kind he only ever gives when he’s off stage. He steps closer, just enough that the book is trapped between you and him. His fingers brush yours as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, careful, fleeting. The gesture is nothing to anyone else, but to you it feels like a line drawn across the page. Another annotation only you will understand.
“Then maybe I’ll underline it too,” he murmurs, his tone more intimate than the rush of seconds should allow. “So you don’t forget.”
You’re caught between answering and not, torn by the proximity of his voice and the sound of the crowd screaming his name. A heartbeat later, the stage manager calls it too, sharp and urgent, breaking the spell.
He pulls back, already turning, the mask of performer sliding neatly back into place. The jacket straightens on his shoulders, his posture resetting into something larger than life. But before he slips away, his hand lingers for a second on the back of yours, grounding and gone all at once, like he’s leaving you with the same highlighted star he leaves in the margins.
You look down at the underlined words again, the pen still resting where his fingers brushed yours. On the monitor, Minghao bursts back onto the stage in his new costume, a perfect illusion of poise and sharp edges. You’re still holding onto the warmth of him, tucked between paper margins and fleeting touches, the memory of his voice humming beneath Kafka’s lines. Even with the crowd’s roar vibrating through the walls, the longing has a certain gravity on its own; something deliberate, something you carry alone in the wings.
I am constantly trying to communicate something incommunicable, to explain something inexplicable, to tell about something I only feel in my bones and which can only be experienced in those bones.
The book arrives by post in a padded envelope, its corners softened by travel, the adhesive tape dulled with fingerprints. His handwriting is scrawled across the return label, small and neat, the way he always writes when he wants to leave no trace.
You sit at your desk with a pair of scissors, cutting carefully along the edge so as not to harm what’s inside. When Letters to Milena slides into your hands, it feels heavier than when you last held it, as if the distance between you has seeped into the paper.
You leaf through the pages with anticipation that edges toward unease. The ink of your own notes greets you first, familiar in your hand. But then you see the fresh streaks of highlighter that aren’t yours, the color bright against the fragile page. Your stomach churns when your eyes catch on the newest passage:
Basically it is nothing other than this fear we have so often talked about, but fear spread to everything, fear of the greatest as of the smallest, fear, paralyzing fear of pronouncing a word, although this fear may not only be fear but also a longing for something greater than all that is fearful.
You press the book shut too quickly, the words still rattling in your head. Fear. The word echoes again and again until it almost loses shape.
Fear of everything, even of speaking. Kafka turns it into poetry, but still it unsettles you. You stare at the closed book for a long while as if its cover might offer clarity. Instead it lingers, a weight at the edge of your desk and your thoughts. You find yourself drifting through the day with half your attention pulled elsewhere, glancing at your phone as if the device could bridge time zones faster than they allow.
By evening, your patience has worn thin. You keep checking the clock, waiting for that overlap when it’s late enough in Europe, early enough in Korea. When the screen finally brightens with his name, you answer too quickly, the book already lying open beside you.
Minghao’s image flickers into view: hotel lamplight soft behind him, his hair pulled back loosely, his face carrying the faint exhaustion of travel. Still, his eyes brighten the moment they meet yours. “You got it?”
“I got it,” you say, lifting the book to the camera. “But I also got this.” You tap the margin of the highlighted section, unable to hide the note of worry in your voice. “You’ve been marking fear. Over and over. What are you trying to tell me, Hao?”
His brows lift, a small crease forming as he leans back in the stiff hotel chair. The wallpaper behind him looks muted and impersonal, a space not meant to hold anyone’s secrets. He runs his hand slowly through his hair, a gesture you recognize as stalling. “You always read too closely.”
“That was the agreement,” you remind him gently. “We promised to read closely. To listen, even in the margins.”
A silence follows, long enough that you think the connection might have faltered. Then he exhales, and his words come thoughtful, unhurried. “I do feel fear. More often than I say. Before I step on stage. After. In the quiet moments when I wonder if we’ll be found out, or if I’ll slip during an interview. Sometimes I fear I’m losing time, or wasting it. Sometimes I wonder if I’m… enough for you.” The last line is hushed, fragile, nearly consumed by static.
Your protest is immediate. “Xīngān, don’t—”
He interrupts, his mouth curving into the faintest smile, one that doesn’t erase his seriousness. “It isn’t only fear. Kafka had it right. Fear and longing are woven together. Fear is what happens when you want something so badly you can’t bear to lose it.” His eyes drop for a moment, then rise again, slower, braver. His voice is shy but steady. “I miss you deeply, unfathomably, senselessly, terribly.”
The words stop you. Not because they belong to Kafka, but because they come from him, spoken into the distance that separates you. They rest in your chest heavier than any annotation.
You bring the phone closer to your face instinctively, as though narrowing the frame might collapse the distance. “Say it again.”
Minghao laughs, embarrassed, but the sound is warm. He dips his head, and when he speaks, the words come softer, like a secret. “I miss you.”
He says it in all the languages he knows. I miss you. Wǒ xiǎng nǐ. Aitai. Na—(he stutters, laughs again)—namimiss kita.
The litany of fear feels smaller now, shadowed by the longing that fills its place.
Written kisses don't reach their destination, rather they are drunk on the way by the ghosts.
You admit, in quieter hours, that you miss him more often than you say. It’s a dull ache threaded into your days, but you don’t want to press it into him when you know how thinly he’s stretched. His work comes first, and you remind yourself of that each time you hesitate before typing something too heavy into your phone. Instead, you cling to the subtler things: the covert book exchanges, the hidden messages between Kafka’s lines, the way a highlighted phrase becomes its own kind of confession.
Tonight, you’re curled on the couch with Letters to Milena open across your knees. The apartment is still, only the trill of the refrigerator in the background. Your highlighter pauses over a line that is simple, almost plain, but it lodges itself in your chest:
I’m tired, can’t think of anything and want only to lay my face in your lap, feel your hand on my head and remain like that through all eternity.
You underline it slowly, the neon ink bleeding slightly into the page, as if to make sure the words will not vanish. Then, you angle the book beneath the lamp and take a photo. Your thumb hovers for a moment, but you send it anyway. A small risk. A small ache disguised as literature.
The reply comes quicker than you expect, your screen lighting up in your hand. His text is short, the sort of promise that steals your breath: I can make that possible.
You frown in confusion, already typing back a question, when the sound of your doorbell cuts through the apartment. The sharp chime echoes once, twice. Your heart stutters. For a split second, you think it’s impossible. You’re still holding your phone when you cross the room.
When you open the door, he’s standing there.
Minghao, hair tucked under a cap, mask pulled down around his chin, suitcase at his side. His eyes crease at the corners when he smiles, soft and sure, like he’s been waiting for this moment as long as you have. Home from their tour two days earlier than expected.
You don’t speak at first. You only reach, pulling him into the doorway, into the apartment, into you. His laugh is muffled against your shoulder as the door clicks shut behind him, and you feel the words you’d just underlined still pressed into your chest—him, his weight, his nearness—an answer in real time.
The door is barely shut before you’re kissing him. It’s clumsy at first, teeth knocking, your breath catching from how quickly you’ve pulled him in. The suitcase tips over in the entryway, forgotten, and all you know is the press of his mouth against yours, warm and insistent. You taste the faint trace of mint on his lips, the kind he always chews when he’s nervous.
Your fingers twist into the fabric of his jacket, tugging him closer, and suddenly you’re aware of how frantic you must seem. The realization makes heat rush up your neck. You break away, just barely, whispering against his mouth, “Sorry, I’m—I’m acting too much like I missed you.”
Minghao’s laugh is low, and he leans in again before you can step back. “Good,” he says simply, the word brushing your lips. His hand comes up to the side of your face, thumb tracing along your cheekbone. “Because I missed you more.”
Your protest dies as he kisses you again, slower now but deeper, his body angled into yours until your back finds the wall. You shiver at the press of his weight, the steadiness of his touch. He murmurs between kisses, “Do you know how many times I thought about this? About you opening the door like that?”
You shake your head, eyes closing as his lips graze your jaw. “Tell me.”
“Every night on tour,” he admits, his voice hushed but steady. “Every city, every hotel, I wanted this more than sleep. More than anything.”
His hands slip beneath your sweater, fingertips brushing your waist. The touch makes you gasp, your own hands curling at his shoulders. You try again to apologize, to laugh it off, but he silences you with another kiss, gentler this time, lingering.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. “Don’t hide how much you want me,” he whispers. “It only makes me want you more.”
The apartment feels smaller now, warmer, as if the book you left open on the couch has come alive in the room. The highlighted words are no longer an ache on paper, but a promise made real in his arms.
Yours, (now I'm even losing my name - it was getting shorter and shorter all the time and is now: Yours)
Your bedroom is quiet except for the slow rhythm of your breathing, bodies still pressed close in the warmth you’ve built together. Minghao’s fingertips trace idle patterns across your arm, absentminded yet full of intent. You’re tucked into him, half-drifting, when his voice breaks the silence.
“I have something for you.”
You tilt your head, eyes narrowing with a sleepy smile. “We had a rule. No gifts.”
His lips twitch, not quite a grin but close. “You’ll like this one,” he insists.
“Minghao,” you warn softly, already knowing you’ll lose. “Rules exist for a reason.”
He pouts, exaggerating it just enough to make you laugh, the sound catching in your throat. “So you’ll break one for me?”
You groan, burying your face against his shoulder before sighing. “Fine. But only because you look ridiculous right now.”
Satisfied, he slips out of the sheets and crouches by his bag. You sit up slowly, pulling the covers around you, still wrapped in the languid ease of afterglow. From where you’re perched, you watch him rummage through his things until he returns with what looks like a mess clutched in his hands.
You raise a brow. “This is your big surprise? Trash?”
He climbs back onto the bed, depositing the stack into your lap. “Look closer.”
The pile is uneven, papers of every kind: receipts with ink smudged from being folded too long, hotel stationery with tidy lines of Mandarin, napkins with hurried scribbles, boarding passes with notes scrawled between the numbers. Each slip carries his handwriting, sometimes neat, sometimes rushed, but always undeniably him.
Your chest tightens as you pick one up, smoothing the creases. The words are simple: a thought he had in between shows, a memory of you sparked by something small, an I miss you crammed into the corner of a page.
“Minghao…” Your voice is brittle now, ringing with disbelief. “You wrote all of these?”
He leans back against the headboard, watching you carefully. “Everywhere I went,” he says slowly. “Whenever I thought of you. I didn’t always have time for long messages, so I wrote them here. Figured they’d get to you eventually.”
You flip through the stack again, the weight of them heavier than any gift he could have bought. Your throat feels tight, but your smile is soft. “You know this breaks the rule worse than anything,” you tease.
He shrugs, a small, boyish smile finally breaking through. “Then I’ll break it again if it means giving you this.”
Minghao falls asleep quickly, his head sinking into the pillow the moment his breathing evens out.
You linger in the dark, sheets tangled around your legs. The small stack of papers rests in your lap, flimsy and uneven, but heavy with meaning. His letters, if you can call them that. It feels like a trail of breadcrumbs, a secret map charting every place he has carried you with him.
Some lines are simple, almost offhand, written in hurried Korean as though he was afraid the thought would slip away before it reached the page: 오늘도 네 생각만 했어.
(Today, I thought of nothing but you.)
Another, scratched on the back of a café receipt, reads: 너 없이 공연 끝나도 완벽하지 않아.
(Without you, even after the performance, it doesn’t feel complete.)
Others are playful, designed to make you roll your eyes and laugh, written in Mandarin with crooked smiley faces or little hearts: 你是我见过最美的麻烦。
(You are the most beautiful trouble I’ve ever met.)
On hotel stationery, his handwriting drifts, tired but warm: 我希望你在这里, 我想靠着你睡觉。
(I wish you were here. I want to fall asleep leaning against you.)
There are the English ones, blunt and almost childlike in their candor. “If you were here I wouldn’t even care about the jetlag.” Or, “Do you know you’re the only reason hotels feel lonely?” Another one trails off into half a sentence, as if he was interrupted: “Sometimes I think I’ll run out of ways to say I miss you, but then—” and it ends abruptly, just ink pressed too hard into the paper.
You turn page after page, each one a different version of him. Restless, playful, poetic, exhausted, ridiculous. There are lines that read like journal entries, lines that sound like prayers. The kind of words that aren’t rehearsed for interviews, aren’t polished for public view. They’re raw, unguarded, as if he trusted the page with the versions of himself he can’t show anyone else.
By the time you reach the end of the pile, your throat feels tight, and your eyes blur with tears you blink away too late. These aren’t Kafka’s words, or Milena’s, or any poet you’ve ever underlined together. They’re his. And somehow, impossibly, they’re yours too.
Behind you, Minghao snores softly, the sound uneven but gentle, already claimed by sleep. You glance back at him, hair falling across his cheek, lips parted in exhaustion, his whole body surrendered to rest. The sight makes you ache with something that feels too big for a single word. You slip out carefully, trying not to disturb him, and settle at your desk. The lamp casts a muted golden glow over the scattered letters, the inked fragments of him spread wide before you like constellations waiting to be named. The pen feels heavy in your hand, the highlighter uncapped and poised beside it.
You take a deep breath, the quiet of the apartment pressing close around you. Then you lean forward, ready to begin, ready to answer him.
To underline what matters most, to annotate where his words meet your heart, to write into the margins everything you couldn’t say over the phone. To respond in full, piece by piece, to the love he has laid out for you.
(where your ex moves into the empty unit in your apartment building and maybe the relationship isn't over after all)
pairing: xu minghao x afab!reader
genre: exes to lovers, neighbors to lovers | fluff, romance, smut
rating: explicit, minors DNI
word count: 12.7k (this was less than 4k yesterday idk)
warnings: mentions of food & drinks, talk of the previous relationship, massages (f. receiving), body worship, light nipple play, fingering (f. receiving), briefest hand job, protected sex, they're just very soft for each other, that's it, reader doesn't use gendered language but has female anatomy
a/n: thank you to the amazing @camandemstudios for hosting The Lonely Hearts Collab ❤️ make sure you check out all the amazing fics! this ended up much softer (and longer) than i thought it would, but i'm not mad at that. we all need soft hao for love day. i hope you enjoy it!
Sometimes you think your life should come with one of those signs like they have in workplaces. You know, the ones that say how many days since the last accident? The ones that people always seem to use as memes? You think that might be appropriate in your case, too. Except, instead of days since the last accident, it would count days since you’d last seen your ex. The man who shattered your heart. The one you can’t seem to get over no matter how hard you try.
Days since I last saw Minghao: 396
You’re not sure why your brain counts the number. Not sure why you can’t just put it out of your mind. Move on, for real this time. Of course, that’s not the same number as the days since he broke your heart. No. Unfortunately, you’ve run into him a couple of times since then, despite him moving away. A consequence of you still having a number of friends in common. And you can’t even blame them for keeping in touch with him. He didn’t really do anything wrong. Not to them and not even really to you. The two of you just…grew apart.
Thinking back on it, even years later, you still can’t really pinpoint where it all went wrong. You remember falling for him, entirely too hard. Back when you didn’t think he took much notice of you. Always too absorbed in his latest project. You were friends, kind of. More on the periphery of each other's circles. Until you went to an art show with some mutual friends. Until you saw yourself in several of his works. None of your friends seemed all that surprised. They just let you have your little moment.
It all happened kind of fast from there. You learned that Minghao wasn’t always one for showing his feelings in words, but he showed them in a million other ways, as long as you knew where to look. He showed them in the little things he did to make your life easier. In the way he incorporated you into his art, sometimes without it even being obvious. In the way he quietly made space for you in his life.
Things were great, until they weren’t. And it still feels sudden all these years later. Even if it maybe, possibly, wasn’t sudden at all.
You remember finding a new job. The kind of job you never thought you would land. The kind that Minghao instantly encouraged you to follow. Except it meant much more normal hours where Minghao kept weird hours. Sometimes he wouldn’t come to bed until the sun rose and other times he had been at work for hours when you woke up. Something about inspiration and lighting and just letting it all come together. Neither of you notice when it starts getting harder to make time for each other. At least, you didn’t notice. Only focusing on making the most of the time you do have.
So, when Minghao tells you that he thinks you need to talk, you’re completely caught off guard. Haven’t seen all the signs that may have been there. He tells you he’s got the opportunity of a lifetime to further his career and it means he’s going to be leaving your city. Leaving the country entirely. Tells you that it’s been great and he still loves you, but he’s got to do this. Tells you that he thinks it’ll be right for both of you because you’ve been growing apart, haven’t you? You’ve both been prioritizing other things like work and friends over each other. He’s going to take this chance and he hopes you’ll understand.
Maybe you do actually remember it falling apart after all.
But, it’s time to cast aside your walk down memory lane. Time to leave everything behind in the old year and get ready to ring in a new one. A feat you tried last year as well and seemingly didn’t succeed at. This is the year, though. New year, new me and all that. You take one last look at your outfit before rushing out the door. Your slightly eccentric (and totally loaded) neighbors are having a party up in the penthouse of your apartment building. And even though you normally hate anyone with that kind of money, they’re actually cool and incredibly kind. They go out of their way to understand their privilege and involve themselves directly in charity. You can’t even hate that they’re barely older than you and have it all. Plus, who are you to turn down a party like this for the new year.
The party is in full swing when you get there. Soyoon always does an excellent job of setting up a party, too. She makes sure there’s an area for people to dance and for people who want things a little quieter. And she always stocks up on top shelf drinks with so many snacks you could make an entire meal out of it. It only takes her a second before she’s waving you over. You weave through the people to get to her, so focused on your friend that you don’t notice anything else. Though you should.
“Hey! You finally made it!” she says and pulls you into a hug.
“Worrying I wouldn’t show?” you joke back.
“No,” she says, smiling her megawatt smile. She indicates to someone. “I wanted you to meet your new neighbor I mentioned, the artist…”
Something drops in your stomach when you register that she says artist and you slowly turn to see the person she’s indicating. Hoping against all hope that you don’t recognize them. Instead, you see the lean figure of someone you know well. Dressed all in black and still looking like one of the most fashionable in the room. The black also works well to offset his blond mullet. It’s not a color you’ve seen on him before, but you’d know him anywhere.
Days since I last saw Minghao: 396 0
Fuck.
“Minghao,” you say softly, immediately kicking yourself for the way it comes out.
“Yeah, oh. I thought you hadn’t met yet,” Soyoon says with a slight frown of confusion.
Minghao is quick to answer, casual as can be. “I hadn’t run into her yet but we knew each other once, years ago.”
“Oh, how fun! Shall I leave you two to catch up?” she asks.
You say no just as Minghao says yes. Soyoon looks confused, but ends up leaving the two of you alone anyway. It’s the last thing you want and there’s nowhere to go. At this rate, you’re going to get a much different start to your year.
When you wake up well into the first morning of the New Year, your brain feels a little fuzzy. Not hungover though, so you can thank past you for that. You cannot thank past you for anything else. Not when the night before comes rushing back to you and you remember. Remember kissing Minghao, not just at midnight. Remember admitting that you still think about him. Remember wondering if he was single. Don’t remember asking him why he’s back now and without a word to you. Not that he owes it to you. It’s been years, after all. You just can’t believe that the mysterious new resident two doors down from you is none other than the ex you can’t seem to forget.
Thankfully New Year’s Day is really about recovering from the night before and getting ready to face the rest of the year. It also gives you time to figure out what you’re going to do about Minghao. You’re sure there’s something in there about second chances. About how people change as they grow. It’s not for you, though. The more time you spend thinking about the night before, the more you realize that things are better left alone. This isn’t some great sign to revisit a painful past. It’s a way of telling you that it’s okay to finally figure out a way to move forward in your life.
You’re just going to ignore that the person you’re moving on from lives two doors down from you. Shouldn’t be a problem at all.
As you’re considering what you want to do for food, the doorbell rings. You’re not expecting someone and your heart plunges a little. What if it’s Minghao stopping by to talk about the night before? You can’t exactly remember all of your conversation, so you’re not sure if there’s something else that you need to talk about. You’re not prepared for any of it. When you open the door, it’s not him. It’s just someone delivering from one of your favorite take-out places.
“I didn’t order anything,” you say, confusion clear on your face.
The delivery guy only shrugs and shows you his phone. It’s your name and address. “I just deliver the orders I get. The tip was nice, too.”
“Oh, well, thanks,” you say and accept the bag of food.
You decide to eat it on your couch so that you can settle in and binge something truly awful on TV. As you ponder who could have sent it, you think about Soyoon and how she loves to do this kind of thing. Yes, that seems likely. You’ll have to send her your own little thank you and thank her in person the next time you see her. Sending a text wouldn’t do it because she always says that doesn’t feel as personal. Eccentric, but endlessly kind. She’s definitely the kind of person that would want to make sure her guests are taken care of after such a great party. All feels much more calm as you settle in and your mind stays firmly off Minghao.
The whole idea of keeping your mind off Minghao works for a while. You see him around the building and he’s always perfectly polite, but never forces a conversation. Says hi in passing and smiles. That’s just kind of how he is. It’s not that he doesn’t have plenty to say, he just doesn’t chase after anyone for a chat. Doesn’t see the point in forcing something when both people aren’t interested. Honestly, it’s a bit disarming because as well as you knew him once, it’s not what you’re expecting. There are times when you even consider if you should strike up a conversation with him. At the very least, there are things left unsaid from New Year’s. Things you know that you should get out of the way. Especially when Soyoon asks for details on what’s going on and you’re not really sure how much to share.
But, then life catches up with you, as it seems prone to do. Things pick up at work and you find that you’re back into your routine without a second thought. That’s always the thing about the new year. It starts and it’s kind of slim on holidays while you’re getting into it. It also seems unspoken that people just don’t take time off then. Not when so many take time off around the holidays. (Something you also did, taking off the two days after New Year’s so you wouldn’t have to go back for a short week. Best decision you’ve made in a long time.)
You blink and January fades into February. Your brain is somewhere else entirely when you rush into your favorite coffee shop by your office, running a little bit late because you’re heading in on the weekend. The shop is decorated for Valentine’s Day already, like it seems to be every year once the calendar hits February. Something in you fights rolling your eyes. It’s not that you hate the holiday, it’s just that you’re a little bitter for another one spent without a partner. As much as you may say it doesn’t matter, it feels like it would be nice to have someone. Even if all you did was stay in to have a nice meal or play a game or watch something on TV. Just a moment for the two of you in the midst of all the chaos. When the barista asks for your order, you shake away the thoughts and give it, pulling your phone out to tap and pay.
“Oh, it’s covered,” she says and your brow furrows.
“What?” you ask.
“Someone already covered your order today,” she repeats.
“But how did…” you start to ask under your breath and trail off.
“Did you need anything else?” she asks brightly.
“No, I guess not,” you say and put away your phone.
As you head down to wait for your order, your brain whirs into action. Who is out here just somehow paying for your order? You cast your eyes around the shop and nobody looks familiar. Well, a few people do in that way that regulars stick out when you’re also a regular. Nobody seems to be paying attention to you, though, or giving you any indication that they paid for your order. It shows up on the counter before you can think any further about it.
The rest of the week goes in a similar fashion. Your coffee order is taken care of any time you stop in and the barista only smiles when you ask her who’s doing it. The only answer she gives is that you’ll realize it if you think about it. Not entirely helpful. At work, you get a surprise lunch just as you’re on the verge of a breakdown over a project. Mingyu, one of your closest friends even outside of work, offers lunch as a break and you take it without question. After all, the two of you were friends before becoming coworkers so it’s not unexpected that he would realize you’re feeling burnt out. Another of your friends asks you to go with him to a show you’ve been wanting to see and won’t even let you pay him back for the ticket. There are other little things, too. Things that you wouldn’t normally notice, but it’s like everything is going your way. It makes you a little wary. Mostly, though, it just makes you grateful. It feels like such a good way to start the year.
It isn’t until the weekend that you finally put it all together. Saturday morning comes and you let yourself sleep in after being out a little later the night before to go to the show. There’s an unexpected knock at the door that gives you a little deja vu back to New Year’s Day. You yawn and stretch as you get out of bed and head to the door. This time, there’s no delivery person waiting for you. There’s just a basket, clearly put together very thoughtfully. You bring it inside and start to look through what’s in there. A calming tea. A bath bomb. Some chocolates. A candle. A book that you've never heard of and somehow know you’re going to love. It’s the perfect kit to have the best and most relaxing day.
And that’s when it hits you. The coffee, the lunch, the show, all the little surprises. It’s all coming from one person. The one person who likes to let his actions speak louder than his words. The one person who clearly hasn’t just been letting you be since the party. This is Minghao all over. You’re a little surprised at how easily the realization clicks into place. Also a little surprised that it didn’t click sooner. Maybe you had forgotten more about him than you thought. Maybe he wasn’t the only person taking up residence in your mind anymore.
There’s a lot to think about and you figure that you’ll use the time taking a bath to do just that. Well, you shower first to make sure you’re clean and because you didn’t do it after getting home the night before. But then, you’re ready to relax in the bath and just let your mind wander. Hope you’ll end up coming to a decision about what you want to do. There’s so much history. So many nights spent trying to figure out how things might have gone differently. Until it clicks. Minghao was right back then. You both needed that space. Needed the separation to go off and figure yourselves out. Needed to learn who you were as an adult before you could learn to make space for another person. When he left, it cleared a path for you to take chances you never would have otherwise. Maybe it did the same for him.
That’s how you find yourself outside his door after the bath, the tea in hand because you know that it’s a brand he loves. Or, at least, he did once upon a time. He opens the door too quickly for you to second guess if this is a good idea. Or to wonder if he’s even home. His eyes seem to sparkle at the sight of you and at the tea in your hands.
“You got my care package,” he says, leaning against the doorframe.
“And figured out who was behind all those wonderful things this past week,” you admit, causing his smile to slip into a more genuine one.
“About time,” he says under his breath.
“Can I come in for a cup of tea?” you ask and he regards you for a moment. That’s always been the hardest part about being around Minghao. He has a way of looking at you and peeling back all the layers. It’s like being naked in front of him. And you’re not as comfortable in front of him as you were once upon a time. It makes you shift on your feet and cast your eyes down.
He steps aside and you let out a sigh of relief at the movement. “Come on in.”
Stepping inside his apartment almost feels like stepping back in time. Everything about the decoration feels familiar. There are a few things that you do recognize but mostly it’s just because it’s so inescapably him. Everything has a place and it looks like it could be featured in a magazine. But, it’s better than that. Better because it feels lived in, like a home even though it is straight from some aesthetic moodboard. You turn back to him when you recognize a figure that you gave him years ago. It makes your heart constrict that he kept it all this time.
“Did you want to share that tea with me?” he asks, noting the box in your hands.
“Oh,” you say, a little startled back into the present. You look down at your hands and then back to him. “Yeah. Well, if you still like it, that is.”
“I do, yes,” he says and accepts the box from your hands. “You can go sit down and I’ll bring the tea out in a minute.”
It’s so impossibly normal and also one of the most abnormal things in the world. The contradictions are making your head hurt, so you just do as Minghao suggests. Sit down on the couch in the living room and sigh. This is the most comfortable couch in the world. That’s another thing you remember about him. Everything fits his aesthetic and it’s never at the expense of comfort. None of that unusable furniture for him. Without even thinking about it, you pick an art magazine off the table. It’s the only thing that seems out of place and there’s a sticky note attached to it with an advanced copy for you to look over scrawled on it. That’s when the cover catches your eye, previously covered in part by the note. Minghao looks back at you, surrounded by some of his artwork. It seems like it’s a profile on him. He must be doing even better than you realized.
“I hated posing for that,” he says softly as he appears with two cups of tea.
You start a little in surprise at hearing his voice and drop the magazine back on the table. “I didn’t mean to…”
“There’s no need to be scared,” he says with a low chuckle as you accept the cup. “You can read it if you’d like.”
“It seems like things are going well for you,” you comment, looking back at the magazine.
“Professionally, sure. Although I’m finding creating a little more difficult lately,” he says and you look at him.
“Why’s that?” you ask and then shake your head.
“What?” he asks.
“We’re just…talking like no time has passed,” you say.
“I guess I thought that after that party and sending you the food the next day like we…” he starts.
“That was from you?” you ask, clearly surprised.
“Would…what?” he asks, shifting mid thought. “Yes?”
“Aren’t you sure?” you ask with a laugh.
“No, I’m sure. I just thought…well, we talked about it that night,” he says.
“I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I don’t remember exactly what we said that night,” you say and look down.
“Ah,” he says. “I guess that makes sense.”
“What do you mean?” you ask.
“Well, I figured we’d talk about everything when there weren’t people around and we could have time to ourselves. Then, I sent the food and just never heard from you,” he says.
“You could have said something,” you tell him.
“I’m not always very good at that, the saying something part,” he says.
“You’re great at taking care of things I need, though. Everything the past week or so has been so thoughtful,” you say.
“I know I should have talked to you. I just didn’t know how to start the conversation,” he admits.
“It’s been a long time,” you say.
Just as an awkward silence is about to fall over you, Minghao turns to face you. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Before we go down a path of talking about everything that happened back then and about how much I miss you now, do you think it’s worth it?”
You consider that for a long moment and miss the way Minghao seems to hold his breath. Miss the way he searches your face for a sign of the answer before you give it. Don’t realize how many ways your face has changed in the years since he really knew you. When you meet his eyes, you finally see that he looks unsure. All you can do at first is nod.
“Is that a yes?”
You take a deep breath. Ready yourself to jump in with both feet. “I think it’s at least worth having a conversation, yeah.”
And so that’s what you do. You sit down and talk about all the things you wish you had said back when he left. All the things you could have done differently. All the ways you’ve changed since then. It feels good to say all the things that you’ve kept to yourself over the years. There’s something very open and honest about the way you talk. Somehow even more honest than back when you were in a relationship. Maybe because there’s no fear about the other person’s reaction or feelings. Or maybe it’s just because you’re much more mature now than you were back then. You’re not really sure. Not really sure it matters either.
This is probably the most you’ve ever heard Minghao say at once. He even admits it’s because he knows that he’s going to have to do things that make him a little uncomfortable if he wants you to consider trying again. He’s also very understanding as he listens to everything. Not defensive when you point out how things could have gone differently. And you know you can’t be defensive when he points out the things you could have done, either. After all this time, you finally realize that it was very much both of you responsible for the way the relationship ended. Yes, Minghao’s the one that accepted a position that would take him far away from you. He’s the one that suggested that maybe the relationship needed to end. But, you also had your role in all of it. You also have to acknowledge that you got distant. Prioritizing other things in your life over him. No longer able to communicate as effectively as you had earlier in the relationship. Both of you had been growing at different rates and in different directions.
Now, years later, you can realize that it’s something both of you needed. You had to separate to grow in ways you couldn’t do together. Had to be alone to learn the hard lessons, the scary things. To understand what you need and what you want and when to compromise. You’re no longer wearing the rose colored glasses of your early 20s.
“So, what now?” he asks.
“What do you want?” you ask and he sighs a little. “I know, I can’t make you be the only one to talk.”
“I want to know if you still have any space for me in your life and…” he says, but trails off.
“In my heart?” you guess.
“Yeah,” he admits softly.
It’s another crossroads. One of those moments you’ll look back on. You know that you need to be a little brave. “I never really got over you. Not fully.”
Minghao’s face brightens at that and he meets your eye with your favorite smile. The soft one that you always felt like belonged only to you. “Me either. I’ve lived all over the world since we broke up and I still get my best inspiration from you.”
That one sentence pushes all the air out of your lungs. Has you entirely speechless. You hold out your hand and he intertwines his fingers through yours without a word. “So we try?”
“We try,” he agrees.
Trying is both intimidating and the most comforting thing in the world at the same time. A weird duality just like the man you fell in love with all those years ago. Going on a date with someone that you dated for years and then broke up with years ago is like starting well into the relationship. There are all sorts of things that you already know about each other. Yet, there are also things you can’t assume. Things you may have known once may not be true anymore. Or it’s possible that you remember something that wasn’t true at all, even then.
So, you start with the most obvious date night activity: dinner. It gives you something to do without being too distracting from a conversation. Minghao surprises you a bit, too. He’s somehow more thoughtful and more open all at once. He still doesn’t always know how to say what he wants to all the time, but he’s trying harder to get his thoughts out. You’re also trying much harder to meet him where he is rather than expecting something that just isn’t who he is. Another byproduct of how much the two of you have grown in your time apart. You can appreciate how well the two of you fit together now. Can appreciate how your individual strengths complement each other.
After dinner, Minghao starts to suggest going back to the apartment building. You have another suggestion, though. There’s this Art After Dark event that the local art museum runs on the second Saturday of every month that you’ve wanted to check out. Life has been too busy until now. And you also can admit that some part of going felt a little difficult. What if you saw something that Minghao created? Or something that reminded you of him? Or what if there was just a piece of art that you couldn’t understand? You’ve always appreciated the beauty in creation, but some things just went over your head.
The suggestion makes Minghao’s face light up. He’s heard of the event and somehow hasn’t been since moving back. Not that he’s been back all that long. Still, it’s nice to know that you’ll be able to experience something that’s meaningful to him for the first time.
The drive over is quiet, mostly only filled with the sounds of the playlist Minghao picked. It’s not uncomfortable, though, far from it. You’re thinking of how easy it is being in his presence again, especially given how long you spent thinking you needed to avoid him. In the passenger seat, Minghao scrolls what looks like the website for the museum. Probably seeing what installations are there currently on display. Or what special events they have for the evening. Either way, you’re happy to let him prepare before getting there. It’ll only help you on top of it because he’ll be able to walk you through everything. (If you think about how pretty his profile looks in the low light, then that’s your business.)
Once you get there, you insist on covering the admission because Minghao paid for dinner without giving you the chance to even offer. It’s nowhere near even, but it’s the least you can do for now. They also check your IDs on the way in because there’s an open bar, apparently. You each grab a drink off of the tray going around and then head into the first room. Live music drifts softly through from somewhere you can’t see. It adds something nice. Something that makes the whole setting somehow more intimate when combined with it being less busy than during normal hours. Minghao doesn’t wait for you to ask him to lead the way, he just knows. You follow close to him, not quite brushing your arm against him.
This has always been one of your favorite things about Minghao. Watching him at a museum or an art gallery is just special. He walks through and talks about the different artists, the influences, and the history. He can tell you about different periods of an artist’s life and why they might have created the way that they did. There is so much living in his brain that it puts the plaques with each piece of art to shame. Occasionally, you notice someone standing in the area stop and listen to the way he speaks about a piece. It’s endearing to watch him when he’s passionate. Somehow softer and less guarded. Some people might find it sexy, and you do as well. It’s just that you find him cute first. There’s nothing about him that sounds like he’s bragging or talking down about his knowledge. Minghao has always believed that art should be accessible to everyone. That it’s a gift for all people to enjoy. When he speaks about it, that comes across. It’s something familiar, something you’re glad is the same.
Minghao always wants to know the pieces you’re most drawn to. He wants to let you walk into some of the rooms first so he can watch you experience the art for the first time. Wants to know if you’re drawn to the pieces that he expects. You are, mostly. Usually, you wouldn’t want this much attention on you, especially in a place that isn’t your normal comfort zone. But, Minghao makes you feel at ease. At least, until he starts talking about which pieces of art remind him of you and why. It makes you turn away a little to hide the way your cheeks flush. It just feels so intimate. Feels like he’s baring his soul. Feels like too much for someone who’s been a stranger to you for years. Although, can you really say he’s a stranger? Yes, things change. People grow. You and him have certainly both grown. Maybe you’ve grown into the people you both imagined you’d be back when you figured you had the rest of forever together.
It’s not until the last room of the museum that you realize Minghao picked the path deliberately. He motions for you to go ahead of him and you assume it’s just so he can see your reactions to the art, like he has in other rooms. And it is, in a way. Just not for the same reason as any other room. Your attention immediately falls on a piece you recognize immediately. Not because you’ve seen it before. It’s because it’s you. Or, you should say that you know it’s meant to be you. It’s that same style of abstract art that you know belongs to Minghao. The same style that feels as familiar as if it was a polaroid of you. That’s not why it takes your breath away. It’s the fact that he must have painted it after you broke up because you haven’t ever seen it before. And here it is, hanging as part of a long term installment in the museum less than 20 minutes from your apartment
“You knew this was here,” you say.
“I had to double check,” he says softly as he follows you. Your feet bring you right to the piece without any other thought.
Minghao uses art as an expression. Says it’s easier for him to convey the hard things that way, like so many artists seem to. Says he’s not good with words, could never be the kind of creative that writes poems or novels with long scenes expressing intense emotions. It’s so clear looking at his art that he doesn’t need to. So clear that his work is the reason people say a picture is worth a thousand words. You think you could have ten thousand words and still need more with this piece. And most of his pieces, honestly. You yearn to reach out and run your fingers along the canvas, to trace the lines that he uses. Instead, you take in each color and each stroke. It causes conversations from when you were both younger to come flooding back. You remember lying in bed and listening to him talk about his process. About when he brought something to the foreground versus leaving it in the back. About the choice to use a vibrant palette or something more muted and neutral. About how he could play with the different colors to express each emotion. In saying all of that, you remember hearing what he couldn’t say. It’s funny, in hindsight, to think about how Minghao always said he struggled with emotions. He just says what he needs to in a different way.
His feelings are crystal clear to you in this piece. The representation of you is front and center. The first thing your eye lands on when you look at it. Everything else is in the background. Like he’s saying that you’re the center of the universe in this piece. The colors tell you just as much. They’re rich with his affection. With tenderness and forgiveness. With yearning. Like a hand reaching out to pull you in. You even think he might have put a version of himself in the background, muted to throw you into sharper relief. It’s beautiful and passionate and incredibly raw. You may need to know him to see the last bit. It’s only then that you see the date on the piece. Just over a year ago, probably after you had seen him the last time before he popped up at the party in your building.
Finally, you turn to him and find his eyes on you. Studying you, looking for answers before you give them again. And you see the nerves there. He’s grown so much, but he knows you have too. Doesn’t presume to know everything about you anymore. Your mouth curves into the most genuine smile. “It’s amazing, Hao. I don’t even know what to say.”
“You like it?” he asks, a little less sure of himself than you’re used to.
“I love it,” you assure him and turn back to it. “It might be one of the most expressive pieces of yours I’ve ever seen.”
“I know I shouldn’t have been drawing inspiration from you, but I couldn’t stop myself after I saw you that time a year ago,” he says, confirming what you thought. “I was halfway through the painting before I realized it.”
“No matter what, I will always be honored to inspire you.”
“That’s a relief.”
“You know, you’re much better at expressing your feelings than you think,” you tell him, looking over to see his reaction. His face is soft.
“Only if you remember how to read it,” he says.
“It’s all coming back to me,” you say and delight in the way he smiles.
Minghao is a study in contrasts. He’s every bit of what you think about when thinking of an artist. Introverted, intelligent in a way not everyone can appreciate, thoughtful, sometimes a little intimidating to approach. If you don’t know him, he could seem cold or detached. When you do know him, though, he’s anything but cold. Certainly not intimidating. Although he can be guarded, he’s an open book to the people closest to him. He’s incredibly soft and caring. Willing to let all his defenses fall away for the right person.
He takes hold of your hand, even though he’s not always one to seek out physical touch in that way. Not in public. “I want to give this another try. We’ve both grown a lot over the past years. You don’t have to make a decision now. All I want to know now is if you’ll be my Valentine.”
The way he says it doesn’t really sound like a question. It’s also infinitely more direct than you’re used to. You can’t help the teasing look. “That’s so corny.”
The smile you get in response is worth it. Minghao only shrugs. “Sometimes, it’s worth it.”
“Yes, Hao, I would love to be your Valentine,” you say, fighting a bit of the urge to say that you’ll just be his again.
Even though you know that rushing back into something is the last thing you need to do, you’re still excited. Feel lighter than you have in ages. It’s kind of like autopilot for the rest of the time you spend at the museum. And if it’s the best date you’ve been on in years, well that’s your business. It’s also your business if you get back to your apartment that night and think about all the things that happened that day.
Sunday dawns and the first thought in your mind is Minghao. Not exactly surprising after spending a whole day with him instead of continuing to avoid him. Yet, it’s not quite what you’re expecting, either. After years of protecting your heart, it shouldn’t be this easy to open up to him again. That thought does make you pause, just for a second. Then, you think about all the things you managed to cover just in one day together. There’s still plenty to talk about, but you can’t deny the obvious. You’re both so willing to be open and vulnerable. Willing to accept your faults to make sure things are different if you give it another shot. There’s definitely something to be said that he’s the first thing on your mind when you wake up. (And the last thing you thought about before falling asleep.)
It’s time to do things differently. Time to not overthink everything. You’re older and wiser now. Feel like you can trust your gut and the vibes now with more life experience. Instead of giving yourself time to second guess, you send a text to Minghao to ask if he wants to come over. It’s one of those catch up days. You need to grocery shop and run some errands, do some laundry, and do a little cleaning. Minghao loves quality time, something still true now. It’s nothing exciting, though, and you give him plenty of space to say no without it being an issue. All he asks is what time he should come over and if he should eat breakfast first.
Which is exactly how he ends up at your apartment barely 20 minutes later.
Plenty changes and just as much stays the same. Minghao can cook, he never starves. It’s just not his favorite thing to do if left to his own devices. You offer to make him breakfast if he’s going to keep you company during a bunch of errands. While you cook, he keeps himself busy making tea for himself and coffee for you. Doesn’t have to ask how you like it since he covered your coffees for the past week at the shop by your work. Since Minghao likes acts of service just as much as quality time, he empties your dishwasher while you’re finishing up breakfast and tidies up around the kitchen behind you. There’s so much comfort in falling into patterns like that, even though it feels entirely different than before.
Breakfast passes quickly and Minghao helps motivate you out the door. Points out the sooner you get things out of the way, the sooner you can come back and relax. You’re not shy in telling him that he makes an excellent point. The praise falls easily from your lips and you delight in the way it causes him to smile shyly. Some things really never change and you’ll never tire of pulling that out of him.
Several hours later, you’re done with all your errands (in record time, no less, even though you took care of getting things for him as well). Back at your apartment, Minghao unloads your groceries for you along with the light lunch he insisted that you pick up. It should be scary to see him making himself at home in your life again. It’s not, though. It just fills you with an endless amount of warmth. You can’t help the way your heart flutters at him setting your food out on the table and calling for you to come join him before it’s back to checking things off your little list for the day. He just seems so comfortable helping you and sharing in your space. Content to let you set the pace and clearly pleased you texted to invite him over.
After lunch, Minghao shoos you off to get your laundry started while he tidies up in the kitchen and living area. He’s not a clean freak by any stretch. Although he does like for everything to be in its place. You know he’s only doing it now to help you because he doesn’t mind. The warmth is going to be too much at this rate. You let yourself have hearts in your eyes over him for a second before disappearing into your bedroom to gather your laundry.
Once you have your clothes in the washing machine, Minghao says he needs to get something from his apartment and returns with his sketch pad. He’s got a few ideas that he wants to plan out and hopes it’s fine to do with in your living room. You agree as long as he doesn’t mind you rotting away with your TV obsession of the moment. It’s in those quiet moments that you get the most answers. The comfort of being in a space with him, not saying much and yet knowing you could. Sometimes you feel like you have to fill a silence to avoid any awkward pauses. There’s this sense of anxiety about what the other person is thinking, even if you know it’s probably not about you. It’s not the case with him. Which tells you all you really need to know, doesn’t it? No matter how hard you’ve tried over the years to find someone else, to date and have it something more, it’s never been like this with anyone but him.
You’re scared of what comes next. Scared of being hurt. Yet, this feels like one of those chances you just have to take.
The next week goes something like the weekend. You spend a lot of your free time with Minghao. Sharing all the things that have happened over the years. It’s easy to talk about shared friends or new ones. Not quite as easy to talk about all the work updates, though it feels just as important. The two of you stay up late having hard conversations in the quiet hours of the night. Talking about everything that’s different. Neither of you even shy away from past relationships. It doesn’t even feel that difficult. You both had lives since you broke up and those lives shaped you into these people now. Twice, he even shows up for lunch to get you out of the building for a break. The looks from your coworkers are both knowing and happy. Everything feels like it’s going toward the obvious conclusion.
Somewhere in between all the time spent with Minghao, you also carve out time for dinner with your best friend. Need to carve out the time, you think, to get her opinion. She’s been with you since just before the relationship ended. Even though you know that you can make decisions for yourself, it feels important to get an outside perspective. The last thing you want is to rush back into something and end up in the same place as the first time. If nothing else, you know she’ll ask you the difficult questions to make you think. Make you answer if you’ve really thought out what a second chance for the two of you looks like. If you’re doing this because you want this now, in 2025, for if you’re just holding onto a past that felt comfortable. It can be easy to just stay in a bubble without considering what that looks like when the bubble breaks. When you have to go exist together in public or with friends, not just in your own little world.
She does all those things and is adamant: this isn’t like before. Tells you that you don’t need her to tell you what you already know. Instead of justifying everything that happened years ago, you acknowledge. You don’t make excuses because there aren’t any to make. Sometimes things don’t work. You and Minghao are different people now than you were years ago. Somehow, against all odds, you’ve grown into different people that have even better compatibility than you did when you were younger. As cliche as it is, he seems like your right person at the wrong time and the universe is telling you to hit the replay button now. It’s all the confirmation you need. You’re going to dive in and feel confident he’ll be there to catch you.
By the time Valentine’s Day comes around, you’re both completely at peace and nervous for the date itself. It’s been the theme of the last week. Another set of contrasts that somehow work. You trust Minghao, more than you expect. But, you haven’t had a date for Valentine’s since just after you and him broke up. And it was a disaster. So, you’re trying not to set your hopes to an unrealistic level.
But, he quickly proves that you don’t have anything to worry about. Before work, he shows up with flowers, coffee, and a pastry from a shop nearby. It’s really difficult not to just call out from work and spend the day with him. Admitting that makes him laugh and press a gentle kiss to your temple. It’s so sweet that you want to melt. Sadly, you have to go to work and he’s got two different meetings that he can’t miss, one with a museum curator and another with a prospective client. So, he’ll see you after work as planned.
Work seems to drag and more than once, you consider leaving early. Probably would too if Minghao hadn’t been adamant that you couldn’t come by his place until after work. It makes you pout a little, which, in turn, makes Mingyu laugh at you when he stops by your desk. He’s just happy he doesn’t have to avoid bringing up Minghao anymore since they’ve been in touch the whole time. You’re so happy looking forward to the date that you can’t even get mad at your friend. Besides, it can’t have been an easy spot to be in all this time.
Minghao takes your breath away when you actually show up after work.
After quickly changing out of work clothes, you’re on his doorstep, waiting for him to answer. The second you step inside, you see why he had you wait. He’s decorated the entire space in a way he knows you’ll love. All your favorite colors and little things that are cheesy, but also adorable. There are also several paintings, both old and newer, that you know you inspired displayed around the living area. It feels like the perfect space to celebrate with him. All you can do is wrap your arms around him. He’s quick to pull you tight against him. There’s so much emotion.
“The food is already on the way,” he says when you pull away from him. “Thank you for paying, even though you didn’t need to.”
“You’ve been paying for everything. It’s my turn,” you say and smile, looking around his apartment. “And thank you for this. I know it’s not usually your style.”
“You like it. That’s all that matters,” he says as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.
“Can I say something that’s maybe too honest?” you ask.
Minghao’s gaze on you is soft. “To me? Always.”
“I do like it, but I think I would like anything because I just like you. A lot more than I realized,” you say and watch him. Every part of you wants to look away. You already feel naked with his gaze on you when you’re not confessing to your feelings.
Minghao reaches for your hand to pull you into him again. Lets the silence settle around you for a moment. He speaks without releasing you. “That’s good because I’m very much in love with you. So I’m glad you like me so much.”
That makes you pull away, eyes wide. “You’re in love with me? You’re sure?”
“Does that scare you?” he asks, studying your face the same way he studies his favorite artwork.
The answer is on the tip of your tongue before you even realize it. “No.”
“You don’t have to know yet. You don’t have to love me back at all if it’s not right for you. But, I’m sure. It’s always been you for me and it’s always going to be you for me. I’m not going to waste a second chance by not telling you how I feel.”
It’s overwhelming in so many ways. The Minghao you loved years ago couldn’t express himself this easily. It was you that had to be good at using your words and interpreting him through actions. At the time, you thought it was fine. Now, seeing him be strong for both of you, you realize that sometimes it’s nice to hear exactly what he’s thinking. It’s nice to just know without having to read his actions. It’s also his way of showing you that things are different. That he’s going to be the partner you need and he’s going to make sure both of you are the best versions of yourself. Somehow that simple statement, along with everything he’s done the past week, are the final piece. You know this is going to be a partnership and you know you’re in it. Whatever happens, happens.
Dinner passes quickly and the food is great, like you know it will be. It’s also nice not to have to cook or clean anything up. Even nicer to have the space to enjoy each other’s company without going out to dinner like every other couple for the holiday. And Minghao clearly enjoyed setting his table just right for the two of you. After dinner, you suggest watching something. Minghao lets you pick and the two of you settle onto his couch. Without overthinking it, you adjust to put your legs over his lap. He lets you get comfortable before putting his own hands back down and absently tracing patterns into the fabric of your pants. For a fleeting moment, you imagine him using your body as a canvas. Shaking your head to clear the thought, you focus back on the TV.
After a while, you start to feel a little uncomfortable. Not with your legs in Minghao’s laps. That’s providing a lot of comfort. You’re stretching out your neck and rolling your shoulders without realizing it. It’s been a long week at work with too much time hunched over a computer.
“Do you want a massage?” Minghao asks, interrupting the show. You look over at him with raised eyebrows. “You keep rubbing your neck and rolling your shoulders.”
“Of course you noticed,” you say with a chuckle.
“Maybe a massage would help,” he offers again.
You bite your lip in consideration. You haven’t so much as kissed Minghao since you started to spend time together again (since you’re ignoring any drunk kiss that happened at Soyoon’s party for New Year’s Eve). It’s only been a kiss to the cheek here or a temple kiss there. This is definitely more than that. You want to go slow, but you also miss the way he feels. You remember the massages after long nights of studying.
“Yeah, that sounds great,” you say.
The warmth in his eyes when you agree is familiar. Older and wiser, sure, but still familiar. He gets up off the couch and reaches a hand to you. “Come on, let’s go into the bedroom so it’s more comfortable.”
You place your hand into his and follow him. It’s the first time you’ve seen his bedroom and it’s so simple. A few pieces of his art sit in the corner. For the most part, you can tell he only uses the space to sleep.
“I’m going to get some lotion. You can get settled,” he says and places a soft kiss on your temple.
Once he disappears, you make a decision. You remove your shirt and bra so that your back is bare when you lay down on his bed. You settle on the bed with your head up by the pillow so that you can collect part of his sheet around your chest. It’s a little awkward, being half-naked and wondering how to position yourself. It only takes Minghao a few moments before he’s coming back through the bedroom door. His breath catches when he sees you.
“I hope this is okay,” you say, carefully turning to look at him. “My shoulders and neck are so tense that I wanted you to be able to reach them easily.”
He gathers himself quickly and crosses over to his bed. Sits down next to your hip and runs a hand gently across your back. Like he’s testing if you’re actually there. “As long as you’re comfortable, then I’m happy.”
“I am, yeah,” you say softly.
“Okay, then let me take care of you,” he says, just as soft.
Without another word, he moves to straddle your body, using his knees on either side of you to hold the majority of his weight. Gently, he brushes your hair off your neck and over to the side. It’s enough to make you sigh and close your eyes. You hear him open the lotion to put some into his hands. Always so thoughtful, he warms it before putting his hands on your back. He starts just below your shoulders and works his way up, feeling for knots and increasing the pressure as needed. Barely a minute passes and you already feel like you could melt into his mattress. It’s definitely not just the release of tension that has you so comfortable that you could drift into sleep. No, it’s the person with his hands on you. It’s the care he shows with each movement.
Before long, you really are drifting in between the land of being fully awake and asleep. It’s not that you could fall asleep on him. You still feel each movement. You’re just incredibly relaxed. Each of your muscles melt under the gentle touch of his nimble fingers. Even when he digs into a knot, it still feels relaxing. Professionals should be thankful that he took up art instead because he could put them all to shame. Though, admittedly, you’re biased. And you haven’t ever found the thought of a stranger massaging you to be that relaxing. There’s always the initial awkwardness before settling in. None of that happens with the person you know you trust more than yourself.
He bends down to your ear and his breath alerts you before he says anything. “Going to fall asleep on me, sweetheart?”
His tone is light, almost teasing. It’s also confident, but not in the cocky way. He’s proud of the way he can relax you so easily. Your brain is a little foggy and maybe that’s also a good thing. You turn towards his voice and wind your arm up so that you can place a hand on the back of his head. His eyes aren’t just filled with warmth when they meet yours anymore. There’s desire there now, too, the same desire building within you. You pull him towards you and kiss him. Slow, almost lazy, at first. It quickly deepens into something more.
It’s an awkward position, though. Minghao moves off of your back and you take the chance to also reposition, turning over and sitting up. There’s no awkwardness anymore and you don’t bother pulling the sheet with you when you face him. He takes a second to drink you in. Swallows hard as his eyes travel over your chest. In the next moment, he pulls you toward him so that he can kiss you again. You position your legs on either side of his hips to allow you to press tight against him. His kiss is urgent, tongue tangling with your own as the two of you meld into one. You wind one of your hands into his hair, only playing with the ends of it at first, wrapping pieces around your fingers.
Minghao pulls back like it’s the last thing he wants to do. Both of your chests rise and fall quickly to catch your breath. “Are you sure?”
“That I want this?” you clarify.
“That you want this with me,” he says, still a little breathless.
“Yes,” you say.
“Are you really sure?” he asks again. He’s checking for consent and also giving you an out.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” you confirm.
You think that he’s leaning back in so that he can kiss you again. Until he uses a hand to tilt your head to one side and kisses along your jaw. He carries his kisses down your neck and across your collarbone. Like he’s mapping every inch of your body. Committing it to memory or maybe making up for the lost years. When you were younger, you found it difficult to accept this kind of attention. Always worrying there was some kind of imbalance. Now, all you can do is moan out your appreciation for the way Minghao worships every inch of your skin. You’re not in a rush and he’s clearly not either. You run your hands through his hair, allowing your nails to scrape lightly against his scalp and shudder at the way he moans into your skin. Do it again just to feel the way his lips vibrate.
His hands find their way to your hips and he grips hard. Anchoring you in place and also checking to make sure it’s all real. That it’s all happening. That none of this is another one of his dreams. Every time you run your nails along his scalp, it’s a reminder that it is happening. That the two of you really have found your way back to something. In that moment, he knows that he’ll risk his heart to not spend the rest of his life wondering what could have happened. Be vulnerable now and hope it’ll work out.
Spurred on by the soft sounds falling from your lips, Minghao moves from your collarbones down to the hollow between your breasts. You arch into his mouth and dig into his scalp, just for a second. It’s the only thing he needs to feel. Quickly, he moves his mouth over to your nipple, taking it into his mouth. Swirling around it and nipping it lightly. He moves one of his hands from your hip to take the other nipple between his fingers. Can’t have either feeling left out. It’s embarrassing how much it turns you on, like you’re some kind of horny teenager. His fingers are so nimble, so intentional in the way they tease you that you can’t help it. He swaps his mouth to your other nipple, replacing his fingers. You’re not sure what you want more.
This time, you pull back. Still kind of breathing shallowly even though you hadn’t been kissing him. His eyes are wide, pupils blown, and a little concerned. You’re quick to reassure him, hands moving to the hem of his shirt. “Can I? I don’t want to be the only half naked one anymore?”
“Of course,” he says with a smile.
You pull the shirt up and over his head, thankful that he’s not overdressed to make it more complicated. For a second, the sight of him renders you speechless. Gently, you run your finger along his chest and down the muscles of his stomach that weren’t there when you dated him last time. The way he shudders under your touch only spurs you on. There’s a scar along his side that you don’t remember. It’s smooth to the touch, just slightly raised.
“Beautiful,” you whisper confidently.
He can’t stand it anymore. He takes your face in his hands and pulls you into him. Kisses you again, slowly but with so much intensity that it makes your heart skip several beats. You still fit in with him like you were made for each other. He uses the kiss to shift both of your bodies and disentangle your legs. Dips you backwards until your head hits the pillow without his lips leaving yours. Once you’re lying back, though, he breaks the kiss again. Resumes kissing down your body. Makes sure to kiss away any insecurities in the process. Whispers praise into your skin that feel like a salve. This is Minghao, your Minghao. You’re safe with him. Loved. Cherished. Supported. It’s overwhelming to feel all of that come rushing back after years spent apart looking for it in someone else. Of course it’s always been him.
Normally you’re somewhat ticklish, and you do have to fight a little nervous laugh as he kisses down your stomach, especially when his face is so close that you can feel his eyelashes against your skin. But, there really isn’t anything funny about this. Not when Minghao looks up at you while kissing your body. Seems to be mapping your reactions just as much as your skin. He pauses with his hands on your pants, silently asking for permission. Checking in to make sure that you’re still okay with this. You nod and he kisses your stomach again before unbuttoning your pants. Pulls your pants and underwear down in one fluid motion. He takes a moment to appreciate you, laid out before him. Any remaining nerves disappear. You’ve never seen someone look at you with that much love in your life. It’s overwhelming in the best way. Until Minghao resumes kissing down your body and it’s a different kind of overwhelming. His breath ghosts across your core as he places slow, open mouthed kisses along your thighs.
Nothing has really happened, but by the time he settles between your legs, you’re already worked up. Wound so tightly that you think he could have you coming with just a touch. You consider if that would be too fast for half a second before catching sight of Minghao. He looks up at you, hair falling into his eyes, and you don’t care what happens. Don’t care how fast anything happens because it’s him. Can hardly believe that this beautiful person wants to put your needs before his own. His eyes narrow like a siren, full of focus and desire, and it takes your breath away.
“I don’t want you to hold back,” he says. “I’ve been waiting years to taste you again.”
“You wha - fuck,” you hiss out.
He effectively short circuits your brain with one move. He doesn’t bother teasing you, just goes straight to licking into your wet cunt. Uses two fingers to spread your lips open so that he has better access. There’s no concern for building up to something. He wants to taste you and that’s exactly what he’s going to do. When his nose hits your clit, it makes you groan out and snap your thighs around his face. His groan in response vibrates through your pussy. Makes him use his thumb to rub circles on your clit without slowing his speed licking into you. It’s entirely too overwhelming in the best way. In just moments, Minghao has you writhing underneath him, gripping onto anything within your reach. His hair. The sheets. The pillow. Anything. The tension builds entirely too fast and you’re not really ready for it to be over. Not ready to have it end.
You’re not sure if he has the same thought or not, but Minghao pulls back to look at you. The moan at the sight of your wetness all over his lips and chin is immediate. Somehow it makes him even sexier and you can’t take your eyes off him. Can’t look away as he wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. With careful movements, he pulls himself up your body and lies next to you on his side to face you. Winds an arm under your neck. Places two of his fingers against your mouth and you suck them in without a thought. Swirl your tongue around his slender fingers with your eyes locked on his. Smile at the way it seems to be affecting him. With what looks like regret on his face, he pulls his fingers from your mouth and moves his hand down between your legs. Runs his middle finger up your still wet folds before inserting it.
“Minghao, fuck, you can’t just…” you start, only to have your words cut off.
You’re kissing again and it’s the most heated yet. The taste of you lingers on his lips. Seems to mark him as yours. You realize that maybe he’s not teasing you because he meant what he said. He’s been waiting too long for this to go slow with you. There’s plenty of time to slow down later. This is what both of you need now. He slides another finger into your pussy and pumps even faster. Doesn’t let you pull away from the kiss, catching every sound you make and adding his own sounds. The tension builds, even faster than before. In no time at all, you’re coming all over his fingers. Gasping for breath as you break the kiss and he gently pumps into you to guide you through the orgasm.
When you can catch your breath, you look over at Minghao. Appreciate the way he just watches you. He gently brushes a piece of hair out of your face and then leans in for a soft kiss. You’re not letting him get away with that, though. Not now. Not when he just had you coming harder than you can remember in a long time. You knock the kiss up in intensity and he lets you lead. Lets you set the pace and meets every kiss with the exact right amount of pressure. Your hands are everywhere on him while you kiss, exploring all the lines and the muscles that feel a little foreign. The only obvious sign of the passage of time.
He pulls back just long enough so that he can pull his pants and briefs off. Doesn’t even look where he tosses them in the room. All he can think of is connecting his lips with yours again. About making up for all the years in between, even if you both know that you needed that time apart to find your way back. You wind your hand down between your bodies and grip his dick in your hand. Slowly run your thumb over the tip and find there’s already precum there. It fills you with so much satisfaction to know that he’s as turned on as you are. It’s a little diary, but you spit quickly in your hand. You run your hand up and down his cock a few times, twisting your fist around him. Checking to see what kind of pressure and speed he likes.
“I just want…fuck, sweetheart,” he groans out as you run your thumb across his tip again.
“What do you want, Hao?” you ask, making your eyes as big and innocent as possible.
“I want to be inside you, want to feel you around me,” he says and your breath catches. “I don’t want to cum from a handjob like some teenager.”
“Fuck,” you say with a nod. “Yes, please, yes.”
He rolls away from you for a second to reach for his nightstand and returns with a condom and some lube. Rips the condom open with his teeth and then rolls it onto his cock. You’re about to ask him how he wants you when he pulls back and spreads your legs open. He looks at you as he lines himself up at your entrance. For a moment, he just looks at you. Then, he pours some of the lube onto the condom. Makes sure this is going to feel good for you.
“I want to watch you fall apart,” he says, voice thick with desire.
“Please,” you say softly. “I need to feel you, Hao.”
Minghao lines himself up and presses his tip against your entrance. You’re a little sensitive from his tongue and his fingers. Still wet from that and from the intensity of the kisses afterwards. You wrap your legs around his waist as he angles into you. He leans forward, arms on either side of you so that you’re caged in. He’s sliding in so slowly, so carefully. It’s the first time he’s even come close to teasing you. Or maybe it’s just so that he can draw it out. Either way, you want him buried inside you. Can’t stop from wrapping your legs tighter around him. It’s hard to have him looking at you with so much intensity. So much eye contact. You catch the chuckle at your impatience with your lips.
It works, though. He bottoms out with one final thrust and you would scream it if not for his lips on yours. You let him set the pace even though it’s just slower than you want. The sensitivity just makes everything feel more intense. Each time either of you breaks the kiss to catch a breath, your eyes are on each other. Uttering praise and promises into the space between the two of you. More Minghao than you, which is incredible. A steady stream of both coherent and incoherent thoughts. Somehow it all makes sense to both of you. All seems like it’s exactly right. And true to his word, when the tension builds in your body again, Minghao breaks the kiss entirely. Watches the way your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open. Appreciates every sound you make. Later he’ll tell you that he’s never seen anything more beautiful than you in that moment. For now, all he can do is watch and pick up his own pace. He wants to follow right behind you.
There’s less build up this time when you fall over the edge, toes curling and back arching. It’s even more intense too, something you didn’t think was possible. Hazily, you feel Minghao’s thrusts falter in their speed as he comes hard just after you. You try to take over the rhythm, but your body feels spent. After his final thrust, he offsets his weight so he’s not lying fully on top of you without pulling out either. Your breathing syncs up with his as you come back to the bedroom and the reality of what just happened.
You can’t help yourself. His hair is a little wet with sweat and you reach out to brush it away. Think about how this may be your favorite hairstyle he’s ever had. He catches your hand before you even realize his eyes are on you and he kisses your palm. It makes you smile at the care in his eyes. When he releases your hand he props himself up to slowly ease out of you. You figure that you should get up as well before he presses your shoulder gently down.
“I’ve got you,” he says.
And he does, doesn’t he? He’s shown you with his actions and even followed it up with his words. He does have you and you think he’ll probably always be there. You hear the water running from the attached bathroom and then watch him return with a wet washcloth. The bright light behind him highlights his silhouette like an angel. That’s not where it stops, though. Instead of letting you clean yourself up, he sits on the bed and runs the cloth carefully over your body. It makes your heart hurt to have him taking care of you like this, so tender and full of such pure affection. Once he finishes, he tosses the washcloth over to the nightstand. You pull him into you so that you can cuddle close.
Even though you could probably stay like that for the rest of the night, you know that you either need to change the sheets or figure something out. You run a hand over his arm thoughtfully. That’s when it hits you and you turn your face to his. “Do you wanna go sleep in my bed with me and we can deal with your bed tomorrow?”
His laugh is light, easy. “Inviting me to bed on the second date, what will the neighbors say?”
You swat at his arm without any real force. “That you’re incredibly lucky, I expect.”
“They’re right about that,” he says, any teasing gone in the completely honest statement. It’s a little too much for you, at least for a minute. Minghao, in his infinite wisdom, lets you have the moment. He moves from the bed and helps you up with him. Even helps you track down your clothing that’s gotten more scattered than you realize.
It’s so easy to fall back into a rhythm with him even though it feels entirely different. Familiar and new. Fitting for the enigma that is the man before you. Which is when it hits you, just as he’s reaching the door to the hallway. Minghao stops to turn around and see why you’re not right behind him.
“Are you coming? I don’t really want to have to break into your place,” he says with another light laugh.
“Been working on your cat burglar skills during the past few years, have you?” you joke back and he just shakes his head. Closes the space between you and collects you into his arms.
“I think that’s your wishful thinking about wanting a cat,” he says and you laugh.
“Could be,” you concede.
“Shall we?” he asks when he releases you.
“Just a second,” you say and he regards you with clear curiosity. “Earlier you told me that you loved me and…”
“It’s okay,” he says quickly. You mistake it for him thinking you don’t feel the same.
“No, I need to say something,” you say and he swallows anything else. “I love you, too.”
“I know,” he says with a smile that has you rolling your eyes. Of course he knows. You’re entirely smitten and once again, the last one to know. “And how lucky am I to have someone who loves me like you do as a Valentine? To be loved by someone that I love as much as I love you?”
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Hao.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day. Here’s to a lifetime more of these.”
— synopsis: where minghao flexes his fashion awards whenever your brand competes against him during fashion week.
— WC: 3k
— WARNINGS: explicit language, smut, reader uses a transparent clothing (just like rihanna in oscar x swarovski), oral (f. receiving) ENORMOUS DICK!MINGHAO, slight face slap, mentions of choking on a cock, penetrative sex—or trying to.
look, you weren’t trying to start beef with minghao. you don’t even know why the dude hates you so much. okay, maybe you said one thing about his fall line looking like it got snatched off the clearance rack at an IKEA. but that was a year ago. and also? you were drunk and kinda bitter ‘cause your show got bumped for his stupid avant-garde puff-sleeve renaissance clowncore shit.
but now, every fashion week is like a personal vendetta for him to humble you. you’ll be vibin’, sipping your overpriced latte in the designer lounge, and this man will just stroll in, decked out in some vintage runway piece that costs more than your annual budget, flashing that “i won best emerging designer again” smirk like it’s a fucking weapon. and then he’ll throw some casual shit like:
“oh, y/n, is that your collection over there? i thought they were setting up for the kid’s line showcase.”
[...]
so this year, you swore you wouldn’t let him get in your head. you’d play it cool, professional, unbothered. except you walk into your studio late one night, the day before your big runway debut, and this man is just there. sitting on your worktable. wearing a pearl-studded harness and leather pants so tight it should be a crime.
you freeze, halfway through the door, holding the iced coffee you begged your intern to grab five minutes before starbucks closed. “what the fuck are you doing here?”
minghao barely glances up from his phone. “your assistant let me in.”
traitor.
“why?” you slam the coffee on the counter, praying your voice doesn’t shake. the audacity of him just existing in your space is enough to make your blood boil.
he stands, slow as hell, like he’s got all the time in the world. he’s tall—annoyingly tall—so when he steps close, you’re immediately at a disadvantage. but you refuse to back down.
“just wanted to check out the competition,” he says, eyes flicking lazily over the chaos of fabric swatches and half-finished sketches strewn across the room. “cute line. very... simple.”
“fuck you, hao,” you snap, crossing your arms. “it’s called ‘minimalism.’ not that you’d know anything about taste.”
he laughs, soft and low, the kind of sound that creeps under your skin and lingers there. “oh, i have plenty of taste. i just don’t need to keep it basic to get attention.”
and here’s the thing: you hate how much he gets to you. he’s a smug asshole with an overinflated ego, but he’s also stupidly talented, and you can’t ignore the fact that his lines always sell out in under a day. or how his press coverage makes yours look like a local craft fair feature.
but what really gets you is how hot he looks right now, with his ridiculous cheekbones and the glint of that tiny silver chain peeking out from under his collar. it’s disgusting. you hate it.
you’re about to throw a cutting remark his way, something about how he’s overcompensating with all that jewelry, but he beats you to it.
“you know,” he murmurs, stepping even closer, “you’d look good in my designs.”
your brain short-circuits. “excuse me?”
“if you ever want to elevate your style...” he trails off, dragging his gaze down the length of your body like it’s a runway.
“you are so full of shit,” you hiss, but there’s no heat behind it, because your stupid traitorous brain is suddenly imagining what it’d feel like to have his hands on you.
he smirks, all teeth and danger, leaning in so close you can smell his expensive cologne. “maybe. but you’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?”
you don’t answer.
[...]
the next morning, you’re running on zero sleep, fueled by pure spite and caffeine, but your runway show? flawless. models everywhere, hair spray choking the air, seamstresses practically sewing on skin ‘cause the deadlines were that tight. and you were doing a thousand fucking things at once.
fixing a hemline here, shouting at a makeup artist there—“no, not clean girl aesthetic, we’re going full grunge today, wake up!”—all while struggling to get yourself into the swarovskied transparent gown you planned to wear for the night.
no bra, because tits were the least controversial thing in fashion. and the way the crystals draped over your skin looking likew pure art. nipples out and proud, paired with modern curls swirled to perfection and makeup that screamed chaos-but-make-it-glam.
by the time your collection hit the runway, your nerves were shredded. but watching the models strut, each piece shining under the lights... fucking worth it.
and then, the finale: your dress sweeping dramatically across the stage as you closed the parade. you bowed to the crowd, letting the cameras and whispers soak in every inch of you, and as you turned to leave, you felt it.
minghao’s sharp eyes.
you caught his eyes just as they traveled the length of you—from the swirl of your hair, to the unapologetic sharpness of your nipples under the crystals, to the shimmer of your dress, down to the towering heels on your feet.
you just smirked to yourself as you headed backstage, knowing full well your collection didn’t just crawl under his skin this time. it slithered under his flesh, wrapped tight around his ribs, and squeezed.
[...]
minghao’s models stormed the runway like it was their goddamn birthright. and of course, you watched. no designer worth their silk ignored the competition, and minghao wasn’t just competition, he was a walking masterclass in making everyone feel like second place.
he closed his show with his usual flare, stepping out like he already knew the applause was his. fast-forward two designers later, and the nominations for the fashion academy awards started rolling in. you didn’t have to look to know minghao had already claimed half the early awards.
you watched him backstage through narrowed eyes as he balanced four trophies—two tucked in his arms, two in his hands—posing for a picture with that smug-ass smile. you knew that pic was already blowing up on his Instagram. your jaw clenched, nails digging into your palm as the last nominations were announced.
and then, plot twist of the year:
your name came up five times.
designer of the year: you.
new vision in fashion: you.
collection of the year: your brand.
runway innovation: your brand.
showstopper of the year: your brand.
walking out with those five heavy-ass awards in your arms? victory tasted better than champagne. your models and team practically swarmed you, hyping you up ‘cause they knew how much blood, sweat, and tears went into this collection.
but what you really wanted... minghao. definitely minghao. minghao, in your line of sight. because after all the times he flaunted his wins like a smug bastard, you wanted him to feel this.
and lucky for you, fate delivered.
you spotted him in the back hallway, leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. clearly, he hadn’t heard the last nominees. his head snapped up when your heels echoed through the space.
“oh, hey, hao,” you called out, voice sweet as honey but sharp as glass. you stopped just short of him, shifting the five trophies in your arms so they pressed against your chest. the weight of them pushed your tits up just enough to catch his eyes.
“looks like I’ve got... a plus one on you this year.” you smirked, shaking the awards a little for good measure, the motion making the crystals on your dress catch the dim hallway light.
his eyes flicked down—brief, subtle, but not subtle enough—and then back up, his expression neutral, but you could feel the shift in his ego.
“congrats,” he said, the word clipped like it physically hurt him.
“thanks, babe,” you purred, turning on your heel with a sway of your hips. “see you next season. maybe.”
and with that, you left, letting the click of your heels carry the weight of your victory.
[...]
days later, you were lounging in minghao’s big leather chair, legs crossed up on his table, showing the expensive ass high heels you always wore. his assistant had let you in with barely a question, and you weren’t one to waste an opportunity.
when he finally walked in, his eyes narrowed immediately. “what the hell are you doing here?”
“relax,” you drawled, leaning back like his office was a spa. “your assistant said I could wait. guess they like me more than you.”
he folded his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “didn’t think you’d show your face here after the other night. thought you’d be busy polishing all those trophies.”
you grinned, slow and smug. “oh, i polished them. just thought i’d stop by to see how you’re doing. must be hard, you know—losing.”
his jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. instead, he stepped closer, looming over you. “you done?”
“not even close,” you said, standing up to match his energy. you stopped just shy of his chest, tipping your chin up. “but don’t worry, hao. i’ll let you borrow a trophy sometime if you really need the validation.” you patted his shoulder.
he scoffed, his lips curling into something between a smirk and a sneer. “you know, i like your attitude.”
you raised an eyebrow. “yeah? you must, considering how much you stalk me every season.”
“maybe that’s why we should work together.”
you laughed, loud and sharp, tossing your head back. “oh, that’s rich. you? work with me? what, so you can take credit for my ideas and call it a ‘collaboration’?”
he tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “i’m serious. we’d be unstoppable.”
for a second, you almost believed him. “unstoppable, huh? what makes you think i’d even want to work with you?”
“because you like the challenge... admit it. you love it when i push you.”
“you’re intolerable.”
“and yet,” he murmured, stepping so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, “you haven’t left yet.”
your laugh came out breathy this time, your pulse quickening as his hand grazed the curve of your hip. “you think I’m staying here for you? please. your assistant let me in, remember?”
“sure,” he said. his thumb traced slow circles against your side, almost lazy. “but you’re still here.”
you were about to snap back with something cutting, something to wipe that stupid smirk off his face, but then he tilted your chin up with two fingers, his gaze locked on yours like a predator sizing up prey.
“stop thinking,” he whispered, leaning in just enough for your lips to almost touch. “you might actually enjoy yourself.”
his lips were soft and plump, moving against yours so fucking good that felt unfair. his hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him, and you couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped.
your hands found his chest, the fabric of his shirt warm under your fingertips as you pushed him slightly, breaking the kiss with a smirk. “you’re bold, i’ll give you that.”
“you’re still thinking,” he teased, catching your bottom lip between his teeth before pulling back.
your hands slid up to his shoulders, gripping just enough to feel the flex of his muscles. you threatened to sit on his table.
his eyes widened slighty, his hands immediately grabbing your ass to lift you up, making you yelp. “don’t!”
“what? scared i’ll break it?” you teased, wrapping your legs around his waist.
he places the needles that were spread lazily on the table, inside of a box. he turned, his grip firm as he carried you a few steps and sat you on a nearby armchair.
“there were needles on that table, genius,” he scolded, his tone sulky but his fingers tracing slow lines along your thighs. “you’d be bleeding before I even got started.”
“aww,” you cooed, dragging your nails down his neck. “you worried about me, hao?”
“no,” he muttered, kneeling, dipping his head to kiss along your jawline, his teeth grazing just enough to make you arch towards him. “just don’t want to ruin my night with a trip to the hospital.”
your laugh turned into a soft moan as his lips found the spot just below your ear. “guess you’re not as heartless as you act.”
he pulled back slightly, his smirk sharper than ever. “you talk too much.”
you pulled him in for another kiss, your tongues colliding this time. when you tried to take control, tilting your head for a deeper angle, he pulled back just enough to make you chase him.
minghao’s hands were firm on your thighs, his thumbs brushing against your skin like he wasn’t about to wreck you in the middle of his office. his eyes dragged down, lingering on the way your skirt was pushed up, the space between your legs bare and unapologetic.
he clicked his tongue, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “no panties, huh?” he said. “came here like this?”
“what can I say?” you shot back, shifting slightly so his hands pressed harder against your skin. “i had a feeling you’d end up on your knees.”
his smirk deepened, his fingers tightening slightly as he leaned in, close enough for you to feel his breath. he pressed your legs further onto the armrests, spreading you wider, his hands splayed like he wanted to leave imprints.
his tongue flicked out, close enough to make you tense—but he didn’t touch you. instead, he pulled back, his eyes locking with yours as a smirk tugged at his lips.
he leaned in again, his tongue brushing so close you could feel the warmth from his breath, but once again, he pulled back just as you tilted your hips forward.
“hao..” you warned.
“what?” he teased, his lips hovering over your folds.
your hands gripped the armrests as you glared down at him. “if you don’t stop playing, i swear—”
he cut you off with a broad, strong lick, dragging his tongue from your entrance, through your folds, and up to your clit in one unbroken suck. your head fell back as a gasp tore from your lips.
“that shut you up,” he muttered, his voice muffled as he dipped lower, his tongue swirling around your entrance before moving back up. “needy much?”
“shut up and do it again,” you shot back, your voice sharper than the way your thighs trembled under his grip.
and he did the same. your clit throbbing at the rough skin of his tongue, making you melt on his armchair, he smiled at the sight, he knew how a good head felt after months dealing with needles and sparkly cloths.
his lips latched onto your folds, sucking them into his mouth before he pulls back just slightly, his tongue flicking against your clit in quick, teasing strokes. you let out a pornographic moan, before your clap a hand on your mouth, remembering the team outside the office. he chuckled darkly, his hands tightening on your thighs to hold you still. his lips wrapping around your clit again. this time, he sucked it fully into his mouth, his tongue flicking against it as his eyes flicked up to yours.
“you’re so good at this, hmm—fuuuck!” you said, your nails drowning in the leather of the armchair. “you must’ve practiced on a lot of other girls, huh?”
his eyes narrowed slightly, and his teeth grazed your clit just enough to make you wwhimper. “jealous?” he asked, his voice smug, though he didn’t stop the relentless motion of his tongue.
“please,” you shot back, though the way your breath hitched betrayed you as he did a zig-zag on your bud with the tip of his otngue. “you’re better when you’re silent.”
he smirked against you, his lips curving as he pulled back just enough to speak. “then shut me up.”
your fingers tangled in minghao’s hair, tugging him closer, harder, until his face was buried against your pussy. his groan vibrated through you, desperate, and his hands clamped down on your thighs to steady himself as you rolled your hips against his mouth.
“that’s it... mhmm, just like that...”
he obeyed, his head bobbing as his tongue slid against you in broad, wet strokes, his lips sealing around your clit every few seconds to suck, deep and rhythmic. the wet, obscene sounds filled the room, and your nails scraped lightly against his scalp as you held him there, guiding him exactly how you wanted.
the heat in your core coiled tighter, and you barely had time to register your orgasm hit.
your back arched, your mouth falling open as moans spilled out shamelessly. your hips rolled against his face as you came, and minghao didn’t stop—not for a second. he worked you through it, sucking and licking as though he felt your climax before you did.
he only pulled back when you began to squirm, your breath coming in sharp gasps as overstimulation took hold. his lips and chin were slick as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes glinting as he looked up at you.
“had fun?” he asked, sarcastically.
you gave a breathless laugh, your chest heaving as you leaned back in the chair. “you talk too much for someone who just spent five minutes swallowing my pussy.”
his smirk widened, and he stood, his hands braced on the armrests as he leaned down, his face inches from yours. “and you talk too much for someone who’s about to beg me to fuck her.”
your gaze flicked to his lips, and then lower—to the bulge straining against his pants. “big words,” you said. “let’s see if you can back them up.”
his hands slid to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he walked you back toward the desk—no needles this time. you didn't even had time to register what was happening before your skirt was pushed higher, his fingers brushing over your thighs as he settled you on the edge.
his hand worked his belt, the clink of the buckle making you clench around nothing.
“this isn’t gonna be quick,” he said as he freed himself, the sheer size of him making your breath catch. it was big both in length and girth.
you swallowed hard.
“relax... mhmm”
he teased your entrance with the tip, sliding it slowly against you, and the stretch was immediate, even as he slightly pressed in. your breath hitched, your hands gripping the edge of the desk as he pushed forward, achingly slow, giving you time to adjust.
“ngh—fuck!” you gasped, your voice breaking as he filled you inch by hard inch.
“breathe,” he murmured, his tone gentle despite the tension in his body. mouth glued on yours to make sure he feels your puffs of air.
“trying”
he paused, his hands tightening on your hips as he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. “you’re okay,” he whispered. “just breathe for me.”
you hiccuped, your chest rising and falling in shallow gasps as your body struggled to adjust.
“there you go,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your jaw as he waited “good girl. just like that.”
you exhaled slowly, your body relaxing slightly helping him to slid in further, the fullness stealing the air from your lungs.
your hands gripped his arms, your nails digging into his skin as he finally bottomed out, his body pressed flush against yours.
“fuck,” he muttered, his voice tight as he buried his face in your neck. “you’re—so fucking tight.”
you swallowed hard, your head tilting back as you tried to catch your breath. “you’re—so fucking big.”
he pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting yours as a smirk tugged at his lips. “think you can take it?”
your breath hitched, and you nodded, your hands sliding to his back as you wrapped your legs around his waist. “try me.”
minghao hips pulls back just an inch before thrusting forward experimentally. the sound that left your lips was somewhere between a moan and a strangled gasp, your nails biting into his shoulders as your body clenched around him.
he paused, a smug smile tugging at his lips as he tilted his head to the side, his eyes flicking over your face. “yeah, knew that’d happen.”
“don’t—” your breath hitched as he moved just slightly, a tiny shift that made you clutch at him even harder. “don’t fucking smile like that.”
his laugh was quiet, he leaned down, his forehead brushing against yours. “why not? you’re almost cummin already.”
“i’m not—” the words caught in your throat as he slid just a little deeper, your body trying desperately to adjust to his size.
“not what?” he asked, his tone playful as he stilled again, waiting for you to catch your breath.
“not—cumming” you managed, though your voice shook with the effort of speaking.
“hmm.” his thumb grazed your clit, circling it trying to soothe your nerves. “then why are you holding on to me likethat?”
you glared at him, though the effect was probably ruined by the way your mouth fell open with a gasp as his thumb pressed down just slightly harder.
your body tensed as he began to move again, sliding in slowly, each inch dragging against you in a way that made your head fall back. the wet squelch of your body adjusting to his girth filled the room, obscenelly.
“shit,” he muttered, his voice tight as he wrapped his arm around your waist, holding you steady. “you’re so—tight. feels like you’re trying to squeeze me out.”
“maybe i am.”
he laughed softly “you’re all talk,” he murmured, his thumb still circling your clit. “that pussy is begging for me.”
“hao,” you whispered, your hands clutching at his arms as your legs tightened around his waist. “i—fuck, i can’t—”
“you can,” he said softly, his lips moving against your neck. “breathe for me, baby. you’ve got this.”
you exhaled shakily, your chest rising and falling against his as you tried to relax, tried to let the tension in your body melt away. his thumb pressed a little harder against your clit, insistent, coaxing pleasure to override the discomfort.
“that’s it,” he murmured, his voice soft as his arm tightened around your waist. “just like that. let me in.”
your head fell back, your eyes fluttering shut as he finally slid deeper, his hips pressing flush against yours. the sensation stole the breath from your lungs, and your fingers dug into his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor you.
“you okay?”
you nodded weakly, your hands sliding up to grip his hair as you whispered, “move.”
he chuckled as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “not yet.”
your eyes snapped open, frustration bubbling in your chest as you glared at him. “hao—”
“relax,” he murmured, his thumb circling your clit again, making you cry out slyly. “i’m not gonna ruin you all at once. gotta make sure you can take it.”
“i can,”
“we’ll see,” he said, his tone smug as he finally, finally pulled back, his cock dragging against you.
“hao, just—fuck me already.”
his laugh was quiet. “you’re not ready for that yet, look—” he roll his hips, making you hiccup again. “but don’t worry—I’ll get you there.”
“how about you?” you ask, feeling your orgasm building up as he circled the thumb faster, your hips rolling slightly, weak, like the cock inside you was to heavy to make you roll them freely.
“i can get off just by looking at this pretty face...” he slaps your cheek weakly, twice, making you squeeze around him. “listen to what i'm telling you… you're still going to model for my brand.” he chuckles.
“i’d rather choke to death than work with your brand.”
