TAGS: Fake Dating, Strangers to Lovers, Fluff, An Attempt at Comedy, An Attempt at Poetry, He Falls First and Harder, Slowburn
WARNINGS: Explicit Language, Smut (18+, MDNI, it gets worse with every fic I release I am so sorry, specific smut warnings are at the end because they scare me, I am begging you all to read through that before proceeding)
WC: 15.8k
SUMMARY: What do you get when you combine fake dating, a retired playboy looking to settle down, and a jaded writer who no longer believes in love? Pining, chasing, and a whole lot of tension (in more ways than one). Who knows? Maybe you’ll even find true love in the mix.
A/N: This fic is finally done omygod. I loved writing the poems for this, but it takes so much brainpower to come up with them LMAO 😭 Hope you guys like this one, and please stay tuned for more works in the future!!
PART 1 | PART 2 (Current)
The words aren’t flowing.
The hike and the conversation with Mingyu three days ago had given you so much material, but now that you had to write, your words refused to cooperate, refused to file into a single coherent line that would bleed from the tip of your pen. The only thing you can do is restlessly tap on the blank page spread like a threat on the table in front of you.
You wonder how Mingyu’s doing.
He hasn’t bothered you at Xu’s these past few days which is odd because he never misses a day. Not that it bothers you! It’s just a deviation from a routine you had become accustomed to. Was he doing okay? Was he busy? He was still on vacation for another week and half, so it couldn’t be that. Was he avoiding you? Why would he—
You push the thoughts from your head, willing yourself to focus on the empty paper in front of you. Mingyu should be the least of your concerns when you have monthly fees and the lack of a complete work looming over you.
But that was easier said than done.
Not trying to think about Mingyu felt like forcing yourself to sleep: the more you forced yourself to do it, the more you thought about it, and the more you thought about it, the less likely it was to happen. It makes you feel restless, and restless is one of the worst situations a writer could find themselves in.
Frustrated, you set the pen down and stand up, pulling on a hoodie because you know Mingyu likes to keep his unit cold. It’s almost lunch, so he’s probably working his way around the kitchen to come up with some protein-packed dish that’s more meat than it is flavor.
You’ll save the writing for another day.
It takes a while for Mingyu to open his door. Another odd thing considering how he often rushes when the familiar pattern of your knock echoes on his door. Was he asleep? Was he even in his unit? Was—
All your questions are answered when the door opens with a weak swing and Mingyu appears, buried in a hoodie and sweats with a look half-dead.
“What happened to you?” You ask, worry evident in your tone as you reach up to feel his neck. “Gyu, you’re hot!”
“Thanks,” Mingyu somehow still has the energy to be insufferable despite his nasally voice and runny nose. “You’re hot too.”
“You idiot,” You groan, pushing him into his unit before following him inside. “I was wondering why you weren’t being a pain in the ass.”
Mingyu chuckles, and even that sounds horrid, “Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon enough. Just let me sleep this off.”
“Have you eaten?” You ask, brows furrowed, and when he shakes his head, you’re quick to frown. “Go rest. I’ll cook something up.”
“I’m fine, you don’t have to—“
“Go to bed or I’ll drag you myself,” You threaten with glare, and Mingyu only pouts.
“I’ll stay on the couch,” Mingyu replies, walking off and plopping down on his fancy sofa before tightening the hood around his head. You don’t miss the way he shivers once he’s settled down.
With hurried footsteps, you rush into his room, grabbing a blanket before walking over to where he’s curled up on the couch, shivering and clutching onto a pillow like it’s his only lifeline. You place the blanket on top of him, careful to make sure that all of him is covered.
“I’m okay, I swear,” Mingyu protests, half of him already gone to the world as he fights the drooping of his eyes.
“Just let me take care of you, idiot,” You huff out, tucking the blanket underneath his chin. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Call for me if you need me.”
“Mkay,” Mingyu mumbles softly, cheek smushed on a pillow as he lets his eyes fall shut.
With that, you get to work.
The scent of various ingredients fills the air as you work your way around Mingyu’s kitchen, cutting, sautéing, and boiling various ingredients until you end up with a pot of dakjuk. It tastes as good as it smells, and you pat yourself on the back for it considering how all your previous attempts at making this dish did not taste good. Though in your defense, you were sick while making those.
You scoop some dakjuk into the bowl, careful to make the perfect ratio of porridge, chicken, and carrots before dipping a spoon in. After that, you grab a glass of water and make your way over to Mingyu.
You set the bowl and the glass of water down on the coffee table. Quietly, you kneel down, and in the softest voice you can muster and the lightest touch you can give, you pat Mingyu awake, “Gyu, wake up.”
“Hm?” Mingyu hums out, eyes still shut as he shifts under the blankets with a small frown.
“You need to eat,” You gently coax, pushing a stray strand of hair away from his forehead. “I made dakjuk.”
Mingyu stirs at that, eyes fluttering open before he sits up and slacks against the couch’s backrest. Like a petulant child, he pouts, “Feed me.”
You tsk underneath your breath, but you grab the bowl and sit beside him anyway. “You’re lucky you’re sick.”
Mingyu only grins, nose runny and red but eyes flooded with self-satisfaction as you blow on the juk before raising it to his mouth.
When the juk hits his tongue, Mingyu’s eyes widen, “This is good.”
“Your tastebuds are barely working, that’s why,” You retort, trying to hide the flustered look on your face as you scoop another spoonful of juk, chicken, and carrots. “Open up, loverboy.”
Mingyu obliges, and the two of you repeat that cycle until the spoon scrapes against the ceramic.
“Go to sleep, Gyu,” You say as you make a move to stand, but Mingyu’s hand is quick to shoot out and grab your wrist.
“Are you leaving?” Mingyu asks, sleep returning to lace his words.
“I’m just going to wash the bowl then I’ll go,” You reply.
“Don’t leave,” Mingyu mumbles.
“Okay,” You reply softly despite the hard pounding of your heart against the bones caging it. “But let me wash this first, okay?”
Mingyu only nods before stretching across the couch and tucking himself under the blankets. The sight of him looking so small and vulnerable fills you with a sense of protectiveness, and you think that even if he didn’t ask you to stay, you probably still would.
You’re washing the dishes, but your heart’s racing like you just ran a marathon. Mingyu’s touch on your wrist still lingers despite the water and the soap all over your hands, and the softness of his words still echoes through your ears like he’s just standing beside you. Were you getting sick too?
As promised, you go back to where Mingyu is, taking a seat on one of his fancy armchairs. The only thing you can do is watch over Mingyu. He’s fast asleep, body slacked and spread across the couch with his cheek smushed against the pillow. He’s snoring, lips parted with the most peaceful look on his face.
It’s starting to make you feel sleepy too.
Before you know it, the afternoon hours get you, and your eyes are quick to fall shut with Mingyu at the forefront of your mind.
—
It’s sunset when Mingyu wakes up.
He feels like shit, but it’s leagues better than how he was doing yesterday. He thinks it has something to do with you.
You’re passed out on the armchair, curled up uncomfortably, and despite the weight of his bones, Mingyu stands, walks over to you, and scoops you up into his arms as slowly as he can. You furrow your brows in response, stirring slightly before relaxing, and Mingyu considers himself successful. When he’s sure you won’t stir awake, he carries you to his bed, setting you down slowly before he puts his blanket over you.
For a while, Mingyu’s breath stops, and a part of him wishes time does too.
It looks right: you on his bed. It looks like this is how things should have always been, like you are what’s been missing the entire time. It takes every single ounce of restraint in Mingyu’s body to not curl up beside you, head nuzzled into your hair and arms around your waist like he’s been dreaming of doing these past few days.
Mingyu leaves you there despite the pull on his soul begging him to stay. He doesn’t trust himself to resist for long.
With a heavy sigh, Mingyu settles on the couch, grabbing the remote and switching the television on to look for something that would push the thoughts of you aside. He flips through the channels, one after the other without even absorbing the images flashing.
It’s useless.
After a while, Mingyu settles on a variety show. It’s funny, it’s engaging, and it’s distracting enough that the voices in his head screaming your name fade into low whispers that are easier to ignore but not quiet enough to forget.
The comedian on screen lands a stupid joke, and the slapstick portion enters full swing, and Mingyu’s laughing. You’ll probably laugh at that too—
God damn it.
Mingyu is in love with you, and he fully realizes it in the middle of watching a comedy show he knows you’ll like, realizes it when he knows you’re not there but he’ll turn to the side anyway… He realizes it when he’s half-sick and half-lovesick, and you’re the only cure that comes to mind.
When the sound of your feet dragging against Mingyu’s floors reaches his ears, Mingyu is quick to turn around and smile like he wasn’t just going through a crisis. The last thing he wanted to do was scare you off with the rawness of his realized feelings. “Hey, sleepyhead.”
“How are you feeling?” You ask him before letting out a cute little yawn—he was fucking gone, alright—and plopping down beside him. Gently, you press a hand to his forehead.
It’s cool against the heat of his skin, like an icy reprieve on a scorching summer day.
Mingyu’s eyes flutter shut as he leans into your touch like he’s trying to memorize every inch of your skin with his forehead. With all the coherence left in his brain, Mingyu says, “Better thanks to you.”
Your face turns shy at that, and you’re quick to give Mingyu a light swat on the forehead that only has him grinning. “Smooth-talker.”
“I try my best to impress,” Mingyu leaves out the ‘you’ that he wants to desperately add. It’s too intimate, too forward, and he doesn’t know how far back you’ll go if he presses. “But really, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” You say sincerely, ruffling his hair. “It’s what friends do.”
Mingyu can practically hear his own heart crack. It’s the truth, and it’s a truth that Mingyu already knows, so why did hearing it make him feel like he was dying the slowest, most torturous death?
“Yeah,” Mingyu swallows the knot in his throat. “It is.”
—
Aries
Loverboy, you linger
Like fire on my finger
And though my hand is cold
There’s always yours to hold
Loverboy, you’re ramming
Straight in, no plans of stopping
And though my heart is guarded
They’re walls you’ve disregarded
But loverboy, you’re always first
In the sky and here on Earth
So how long can your bones settle
Before pride begins to meddle?
Loverboy, you’re looking
Like the sight is worth remembering
And though I hope it’s true
I know soon this will be through
That… Was never going to make it out of the drafts.
You tuck the paper behind your other entries, hiding it in a place where you can pretend it doesn’t exist. Something about the words felt too raw, too real, and though that was the point of writing your poems, you liked to think that there were some thoughts that were better left untouched, unheard, and unspoken.
You think this is the effect of your increasing proximity to Mingyu. Ever since the time you nursed him back to health, Mingyu has been spending most of his days in your unit like he lives there. The only time he ever goes back to his unit is to bathe and sleep, and even then, there are times where he does those things in your unit too. It’s happened so often that he already has a spot on your toothbrush holder and a space in your drawer. He’s offered to let you do the same in his unit, but you draw a line at that.
(You don’t think you can pull yourself from the trenches if you did.)
Even when his vacation ended and his time at home lessened, Mingyu still found a way to drop by and bother you. Though, bother is a strong word considering the fact that Mingyu’s visits were one of the things you looked forward to.
A familiar knock on your door has you shoving your papers into a drawer like they’re evidence of your crimes.
You try to look disinterested as you open your door, but there’s a buzzing in your veins and a tremble in your chest that betrays you. Disinterested is the last thing you feel whenever you’re with Mingyu.
“Wow, you’re early,” You comment like you weren’t spending the last few hours wondering if Mingyu was going to arrive or not.
Mingyu only grins and hands you takeout from that one empty restaurant the two of you visited once. He still has a light layer of make-up, and you like to think that it’s because he rushed home to you as soon as he was done.
Damn, you were delusional.
“Came here as soon as I could,” Mingyu replies as he bends down to set his shoes on the space beside yours. He sets it there like it’s where it should be, like that spot was solely for him.
But could anyone really blame you for being delusional when you were being treated like this?
You know it’s how the players play, but damn, you like to think there’s a reason why they always win (and why you’re always left behind to pick up the pieces of yourself that remain).
It’s fake, you tell yourself.
You repeat it over and over when Mingyu cracks jokes over dinner like a goofy boyfriend trying to make his girlfriend smile, repeat it over and over when he’s helping you with the dishes like husband and wife, repeat it over and over when he says goodbye like he wishes there was more time. And when the door shuts, you ask yourself one question:
Were you falling in love with Kim Mingyu?
You rush over to your papers like getting to them sooner would change the answer. Each ink-filled page is stretched across your floor like crucial evidence to a case with a suspect that you can’t find it in yourself to apprehend. Your eyes quickly scan through the words, hands shaking and heart pacing as you try to search for one thing that’ll tell you that no, you’re not in love with Kim Mingyu but—
‘Thrum against my bones’
‘It’s an unlikely blend of beens, You, Me’
‘Though I seek to find reprieve, You’re just my brand of tragedy’
‘And I can’t see myself anywhere else but this dream’
‘Darling, were you dreaming? When God sent flaws that evening?’
‘What’s gold to a beggar? What’s love to a broken fool? Simple, it’s everything you are to me’
‘And though I hope it’s true’
You’re in love with Kim Mingyu.
‘I know soon this will be through’
And the worst part is that you hope he feels it too.
—
Boo Seungkwan can smell bullshit from a mile away.
You and Mingyu were two miles away.
“Seungkwan, I’m in love with Mingyu,” was the first thing you said when he opened the door to his apartment. His hair is messed up from sleep, and his attitude is sharpened by the late night disturbance. This is literally the last thing he needed to be facing after a long day.
“Girl, I know,” He remembers snapping out of annoyance, absolutely baffled at the idea of you banging on his door like a madwoman in the middle of the night just to tell him something similar to ‘the sun is hot’ and ‘the grass is fucking green’.
“It’s fake,” You said, and Seungkwan remembers his eyes shooting open as betrayal and confusion flooded his system.
Fake?
Now he’s on his couch, watching you pace like you’re trying to strip his floors of varnish. Though Seungkwan wants nothing more than to shut his eyes and go to bed, he powers through, listening to you explain everything down to the last detail. From the meeting to the pestering to the pretending to the falling—Seungkwan listens to it all.
Honestly speaking, the more he heard, the more he was leaning towards kicking you out of his apartment for worrying about something so trivial.
But then again, you didn’t know what he knew.
“Then date him for real,” Seungkwan says, and he’s quick to flinch when you turn around and give him a sharp look. “What? You asked me for advice. That’s my advice.”
“Did you not hear the part where I said it’s all fake?” You hiss before resuming your restless pacing.
“I did, that’s why I said date him for real,” Seungkwan shrugs. “It’s not like your arrangement has a no falling in love clause.”
Seungkwan thinks Mingyu would’ve been the first to break that if it existed, but he doesn’t tell you that. It isn’t his place.
“Seungkwan, I don’t think you understand. I’m the one who’s in love with him,” You say it slowly, like Seungkwan’s six, and you have a teaching license. “He’s not in love with me. Plus, he has the kind of history I’m trying to avoid. He’s a womanizer—“
“Retired,” Seungkwan interjects jokingly, but he immediately zips his mouth when he receives another heated glare. Strike two for Boo Seungkwan.
“Kwan-ah, I’m serious,” You say exasperatedly as you plop down on his floor and curl your knees to your chest. “You’ve always told me to run when I was with my shitty exes, but I never did… Even when I should have. But now that I’m running, you’re telling me to stay? I don’t get it.”
Because there’s no need to, Seungkwan thinks. The messages lighting up his phone at the most random times were a testament to it. Sure, it’s fake dating, but who’s Mingyu trying to fool when no one’s watching? Plus, something tells Seungkwan that even if you ran, it wouldn’t be fast enough.
Mingyu would always find his way to you.
“Call it a man’s instinct,” Seungkwan says, and you give him a questioning look.
“The kind of instinct that puts nations at war and makes women miserable, you mean?” You huff out like a smartass, and Seungkwan only snorts in response
“Call it your bestie’s intuition then,” Seungkwan shrugs. “How sure are you that Mingyu’s not just as in love with you—if not more? I mean, more than half of the time you spend together is spent in private without the paparazzi to make an entire story about it.”
You’re quiet, and Seungkwan hopes it’s because the reason in his words is getting to you.
“Just saying, the cooking, the conversations,” Seungkwan continues. “None of them seem necessary if you’re just fake dating someone for good publicity.”
You frown, “Maybe he’s just friendly—“
“Bitch, end that sentence, and I’ll end you,” Seungkwan cuts you off with a judgmental look on his face. “Friendly is you and me talking about stupid things. Friendly isn’t you and Mingyu sharing inside jokes while he stares at you like you’re the only thing in this world that matters—“
“He doesn’t look at me like that—“
“He does, I’m not blind,” Seungkwan says before releasing a heavy sigh loaded with all his frustration. When he sees you shrink in on yourself, Seungkwan does what a good friend would do and sits on the floor beside you. “Are you staying over?”
“Can I?” You ask softly. It’s the tone you use when the world is too loud, when everyone’s pace is too fast and you’re still aimlessly looking for a sign that will set you on the right path.
“Of course, idiot,” Seungkwan chides lovingly, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, before giving you a comforting squeeze. “Don’t overthink it.”
“Kind of difficult when that’s what gets me paid,” You joke, and Seungkwan only smiles.
“What do you plan on doing next?” Seungkwan asks.
“Hide my feelings, finish my book, and hope that our friendship doesn’t get fucked up in the process,” You answer. “He’s still my friend, and I think that’s the worst part of it.”
“Why?”
“Because I lose two in one go,” You say softly. “The man I’m in love with, and the friend that turned him into that.”
Seungkwan is silent. He knows it’s not his place. Especially when it isn’t confirmed, and he only has a light suspicion. However, Seungkwan can’t bear to see that sorrowful look on your face, so he rips his mind apart trying to string a sentence that will soothe you without changing the flow of things.
“I don’t think you’ll lose him,” Seungkwan whispers, eyes flickering over to his phone one the coffee table.
You scoff at that, “Is that intuition again?”
Seungkwan only smiles, but he doesn’t say a word because no, it isn’t intuition.
It’s fact.
—
Mingyu wonders how you’re doing.
He’s in the middle of getting his hair and make-up done, preparing for his final shoot, but the only thing on his mind is you. He should be prepping, thinking of all the poses and the angles he’s going to hit to show off the jeans and that waistband, but all he can think about is how much he wishes you were there to witness it all. Maybe he’ll finally get you to crack with a little flash (a truckload) of ab and a little dash (a shit ton) of sex appeal.
And maybe the universe has him on the priority list because a few seconds later, his phone is lighting up.
[aaa girlfriend <3]: Have you eaten?
[aaa girlfriend <3]: Just finished a meeting with Seungkwan, and I’m in the area.
He can’t fight the grin that forms on his face, and he doesn’t really want to. Everyone can see how whipped he is for you, he doesn’t mind at all.
[Mingyu]: not yet, still prepping for the last shoot
[Mingyu]: sent a photo
[Mingyu]: wanna watch? we can grab dinner after
It takes a while for you to reply, and Mingyu’s mind is torn between imagining you crashing out over his little selfie or judging the absolute shit out of him.
He hopes it’s the former.
[aaa girlfriend <3]: Sorry, hid from paparazzi.
[aaa girlfriend <3]: Sure, just send me the location.
Mingyu frowns at that. He knows being his girlfriend meant that people would want to know more about you, but was paparazzi really necessary? You were keeping such a low profile as an author, letting your print speak for you, and now, Mingyu can’t help but feel bad that your privacy was being compromised. He didn’t want his reputation to overshadow your career.
He’s still excited for your arrival though.
Mingyu immediately sends you the address to the building before informing his manager that you were coming over.
“You’re still together?” Mr. Im asks, and though Mingyu knows it holds no ill intent, part of him can’t help but feel a tiny bit offended.
“Of course we are,” Mingyu huffs out. Was his reputation that bad? “Is it that hard to believe?”
“A little,” Mr. Im shrugs. “But I’m glad you’re finally settling down. It’s less work for the team.”
Mingyu only laughs at that.
Mr. Im and his entire team always had to work double whenever Mingyu found himself in a dating scandal that was shortly followed by a break-up announcement. Every single one of those was a PR disaster that had everyone pulling ropes and strings to ensure that the ship of Mingyu’s career didn’t sink.
“I’m happy for you, kid,” Mr. Im says, and the wrinkles he got from stressing over Mingyu’s career softens into a smile. “I’ll get mad at you if you don’t invite me to the wedding.”
Mingyu grins at that, “You’ll be the first to receive an invite.”
[aaa girlfriend <3]: Do I just go up?
Mingyu is quick to abandon the conversation to reply to you.
“Aish, look at this kid,” Mr. Im clicks his tongue at Mingyu’s quick shift of attention. “Is she there already?”
“Yes,” Mingyu replies. “Can you get—“
“I’ll pick her up.” Mr. Im doesn’t even let Mingyu finish. “You have a photoshoot to do.”
“Roger that, sir,” Mingyu laughs sheepishly, throwing out finger guns before he walks over to the set that’s half-smoke and half-desire.
—
The universe is testing you.
At this point, someone needed to sedate you before you started foaming at the mouth and lunged at Mingyu like a feral dog. You’re aware he’s at a shoot, but shoot implied many different things given the numerous products he models for. It could've been a skincare ad with a set doused in whites and greens, or a chocolate ad with an outfit that screamed boyfriend. Hell, it could’ve been a fancy shmancy ad for a designer brand that called you poor in all the languages available, and you would’ve taken it in stride but this—
It’s a fucking Calvin Klein ad that’s probably going to fuel your late nights for the next few weeks.
What the fuck?
You feel filthy. Despite the friendly air, everyone around you is methodical, professional. They’re staring at Mingyu like he’s art in motion, like he’s a one-way ticket to millions of views and skyrocketing engagement. You’re looking at him like he’s your way to a day of mandatory bedrest.
He stands there like Ares in the crossfire, torso bare for the final shot with smoke billowing around him. The white wisps bend and curve around the ridges of his form, making him look like a god amongst men that had just emerged from the fog to convert all non-believers. You wonder what it would be like: to run your fingers over his bare skin before tracing your lips against every inch—
Mingyu catches your hungry gaze, and with a smirk, he strikes the final nail on your casket.
You hope he doesn’t notice the way you’re squirming in your seat, thighs pressed tightly to ease the burn inside you.
Fuck, you hoped you had enough triple A’s for the depravity you planned on doing as soon as you were home alone.
It takes a few more minutes before Mingyu’s shoot wraps up, but when it does, it’s like a switch flips and he’s all smiles and bows as he thanks everyone on set. You’re sure he’s greeted every single cameraman, director, and staff before he even starts making his way to you.
“Did I look good?” Mingyu asks as he walks over to you, grin playful with his pecs out for the world to see.
“You already know the answer to that even without my input,” You scoff, trying to act indifferent as you keep your gaze everywhere else but his bare chest.
“Well your input’s the only one I want to hear,” Mingyu says as his hands rest on your hips. “Won’t my cute girlfriend compliment me?”
He pouts, and you have to resist the urge to smack it with your mouth.
“You looked great,” You reply, eyes refusing to meet Mingyu’s as he leans down and noses at your cheek. Quietly, you hiss, “Ease up on the acting, loverboy, no one’s watching.”
If he’s trying to sell the whipped boyfriend act, it’s useless because everyone is too busy cleaning up and fixing the set to look your way and tell the tale.
“Why? Do I make you nervous?” Mingyu whispers lowly against your ear.
“Yes, now please put on a shirt,” You hiss in reply before pushing him off, face burning and heart racing.
Mingyu only laughs and presses a kiss to your cheek before going to the dressing room to change, an action that has your cheeks warming and your heart beating wildly. Silently, you wait for him, hoping that he picks up the pace so that you can get dinner over with. You don’t think you can go through the rest of your evening with damp panties and a burning desire.
“You’re the writer, right?” A woman, around your age maybe a little older, approaches you with a book in hand: one of your works. “Y/N L/N?”
“Yes,” You’re quick to confirm.
Her face lights up at your confirmation, “‘My name’s Haeun. I’m a huge fan!”
She raises the book to meet your view, “I found your books when I was going through a really rough break-up, and I swear it was such a cathartic experience to read all of it while I was crying my heart out.”
“Really?” You smile at her, overwhelmed from the feedback. “I’m glad you liked it. I was really nervous about that one too cause it’s my first.”
“You don’t have to worry. You did great,” Haeun smiles. “Reading your works… It felt like someone could finally understand what I was going through. You captured it so well that I thought—maybe she experienced it too, and that made me feel less alone.”
Your heart warms at that, “Well, I did, and honestly, if I wrote about all my horrible break-ups, I’d be publishing books left and right.”
Haeun laughs at that, “But you seem to be doing well now.”
Just sincerity, warmth, and genuine joy for you. There’s no trace of malice in her words as she speaks, “I got married a few months ago despite the horrible break-up, so I hope you get your happy ending too.”
You smile at that, “I hope so, too.”
Haeun then stretches the book and a marker over to you, “Is it okay if I ask you to sign my copy?”
“Sure, no worries!” You immediately agree, taking the marker and the book before signing away:
To Haeun,
May this book remain a cathartic memory that no longer needs to be revisited.
Congratulations on forever!
Sincerely,
Y/N L/N
“Thank you so much!” Haeun squeals as you hand her the signed book. “If it’s not too much, can I ask for a picture?”
“Sure!” You reply, preparing to pose.
“I’ll take it, noona,” Mingyu suddenly appears, now wearing a shirt with his make-up all wiped off.
“You better get our good angles,” You joke threateningly.
Mingyu takes the picture and immediately hands the phone back to Haeun.
“Thank you so much,” Haeun bows, and you and Mingyu are quick to bow in return. “Please take care of her.”
Without hesitation, Mingyu replies, “I will.”
And every part of you wishes that he means it.
Before the two of you go out of the building, Mingyu is quick to place his cap on your head and hand you his glasses.
“What’s this for?” You ask, putting on the sunglasses despite the fact that it was dark outside.
“Just in case,” is all Mingyu says before intertwining your fingers and exiting the building to head over to where the car is waiting for the two of you.
The moment the doors open, flashes go off, and suddenly Mingyu’s action make sense. It’s disorienting: the flashes, the shouts, and the crowded bodies. They’re coming from every angle, pushing, prodding, and asking invasive questions for a story that held no substance. It has you wanting to crawl into the ground just to shut everyone out.
Despite the security warding them off, Mingyu is quick to pull you to his chest, arms wrapped around you protectively as he leads you into the car. When you’re safely inside, he follows, and the door shuts with a thud.
Without missing a beat, Mingyu turns to you, hand giving yours a gentle squeeze as he speaks, “You okay?”
“Yeah,” You nod as you let the adrenaline subside. “You?”
“I’m used to it, don’t worry,” Mingyu replies. “It’s you I’m worried about.”
“Being used to it doesn’t make it any better,” You reply. “But nevermind that, are we still eating outside or do we just eat at home?”
“Don’t worry,” Mingyu grins. “I know a place.”
You wonder how often Mingyu’s had to run and hide for him to know so many spots that no one seems to frequent. It’s a small noodle shop, hidden away in some quiet corner of the city that no one would think twice to ever walk into. It has you wondering how the business stays afloat considering it only has you, Mingyu, and one other patron eating inside it.
Dinner is quiet, but it’s comfortable. Mingyu’s chewing through his naengmyeon while you savor the japchae. It’s good, the noodles are bouncy and the flavor strikes the perfect balance between sweet and savory. Every once in a while, light conversation is done, but it never drags too long, and you think the exhaustion under both your eyes may be partially at fault.
If you were being honest, some part of you was still replaying the shoot in your head on a loop, and it has you feeling so awkward and bothered because Mingyu’s peacefully enjoying his dinner and you’re sitting across from him like you want him to eat you next—
Get a grip, damn it.
When dinner wraps up, you practically bolt back into the car, desperate to finish this day and hop into your bed to get rid of all the tension building up in your body. Mingyu follows closely behind you, brows furrowed as he observes your hasty actions, but he makes no move to comment on it.
When the two of you arrive at at Aurea Hills, you’re quick to get off, mind already conjuring up ideas of what you could do in the solace of your unit after a shower—
“Can I stay over tonight?” Mingyu asks when the two of you enter the elevator, and your fantasies vanish like smoke into thin air.
Damn it.
“Sure,” You answer anyway because as much as you wanted to answer the call of your flesh, the screaming of your heart was much louder and much harder to ignore. “You practically live there anyway.”
“Should I move in?” Mingyu jokes, and you roll your eyes.
“As long as you pay rent,” You reply, matching his playful energy as you get off the elevator and enter your unit with Mingyu following closely behind.
You’re not sure why Mingyu enjoys staying over so much. His furniture was fancier, his appliances were more expensive, and his bed is—without a doubt—much much more comfortable than your couch. You’d offer him your bed, but where would you sleep? Beside him?
Like hell you will.
That’s a different level of closeness and intimacy that you refused to breach. If you ever allowed yourself to reach that point, you’d probably give Seungkwan full permission to end your existence then and there.
“Do you wanna shower first?” You ask with a yawn as you set your things down on the coffee table. “Some of your clothes are still in the drawer.”
“You can go ahead,” Mingyu replies. “I’ll get my clothes later.”
“Okay,” You reply before getting your clothes and your towel for a quick shower.
It’s a cold one, but unfortunately, you don’t do anything beyond bathing despite the heat pooling in your stomach. It felt wrong, not to mention that you might get caught if you didn’t shut yourself up.
After the quick shower, you’re quick to dry yourself and change into your sleepwear before heading out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around your head.
“You’re up,” You call out to Mingyu who’s flipping through the channels on your television.
He’s quick to stand up, towel and pajama pants already in hand as he brushes past you to walk into the bathroom that was situated beside your bedroom.
You’re quick to settle in your bedroom, sitting on the vanity chair as you squeeze out all the moisture in your hair with your towel. It takes a while of squeezing and brushing, but even after minutes of repeating that process, your hair’s still damp.
You internally groan at that. It’s getting late, and you were honestly too tired to blowdry your hair, but you also didn’t want to get your expensive pillows wet.
With a sigh, you open the vanity drawer, pull out your dryer, and plug it into the wall. You’re about to turn it on, but you’re quick to halt when your eyes lock onto the reflection of Mingyu walking into your bedroom: shirtless with drops of water torturously descending the ridges and planes of his torso—
“Yah, put on a shirt,” You scold, turning the dryer on and pointing it at your head. Damn it you were too tired for this, and now you were too tired and too horny to do it.
Screw you, Kim Mingyu.
“There’s none in your drawer. I’ll just bring some tomorrow,” Mingyu replies like all of it is normal, like him having a spot in your place is normal. Then, he steps behind you and takes the dryer from your hands with a disapproving tsk, “You’re not doing it right.”
You try to ignore the heat and tension that proximity brings as you bite back, “Like you can do it better?”
“I used to do it a lot when I was still new to the industry,” Mingyu replies, hand brushing through your hair gently as he dries your hair. “Did it for some of my friends too.”
And you can see that. His movements are efficient, but his hands are still gentle. Occasionally, his nails scratch at your scalp, and while you think it’s wholly unnecessary, you weren’t about to complain when it felt good.
You didn’t know if you were going to jump straight into bed from the sensation or jump this man for being such an ideal guy.
It wasn’t fair!
The blowdrying session goes on for a while before Mingyu deems your hair dry enough, but it finishes quicker than it would have if you had done it.
“Is this how you get all the girls?” You joke as you watch the ridges on Mingyu’s back flex and move as he leans down and unplugs your dryer from the wall.
Mingyu gives you a teasing smirk as he rolls the cable of your dryer, “Why? Am I getting you with it?”
“You wish,” Yes.
Mingyu only laughs at that, pulling your vanity drawer open and placing your dryer inside it before he ruffles your hair.
“Good night,” Mingyu says with a yawn as he exits your bedroom. “Dream of me.”
“Good night,” You say with a roll of your eyes, but you can’t seem to fight the way your lips tug into a smile.
Unfortunately for you, sleep evades you.
You’re tossing and turning, desperately trying to find a position that would have you sleeping in no time, but it never works. The sheets are too hot, the room is too cold, your clothes are too tight, your hair is hitting your neck, the silence is too loud, and you’re too horny to even think about sleeping.
That’s the problem.
You were in bed, all hot and bothered like a cat in heat after Mingyu’s stupid little shoot that was made worse by his stupidly domestic actions that had you wanting to suck him dry in thanks, and he’s out there snoring, dead to the world, fast asleep, and you’re paying for it—
Snoring?
You’re quick to stand up, walking to your door and holding it slightly ajar before peeking through the little crack. Surely enough, Mingyu’s fast asleep, his snores flooding the room as clear evidence that has you celebrating internally.
With light, hurried steps you’re quick to rush to your bottommost drawer and pull out your trusty friend, the one that didn’t need triple A’s because the last thing you needed was the light buzz giving you away (though a depraved part of you wonders what would happen if Mingyu actually did walk in on you).
Fuck, your morals would have to wait another day.
—
Mingyu was never going to live this down.
He had woken up in the middle of the night with an urge to go to the bathroom. He had stood up, hand lazily rubbing away at his eyes as he walked to your bathroom with slow footsteps, form dragged by sleep and exhaustion.
That’s when he heard it.
The squelching.
Mingyu blinks once, twice, and he’s staring at the crack of your door like his next decision is going to make or break his future. It doesn’t stop, the soft, wet plapping, and Mingyu has heard that sound too many times before to pretend like he doesn’t have an idea what’s going on. Were you watching porn or—
“Hnng, please—“
That’s definitely not porn, and that’s definitely your voice, and now Mingyu’s torn between listening to his morals and stepping away like a respectful guest or ignoring them and taking a peek into your room like a fucked-up voyeur. He can already feel himself getting hard, images of you fiddling away on bed filling his head as he tries to maintain whatever restraint he had left.
“Ahhh~”
Before Mingyu can even think it through, he’s already taking quiet strides to your door as he apologizes in his head over and over for breaching your privacy like this. He was never going to live this down. He was never going to forgive himself for this. He was going to shave his head and become a monk to repent for this bullshit—
Mingyu’s throat goes dry the moment his gaze settles on you. Your back is turned to the door, one hand braced in front of you on the bed while the other tightly clasped onto a toy. You’re still wearing that stupid spaghetti strap top that clung to your chest, but your bottom half is undressed, and it gives Mingyu the perfect view of your lower lips spreading around the toy as you drove yourself up and down on it. Almost as if he was hypnotized, Mingyu is unable to stop the way his hand goes to rub at the tent on his pants.
You were the picture of sin as you rode that toy like you were riding an actual cock. Your ass rippled with each drop, and it has Mingyu resisting the urge to groan out loud as he wonders what it would be like to have all that slamming against his pelvis, his stomach, his face—
Mingyu practically moans at the thought of your pussy rubbing against his chin while he slobbered away like a freak. He wonders what you’d taste like on his tongue, wonders what it would feel like to have you gripping at the strands of his hair while you rubbed your clit all over his nose.
“Fuck, too much—“ Your filthy words cut off into a whine as you ride the dildo faster, and Mingyu wishes you were facing his way just so he could see the pretty faces you were making as the vilest words left your lips. “Too big~”
Mingyu rolls his eyes at that, an irrational anger mixing into the horny mess in his head as he pushes his waistband down to grab at his hard cock. Big? You’re letting that tiny, good-for-nothing dildo ravage your walls and calling it big when he was right there? If that fucking barbecue stick had you whining like this then you’d probably be crying all over his cock if he fucked you with it.
You continue to moan, ride, and whine, and Mingyu only continues to tug at his cock, matching the pace you were going as he pretended like he was the one you were riding into oblivion. Every inch of his being is begging him to just walk in, pull that dildo from your hole, and plunge his dick straight into your cunt but fuck—
Mingyu wanted to do this right.
He didn’t want to prove your assumptions, didn’t want you to think that he was just some playboy who wanted one night with you. Kim Mingyu wanted all of you. The ramblings, the teasing, the banter, the attitude, the sex, the marriage, the little house with the hand-painted fence—
He wanted all of that, and no amount of desire was going to cloud his mind enough to ever fuck up his chances of getting it.
But that wasn’t going to stop him from cumming to the sight of you bouncing like the perfect little cowgirl in bed.
You’re close. He can tell from the way your moans are getting higher in pitch and the way your hips are driving itself more wildly against that shitty dildo. Mingyu’s close too, his stomach coiling uncontrollably as he continues to stroke his cock in tandem with your bounces. He’s quick to take his other hand to the tip, already preparing to catch his mess lest he leave evidence of his depravity all over your floor.
“Cum in me, Gyu! Shit—“
Mingyu’s unable to stop himself from cumming, eyes shooting wide open when he registers that you just said his name. It has him desperately tugging at his dick, squeezing himself dry like he’s cumming into your walls the way you were fantasizing he would.
Fuck, Mingyu thinks, breathing heavily as he watches you slump forward onto the bed, pussy still wrapped around the dildo as you catch your own breath. You had been envisioning him the entire time you rode that dildo like a sex fiend, and it pisses Mingyu off because you should've just gone to him! He was bigger, thicker, and he’d fucking talk you through it until you were begging him to give your poor cunt a break.
When you sit up, Mingyu is quick to tuck himself back into his pants and run quietly into the bathroom. He washes the sin off his hands like it would clean the stain in his soul, but he knows it’s futile. Nothing would be normal after this. You could keep ignoring the tension in the air, keep brushing his actions off, but Mingyu refused to dance around this any longer, refused to pretend that the only thing the two of you could ever be is friends.
Tomorrow, Mingyu will confess.
—
The Second Law
Me,
You and
This burning heat
It’s simple chemistry
Clashing like entropy, baby–
There’s disorder in this order that the heavens are dictating
So pull me close and under, loverboy, and I’ll watch that… Invading
Nothing like good old wordplay to start the day, you think.
The little decompression session last night had removed the ache in your core like a fast-acting NSAID, and it only took you a few deep breaths with your cheek pressed into the sheets until you went out like a light. The next thing you knew, it was morning and you had enough material for a new poem.
All was going well until you realized that Mingyu was still in your apartment.
How the hell were you going to look at him?
Like a sinner on her way to flagellation, you take slow, cautious steps that do nothing but prolong your agony. The door of your bedroom is ajar, and for a second, an irrational fear fills you. What if Mingyu had seen you? Heard you? It would be a disaster if the answer to either was yes. However, you comfort yourself with the thought that Mingyu was fast asleep and snoring when you started.
The scent of pajeon and sausages fills the air of your living room, wafting from the kitchen where Mingyu is most probably situated. The man had made cooking breakfast a habit whenever he stayed over.
Mingyu’s clothed—that’s new—back is turned to you as he cooks away on your stove, forearm flexing as he skillfully handles the pan and the jeon on it.
“Wow, you’re finally clothed,” You joke as you take a seat on one of the dining chairs.
“Went back to my unit to get some clothes,” Mingyu replies, turning a fraction to look you in the eye. There’s a playful smile on his face as he says his next words, “Why? Already missing the view?”
“As if,” You scoff, waving him off.
Mingyu only laughs before he turns the stove off, transfers the jeon onto a plate, and sets it down in front of you, beside the plate with the sausages.
“Eat up,” is the only thing he says as he hands you a bowl of rice and a pair of chopsticks.
There’s a tension in the air.
You’re not sure why, but it’s there. Mingyu’s gaze looks different as he sits across from you. It isn’t the light, teasing look he usually has, it’s something… Darker? More intense. It’s the kind of look that has your heart racing in anticipation of something. What that something is, however, you’re not quite sure.
“You wanna go on a walk later?” Mingyu asks, casual, friendly, but there’s something lacing the edges of his words that you can’t quite put you finger on.
“Sure, where?” You reply, light, seemingly unbothered, but there’s uncertainty buzzing lowly beneath your words like white noise that can’t be removed. What the hell was going on with the energy this morning?
“Hangang,” Mingyu replies. “Let’s go after breakfast.”
Ah, the place where all this started.
“Ok,” You nod.
Something tells you this isn’t going to just be a walk in the park.
Hangang is still beautiful when you get there. Time has done nothing to dull its charm or pollute its beauty, and you find yourself giving into the peaceful air despite the man sitting beside you with such a serious look on his face.
What was going on with Kim Mingyu?
It’s been tense since this morning. Every gaze, every brush, and every touch with the man since then has been loaded with something you refused to name. Was it anger? Not quite. It’s too familiar, too intimate to ever be that.
But you can’t find the strength to ask Mingyu.
He’s in his own world, staring off into the river like his turmoil will be washed away with the stream. He’s quiet, and it scares you because there isn’t a single moment since you’ve known him that Mingyu isn’t running his mouth—
“When are we going to stop pretending like there’s nothing between us?”
You jolt at the suddenness of his words, at the way his voice suddenly cuts through the silence like a dart poised to your throat.
What did he mean?
“What?” You ask, turning to meet Mingyu’s gaze. It’s only now that his words are sinking in, and you’re starting to realize that this conversation may just very well destroy or transform this friendship.
“When are we going to stop pretending like neither of us want this to be something more?” Mingyu asks, jaw tense as he looks at you, hopeful, desperate.
You’ve never been more aware of the beating of your own heart. Mingyu’s words feel like a shot of adrenaline driven straight through your sternum, and you’re not sure if you’re going to fight or run away like a coward that can’t handle being confronted with her own feelings.
Did he want the two of you to be something more? Because you did. You wanted this man, heart and soul, body and mind. Every fiber of your being wants to be his, and every part of your soul wants him to be yours.
“I’m in love with you,” Mingyu says, loud and clear like he wants to clear all the doubts and fears that are probably evident on your face. “And something tells me that I’m more than just a friend to you.”
You don’t answer, you can’t. Because despite the urge to jump headfirst into this void, there’s a fear that’s holding you back and keeping the words stuck in your throat.
“Gyu,” You call him that fond nickname and hope that it tethers him to your orbit. “I’m scared.”
Mingyu’s gaze softens at the rawness of your confession. Gently, he cups your face, and like a magnet that doesn’t bend to the whims of the mind, you lean into his touch. “I know.”
Mingyu’s thumb brushes, soothes, and he continues, “I’m not pressuring you into answering, but I need you to know that I’m not going to let you down.”
In the moment it matters most,
Your words fail you.
Hangang Daylight Dredging
Couplets for a couple depths in debt
Jumping into rivers, ascertaining certain death
And now it all sinks to the bottom, to the sediment
But words seem to fail at the release of my sentiment
No one really knows if there’s a future left in sight
But wait for me and maybe we’ll see that there’s daylight after night
Space.
After that confession in the park, Mingyu chose to give you space, and it’s driving you insane. You’ve gotten too used to him being around. He’s ingrained himself so deeply into your routine that you find yourself turning to the side out of habit like he’ll be there to listen to another stupid, meaningless thought that just passed through your head.
You were in love with this man so why the fuck could you not tell him then?
Why did you have to choke up and stay silent like you could afford to lose him?
Mingyu’s off doing shoots and continuing with his life, and you’re just sitting here, paralyzed by the weight of the feelings you couldn’t seem to properly articulate. You didn’t hesitate when you were dating all those fuckboys, ghosters, and assholes, so why were you doing it now?
It’s probably because this feels different.
Mingyu is different.
Unlike the other men you’ve dated and moved on from, you don’t think you can do the same with Mingyu. Not when it felt like you were breathing again, not when the world seemed deserving of your hope again. If this didn’t work out, it would kill you, and this may just very well become your final heartbreak.
But you don’t have time to dwell on that. Not today, at least.
[Kwannie]: We have a meeting at 5 PM later, just reminding you
[Kwannie]: They really like the poems btw
Of course they do. It’s exactly what they expected from you even if it’s the last thing you thought you’d be able to do. Who would’ve thought that the woman who wrote things the publishers considered ‘too fucking depressing’ could actually write love poems that were too heartwrenchingly specific for any of it to be fake?
None of it was fake, and while it was good for them, it was absolutely devastating for you.
You cannot be doing this again.
Especially not when it felt this real, this deep.
The meeting itself is uninteresting. The executives are praising you like they didn’t reject a multitude of your other works without as much as a single glance. They’re talking numbers, marketing tactics, projected sales, autograph sessions, media interviews—you think they’re getting ahead of themselves, but you don’t argue. As long as you get paid, and as long as this meeting ends soon, you’d be fine. You’re just thankful for the fact that Seungkwan is there to do all the talking.
“We’re looking forward to the release of this book, Ms. L/N,” says the CEO with a hand stretched for you to take. His smile is wide, and you can practically see the wons running through his head as he looks at you. “And your future works, as well.”
“Thank you for having me,” You reply politely, hand reaching out to shake his with a bow. The man may not actually appreciate the art, but at the very least, he was good at the business part, and you could respect that.
“It’s a pleasure to have you working with us,” The CEO replies as he lets go of your hand.
The meeting finally wraps up, and the moment someone leaves the room, you’re quick to follow suit with Seungkwan following closely behind you. You can tell that he’s staring, itching to reach out and stop you in your tracks to ask why you’ve been so closed off this past week, but he can’t. Not when there are people around.
You continue to walk, desperate to get out of here. The sooner you get home, the sooner you can wallow in self-pity. This is a whole new low, you think, to bleed your heart out onto the pages for a muse who hasn’t spoken to you in a week.
Fuck you, Kim Mingyu.
When everyone else disappears and only the two of you are left, Seungkwan is quick to corner you.
“Yah, you’ve been acting weird,” Seungkwan says, grabbing onto your wrist to keep you from power-walking out of the building. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” You reply quickly, shaking your wrist out of Seungkwan’s grip, but he doesn’t let go. He knows you well enough to know when you’re about to run.
Seungkwan scoffs, “You and I both know it’s not nothing, so spill.”
With a heavy sigh, you lean against the wall and slide down to sit on your heels. It isn't nothing, Seungkwan is right, but you also don’t know what it is.
You’re guilty, lonely, and frustrated all at once, and it’s such a foreign mix that you don’t know how to deal with the way it swirls in your insides. You’re guilty that you couldn’t just tell Mingyu that you loved him just as much if not more, you’re lonely because it’s been a week since you’ve seen him and started closing yourself off to everyone else, and you’re frustrated because he claims to love you but he can somehow find it in himself to be apart from you for this long.
How much of his words were true, really?
“He said he loves me,” You say as Seungkwan squats down beside you.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Seungkwan sounds confused as he asks you. “You love him, he loves you. This is the goal, no?”
“I couldn’t tell him, and now we haven’t talked for a week because he wants to give me the space to think,” You confess, the guilt now coming back full-swing as you recall the sadness on Mingyu’s face. He accepted your hesitation, sure, but that did nothing to dampen that disappointed look in his eyes. “I want to trust him, I really do.”
“You should,” Seungkwan replies, and it only makes you feel worse. “That man really loves you, you know? That's why I easily believed that it was real.”
“You don’t know that,” You huff out.
“I do, though,” Seungkwan shrugs, pulling out his phone and fiddling with it before handing it over to you. “Read.”
[Mingyu-hyung]: do you know what activities she likes?
[Mingyu-hyung]: do you think she’ll like it if I get her stuffed toys?
[Mingyu-hyung]: what food does she like?
[Mingyu-hyung]: please don’t tell her about this, I want everything to be a surprise
[Mingyu-hyung]: the date went well, thank you so much
[Mingyu-hyung]: sorry for messaging so late but I need your help again
His most recent message to Seungkwan was sent this morning, asking about your plans for the day, and it fills you with warmth and frustration all at once because why wasn’t he messaging you directly when he seemed to care this much?
Your glad he cares, but fuck, he needed to seize what he wanted. If he wants you then he should stop beating around the bush, stop giving you space, and start loving you like he wants to even if you’re being stupid about it all.
“He’s embarrassing,” Seungkwan snorts as he takes the phone back. “But it’s not like it’s the end of the world. Hyung loves you, so I’m sure that if you reached out to him he’d—“
A notification cuts Seungkwan off as it pops up at the top of his phone.
Thank you, next: Kim Mingyu spotted on a lunch date with newbie model Sua
Before Seungkwan can tuck his phone away, you’re quick to press on the notification to open the article. The picture that greets you is blurry, almost as blurry as the feelings that were now swirling violently in your chest. It’s grainy, obscure, but there’s no mistaking that it’s Mingyu sitting right across from a woman with the brightest smile on his face.
So that’s why he wasn’t messaging you.
You’ve been replaced.
“Guess I was right,” You let the phone go, shrugging casually like you weren’t being ripped in half, like you weren’t experiencing the most visceral, devastating, soul-eating agony in your bones. “The asshole already found someone to replace me.”
You don’t cry, don’t scream, don’t beg. You sit, stewing in betrayal, disappointment, and anger. You expected it like you were destined for it. It’s always been this way, after all.
Heartbreak must have been woven into the strings of your fate from the very start, and no amount of tugging and untangling would change the fact that the fibers of your path are laced with the devastating fact that you were meant to be alone.
You win, you think. The universe could gloat all it wanted, it won.
Seungkwan isn’t quick to buy it, though, and you almost want to laugh at how the roles have changed. It used to be you who did the bargaining. “It might not be true! I don’t think hyung would ever hurt you like that—“
“Well, he did,” You say as you stand up. “It’s best that we start accepting that.”
Seungkwan stands up after you. “Y/N, you’re being rash—“
The sound of your phone ringing rips through the air.
loverboy <3 is calling…
“You should answer it,” Seungkwan says when he reads the name on your phone. “That’s him, right?”
You only nod, clicking the green button before bringing the phone to your ear like it weighed the entire world and more. It’s heavy on your palm, but it’s even heavier on your heart.
“Y/N, I don’t know if you’ve seen the article but it’s not true. Your meeting probably just finished, right? I’m almost there—“
“Don’t bother,” You reply, voice stone-cold, and you can see Seungkwan looking incredulously at you like you’re making the biggest mistake of your life. You probably are. “Don’t contact me again.”
“Y/N, hear me out—“
You quickly end the call and pocket your phone.
“Y/N, why did you do that?” Seungkwan says exasperatedly as you lean against the wall, body numb as the hole in your chest starts growing, gaping, and bleeding all over yourself. “You didn’t even let him explain.”
“If I let him explain, he’ll just lie like everyone else.” Your voice comes out more stable than you expected it to considering the violent shake in your soul and the creeping ache in your bones. “I’m going home.”
Seungkwan stares at you with that sad look in his eyes, and you’re quick to turn and start walking. “You’re making a mistake, Y/N.”
“I seem to make a lot of that,” is all you say in reply as you walk farther and farther away from Seungkwan and whatever confrontation he wants to thrust onto your bleeding form. “Get home safely.”
“You too,” is all Seungkwan says, defeated.
You’re a woman on strings. You always have been, you think. You move forward with no other aim other than getting home. You walk on legs that feel foreign, on limbs tugged by strings that lead you onto the next weave of your dismal fate. None of the world feels real as it comes crashing around you, and the only thing that did feel real was the way your heart seemed to rip despite it being the only metaphorical thing in this instance.
When the door swings open and mics are thrust upon you, you’re quick to snap out of it, every nerve ending in your body firing signals telling you to run.
“Ms. L/N, when is the book going to be released—“
“Ms. L/N, we heard you’re releasing a collection of love poems! Were they inspired by a certain model—“
“Ms. L/N, could you give us a sneak peek at the poems—“
It’s loud, it’s overwhelming, it’s overstimulating. It’s the kind of pandemonium you never expected to endure because these things were usually reserved for idols and more public figures. It puts you on edge, cornered in the middle of a street with nowhere to run to as they bombard you from all angles.
You hate this.
“Ms. L/N, did you hear about the dating rumors between your boyfriend and Ms. Sua—“
“Ms. L/N, is it true that you and Kim Mingyu have broken up—“
A strong arm finds its way around your waist.
“We’re still together, the rumors are false, Sua is just a coworker,” comes the reply of a familiar voice, and you don’t know if you’re going to cry into his arms or push him away. “Please give my girlfriend some space, she’s had a long day.”
Mingyu holds you steady through it all, pushing through the crowd and shielding you with his arms before he starts dragging you to his car parked haphazardly in the distance. The crowd doesn’t run after you, Mingyu’s threatening air more than enough to root them in place where they stand.
In the quietest hiss you can muster, you tug yourself away, “Let me go—“
Mingyu only gives you a look, opening the passenger door with a look in his eyes that you haven’t seen before, “Get in.”
The words were said with so much conviction that you couldn’t find it in yourself to argue. Despite the anger boiling in your blood, you get in, and Mingyu is quick to shut the door when you’re fully inside. He doesn’t miss a second before he’s rounding the front and hopping into the driver’s seat.
Mingyu looks angry as he drives, and the silence is so heavy with it that you’re almost tempted to open the door and jump out just to avoid the inevitable crash and clash of all the unspoken grievances.
“She’s a coworker—“
“I don’t care,” You quickly cut him off. You’re being extremely unreasonable, you know that. There’s nothing but honesty in Mingyu’s gaze, a desperation to explain himself before he lost you… But you’re too hurt to think of all of that. “I should’ve known from the start.”
“Y/N, I’m not going to argue right now,” Mingyu’s jaw is clenched as he says it. “But you have to believe me. I confessed to you a week ago, did you already forget about that?”
“And you replaced me in a week, it’s that simple,” You say it like the words don’t rip you in half as it claws its way out of your throat like a bitter mess of blades and betrayal. You hate this, hate hurting yourself, hate hurting Mingyu even more. The hurt doesn’t stop you though, it just feeds your anger and makes you more unreasonable. “You had me fooled for a while. You know?”
The car comes to an abrupt halt as Mingyu practically rips a hole through the pedal with his foot. The brake is quickly raised, and the car is shut off. Mingyu only says two words as he unbuckles his seatbelt and opens his door. “Get out.”
“Fine,” You spit out angrily as you remove your own seatbelt and open the door. To piss him off further, you slam the door, letting the sound rip through the dark, dead-end street like you want the roads to shake from your anger.
All that heat and fight in your body dies when Mingyu starts walking towards you with the most angry look in his eyes.
Oh god, is this how you die? Not that you think Mingyu would kill you, but you wouldn’t put him above it considering the rage that swirled in his usually soft eyes. It’s a little—extremely—terrifying to see this man look like he was one wrong move away from exploding like a bomb. You’ve never seen him this angry—never seen him angry, if you were being honest.
Mingyu’s always been a gentle soul, always takes the teasing and the bullying with a smile on his face or a sulky pout, but he never reacts like this, never looks like he’s ready to rip his teeth into someone’s throat like a rabid dog.
When he stops a few inches in front of you, you can’t help the way you step back.
“Hit me, slap me, hurt me whatever way you fucking want to but when you’re done, you better hear me out,” Mingyu says, looking down at you with a gaze nothing short of serious. “Come on. You’re mad, right? Take it out!”
You don’t indulge whatever insane suggestion he’s throwing your way. Instead you glare up at him with just as much heat, just as much frustration. “You’re being unreasonable, Mingyu.”
Mingyu scoffs at that, grabbing your wrist before raising it to the level of his face. “You were being unreasonable too, no? Take your anger out while I’m giving you the chance, or I’ll be the one to take my anger out on you.”
Was this piece of shit seriously threatening you right now?
Last week feels like a lifetime ago, you think. You didn’t expect Mingyu, of all people, to resort to violence. Maybe you really were right about him being like all the other shitty men you’ve had to deal with.
“Fine,” You hiss, ripping your hand away from his grip. “Take it out, asshole—“
The last thing you expected happens when Mingyu’s lips crash onto yours.
It’s heat, it burns. It’s anger and desperation fueling the way he clutches your cheeks and shoves his tongue down your throat like he’s fire trying to consume all the oxygen in your lungs to keep himself alive.
And maybe the smoke and steam is getting to you, clouding your head and whatever reason remained in you because the next thing you know, you’re kissing him just as hard as you clutch at the fabric of his shirt.
The tension in Mingyu’s form eases at that, you can feel it underneath your fingertips, but he doesn’t pull away, lips still moving hungrily against yours as he moves his hands to clutch at your waist.
When his lips part from yours, it’s quick to descend on the skin of your neck, and the way he sucks bruises onto you has you curving into him as whimpers falls from your lips, “Gyu, we’re outside—“
“It’s a dead-end,” Mingyu grumbles against your throat as his kisses start getting lower. “You could scream and no one’s going to hear you.”
You don’t know if you’re turned on or horrified.
Mingyu pulls away before he opens the door to the back of his car, eyes trained on you expectantly like he’s luring you to your death.
“Get in,” Mingyu says, eyes swimming with something you’re sure is reflected in your own eyes as well. “Or stay outside, I’m not picky.”
At that, you’re quick to crawl onto the backseat despite the voices in your head screaming that this was a bad idea. Mingyu could do anything he wanted to you in that car and everyone would be none the wiser, but you think it’s better than being taken outside with nothing but the cold, night air wrapped around your heated forms.
Fuck, was this seriously about to happen?
Your question is quickly answered when Mingyu pushes you onto your back and gets on top of you, forearms bracing himself on either side of your head as he settles between your legs.
Softly, tenderly, he presses his forehead against yours.
“Tell me to stop,” Mingyu breathes it out on your lips like a plea. “Tell me to stop, and I will. No questions asked.”
But you don’t want him to. You want him to take what he wanted, and if what he wanted was you, then he better start acting like it before he lost you.
“I’m not going to stop you,” You whisper out, hand coming up to drag from the ridges of his clothed abdomen to the heat of his chest as you stare straight into the pit of desire spilling over in his eyes. “Take what you want.”
“Y/N, I need to know that you’re okay with this,” Mingyu says shakily through gritted teeth as your nails dig into the flesh of his chest. “I’m not going to hold back—“
“Take what you want before you lose it for good, Kim Mingyu,” You threaten, nails digging into him harder to hurt, but you think it does the complete opposite considering how Mingyu hisses and ruts his hips onto the seat at the sensation. “I’m not going to tell you twice.”
“I love you, Y/N,” Mingyu says as he pulls away to tug his shirt off. Oh fuck, you really were about to do this. “It might not feel that way for what’s going to happen next, but I do.”
It should scare you, it really should, but it only has you getting wetter, body limp to Mingyu’s will as he strips the two of you down to your underwears. Your clothes are somewhere on the floor, but it’s the least of your concerns when Mingyu captures your lips into a kiss as he roughly kneads your breasts through the bra.
“Fuck, you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” Mingyu says, hands pulling the cups of your bra down before wrapping his lips around a nipple.
“Gyu, shit—“ You whimper as Mingyu continues to suck at your chest, one hand twisting and kneading at the other breast to keep it from feeling neglected.
The pleasurable sensation is only magnified when Mingyu starts rutting his hard cock against your core, the two only separated by the thin layers of your respective underwears that were, unfortunately, still on. He moans around your chest, the vibrations resonating through your flesh and stirring your nerves into firing fiery signals all throughout your body.
Mingyu’s heavy as he ruts against you, and the idea of that large thing entering you has your eyes rolling back and mouth falling open into a moan.
Fuck, you couldn’t wait to take all of it.
You haven’t seen it yet, but you just know that it’s as big as the rest of him is, and if you’re right, then you probably won’t be walking after this.
Especially not when Mingyu seemed so wound up.
Mingyu pulls away, sitting up as far the low ceiling would let him as he tugs your underwear down. You don’t miss the way he throws it to the driver’s seat like it’s going to be his after this.
Pervert, you think.
When Mingyu tugs his underwear down, you’re quick to swallow. Somehow, Mingyu goes beyond your expectations, and it has you tingling in both fear and hunger as he lays his heavy cock on your stomach.
Mingyu grins when he catches you staring, “Is it big enough?”
“I think the better question to ask would be if I have a big enough space for all of that,” You say before spitting on your hand and reaching out to tug at his cock.
When your fingers touch his dick, Mingyu is quick to moan, eyes half-lidded as he looks you dead in the eye.
“Fuck, your fingers are soft,” Mingyu hisses, “Shit, I don’t think I have a condom—“
“Just put it in,” You say, all of the reason in your body gone as you continue stroking his cock. “I’m clean.”
Mingyu groans at that. “Fuck, baby, I am too but—“
“Just pull out,” You plead, eyes rounded and lips jutting out into a pout as you try to hack at whatever string of sanity remained in Mingyu’s body. “It’s a safe day.”
“Fuck, Y/N, I’m serious,” Mingyu says it like he isn’t already positioning the tip of his cock at your entrance. “I’ve never done this raw.”
“Well, it’ll be a first for you and me then,” You say, getting impatient. “Mingyu, just fuck me—“
Mingyu’s hips violently against you, and you’re quick to let out a shriek as he buries his cock as far as your unprepared walls would allow. The fact that you’re dripping all over the leather of his seat didn’t change the fact that Mingyu’s dick was both too long and too thick for your tiny little cunt to take in without prep.
“Gyu, too big—“ You cry out, but you don’t tell him to stop. The sting burns, but it only adds to the muddled mess of pleasure in your head as Mingyu starts thrusting in and out.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—“ Mingyu repeats it over and over as he fucks himself in and out of you at a rough pace. “You feel too good, fuck, I can’t stop.”
You only wrap your arms around Mingyu’s neck and bring him closer to you, “Fuck me harder, Gyu.”
“I love you,” Mingyu says, and it’s a stark contrast to the harsh way his cock fucks into you. “I love you so much—“
“Love you too!” You cry out, arms wrapping tighter around him as Mingyu drags against a bundle of nerves that has your body tingling from a whole new level of pleasure.
“Yeah, baby?” Mingyu groans out into your ear. “If I knew this dick was all you needed to fall in love with me, I would’ve fucked you sooner.”
“You should’ve,” You breath out against his ear. “We could’ve been fucking so much sooner.”
“Fuck, you’re such a whore,” Mingyu’s thrusts slow down as he sits up, but you note that they’re harsher now. Slowly, Mingyu’s hand creeps from your stomach up your sternum before it settles on your throat. “I should’ve just fucked you that night and got this over with.“
Your eyes roll back when Mingyu gives your throat a soft squeeze, a moan rumbling in your chest at the light-headed sensation that clouds your brain. You can barely register Mingyu’s words as he speaks, mind too consumed by the sensation of his heavy cock dragging in and out of you.
“I saw you that night, you know,” Mingyu says, eyes dark. “You were riding that dildo like a slut, and I felt so guilty for watching you do it—“
Your body is on full alert as you begin to register Mingyu’s words. He had seen you then?
“—but then you moaned my name,” Mingyu grins leaning down, hand still at your throat as he fucks in and out of you. “You’ve been craving this dick, baby?”
“Yes!” You cry out without second thought as Mingyu grinds his dick inside you, his pelvis rubbing deliciously against your clit. “Wanted you to fuck me.”
“Is it better than you imagined? Better than that tiny fucking dildo, hm?” Mingyu spits it out like the idea of that thing even touching you pisses him off. “Say it, baby.”
“Fuck, it’s so much better,” You whine, hips bucking against Mingyu’s as you try to get more friction on your swollen clit. “So much bigger, warmer, fuck—“
“Good girl,” Mingyu says as he picks up the pace again, hands grasping onto your hips for leverage as he hits that spot inside you over and over again.
You can only moan, eyes screwed shut and back arching as Mingyu continues his rough assault on your cunt. He’s fucking you like he’s trying to brand you, and had you been in a clearer state of mind, you would’ve definitely freaked out at the amount of pre-cum inside you but fuck, Mingyu was dicking you down so good that those consequences were the last thing on your mind.
“Gyu, I’m close,” You warn, hands coming up to dig your nails into his shoulders as you wrap your legs around his hips
“Fuck, baby me too,” Mingyu hisses, his hips picking up speed despite the way you wrap around him as he reaches down to rub circles at your swollen clit. “Cum for me, fuck, I need to make you cum before I pull out. Shit—“
White hot pleasure bursts throughout your body as you topple over the edge, Mingyu’s name leaving your mouth in obscene moans and shrieks as you take the rough pounding of his cock. It’s the best orgasm you’ve ever had, an out-of-body experience that has you floating on a different plane with only the harsh press of Mingyu’s fingers on your hips grounding you.
“Fuck, that’s it,” Mingyu groans out as he continues to fuck you into overstimulation. “I’m so close, baby, fuck, get your legs off.”
You don’t know what comes over you.
“What if I don’t want to?” You say teasingly as you dig your heels into the globes of his ass. “What are you gonna do about it, hm?”
“Fuck, you slut,” Mingyu hisses as he drops his weight onto you, cock still driving in and out of you despite the words that left your mouth. “Want me to cum in you, huh? Don’t try me because I will.”
You moan at that, legs only wrapping tighter around Mingyu at the same time you wrap your arms around his neck. You shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t. The last functioning neuron in your head that isn’t enslaved by your desires is screaming at you to get your legs off this man before he shot all of his cum inside you.
But you were beyond reason.
Only the desire to claim and be claimed fueled you now. Being the first to get Mingyu like this, the first to get all of him raw, the first to get all of his cum staining your walls filled you with a hunger so visceral and a pride so great that you couldn’t help but whisper filth into his ear just to get him to cum faster.
“Do it,” You purr into his ear, boldly nipping at the tip of it for good measure. “Cum inside me, Gyu.”
“Yeah, baby, should I?” Mingyu groans at your words, his hips stuttering in its strokes at your words. “That’ll make one hell of a headline, don’t you think?”
“The next time paparazzi see you, you’ll be carrying my kid,” Mingyu spits through gritted teeth. “They’ll know this pussy’s so good I just had to fucking claim it before someone else did.”
“So fucking good I just had to cum in this little cunt unprotected, shit—“ A hiss leaves Mingyu’s teeth when you clench down on his cock, a moan leaving your throat at the filth that slipped past his lips.
“Fuck me full, Gyu,” You whimper out, brows furrowing an mouth falling open as you feel yourself pushed into another orgasm.
“I will, baby, I will,” Mingyu coos into your ear, hips now bucking into you wildly as he brings himself close to the edge. “I’m cumming, fuck, take it—“
Warmth spreads through your battered cunt at the same time stars explode behind your eyes. Mingyu’s orgasm sets you off into one of your own, your body growing taut underneath him as he continues to ride out his high, cock twitching and fucking the cum deeper into you.
With one final groan, Mingyu pulls out.
Then, he pulls your limp form from the seat, cradling you close to his chest before he lies back on the seat with you on top of him.
It’s warm. Mingyu’s body is like a furnace underneath you as you sync your breathing to the steady rise and fall of his chest. The world doesn’t feel real as you lay there, his large hand rubbing up and down your back as he tries to gather his bearings.
“I’m still mad at you, by the way,” You grumble out, propping your chin onto Mingyu’s chest with a pout as you look up at him.
Mingyu only matches your expression, “Love, she’s just a coworker. We had a shoot, and we were just getting lunch. Our managers were there.”
You’re being petty, you know that. “Yeah? Why were the two of you the only ones in the picture then?”
“Our managers were ordering food,” Mingyu quickly replies. “They just timed the picture to make me look bad—“
“Sure they did.”
“Y/N,” He says your name exasperatedly, arms tightening around you in case you were suddenly hit with the urge to run away. Not that you could, considering the fact that your tits were literally spilling out of your bra and your cunt was quite literally dripping with his spunk.
Mingyu did a fucking number on you.
“I’m kidding,” You laugh, nuzzling into his chest. “But we still have a lot to talk about.”
“We do, but let me enjoy this first,” Mingyu whines as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ve waited too long to let you go.”
After a few minutes of cuddling and basking in the afterglow, you and Mingyu are quick to wipe yourselves and dress up, the shame of fucking in public and the fear of getting caught finally catching up to your forms that were now doused in clarity after getting the tension and pining out of your systems.
When you get to Aurea Hills, Mingyu doesn’t let you go back to your unit. He walks past your door and pulls you into his, and when he gets you inside, he pounces on you like a man starved.
The sex you have in his bed is nothing like the one you had in his car.
It’s soft, it’s slow, it’s worship in another form.
Mingyu traces your body with his lips like he’s kissing upon the pages of scripture. There’s reverence in the way he takes your form into his arms and makes slow, sweet love to you on his bed. It’s a stark contrast to the way he took you like an animal, fueled by nothing but desperation and the need to claim—
This one is fueled by the need to devote.
You don’t know how many times the two of you reach your peak that night. All you know is that Mingyu probably manhandled you into every position known to man until he shot himself dry and rubbed himself raw. Even then, he didn’t stop, his mouth working you into an ungodly number of climaxes before he finally settled down and pulled you into his arms like a believer that finally feels worthy of peace after the penance.
Maybe you weren’t meant for heartbreak.
You’re not sure if all of this will work out, or if Mingyu’s going to be the final nail in the coffin of your hope of ever finding true love…
But you think you’ll just have to wait and see.
—
Mingyu is scared shitless.
He’s pacing on the soil of Maebong peak, heart beating rapidly in anticipation as he waits for you to emerge from the foliage. This better fucking work, he thinks. He’s roped too many people into this for it to not succeed. From Seungkwan to the local government, from your family to Minghao, Mingyu has pulled strings and made deals to make sure that this day is perfect.
Your favorite flowers are scattered all over the ground, trailing across the grass and leading to where Mingyu is standing close to the edge. The sun hasn’t risen, but it will soon, and Mingyu hopes you make it in time to see it all.
(He’ll just have to apologize for waking you up this early.)
A year should be more than enough, right? In fact, if Mingyu was going to be honest, he thinks that a year is already too long when his soul already knew from the first few weeks that it was going to be you or no one else. He has lived his life and made his mistakes, and he thinks he’s been waiting more than long enough to finally settle down and live forever with the love of his life but—
He’s afraid.
The box feels heavy in his hand, and the tremble in his soul is too violent to ignore. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if you say no, doesn’t know if he’ll be able to live through the pain to even witness what comes after.
Mingyu won’t let that stop him though.
Because when you’ve found the love of your life, you don’t let go. When you’ve been waiting, hoping, praying for the right person and they’re in front of you, you take them and never let them walk away from you like an opportunity you failed to seize.
It’s fine if you reject him today, Mingyu thinks. He’ll just try and try again until you say yes. That just means he’ll have to spend the rest of his life courting you, and honestly? The only true difference between that fate and marriage is the legality, the ring, the acknowledgment.
Mingyu still loves you all the same.
(But he does hope you say yes.)
When you emerge from the forest, you’re blindfolded, and Seungkwan follows closely behind you, one hand on your back and the other at your hand to guide you.
“Kwan, I know we fight a lot but I hope you’re not planning to dump my body here… Are you?” You ask cautiously, and Mingyu has to resist the urge to laugh.
You really know how to ease him even without intending to.
“Like hyung would ever let me do that,” Seungkwan snorts before leaving you to stand where the flower path begins. “Enjoy.”
Seungkwan then slips your blindfold off and walks away.
All the fear leaves Mingyu’s body when he meets your eyes with his. The only thing left in him is love, the unparalleled, unmatched, unwavering certainty of love that crushes whatever fear remained in his heart.
Your answer didn’t matter, only you did.
You walk to Mingyu with slow steps, eyes disbelieving like he hasn’t spent the last year devoting himself to making you happy. There’s a glisten in your eyes that glimmers the lightest shades of gold as the sun begins to rise in the distance, and Mingyu can only find himself captivated.
This is heaven, he thinks.
“Gyu, are you…” You don’t finish your sentence, eyes just searching through Mingyu’s like the answer isn’t in shaking in his palms.
Mingyu’s not the best at words because that was your thing, so he lets his body do the talking. He grabs one hand, and when he feels your fingers intertwine with his, he gets down on one knee.
“Y/N, I know I’m not the best at words,” Mingyu takes a deep shaky breath that has you giggling. “But I hope that the words I say next will be enough to tell you just how much I love you.”
“I don’t know when I started falling for you, but it was here that I realized that it would be you,” Mingyu can practically feel himself being transported back in time as he says the words. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt that way, and then and there… I knew.”
“We didn’t start out in the most conventional way, but I’m glad we started either way because every choice and every mistake brought me to you,” Mingyu can see you tearing up, and it takes everything in him not to stand and kiss them away. He had to finish this. “Love, you are everything I have been looking for and more, and it may have taken me a while, but I’d gladly run through every path there is on earth as long as it leads me to you.
Mingyu lets your hand go, and with shaky fingers, he raises the box. Mingyu almost drops it, and despite every voice in his head yelling at him for being such a nervous wreck, he finds that your teary laugh quiets them down.
You’re looking at him like there’s no one else you’d rather see knelt in front of you.
“Y/N, my love, my heaven on earth, the one true love I’ve spent my whole life looking for—“ Mingyu opens the box, “Will you make me the happiest man on earth and marry me?
There’s a pause, the wind blowing as the sun raises into the center between the two of you, and for a moment, it feels like everything in the universe has finally aligned itself. It feels like the world has waited for this, feels like whatever higher power exists has moved every single piece and person to make sure that this moment came true.
“Yes,” You nod, your tears now freely flowing down your cheeks. “I’ll marry you.”
The ring is quickly slipped on, Mingyu’s lips descending upon your finger before he stands up and takes you into his arms by the waist.
Mingyu kisses you slowly, kisses you like he has all the time in the world because he does. He kisses you with reverence, with softness, with a love so tender that it has Mingyu’s heart practically bursting at the seams filled with nothing but you, you, and you—
“I love you,” is all you say when you pull away, and Mingyu’s heard it a million times, read it hidden in a multitude of lines, but this?
Nothing beats this.
“Not as much as I love you,” Mingyu whispers against your lips before taking your lips into another tender kiss.
World
My love, you are the fire that scalds my skin
The inferno, the heat that wears me down thin
My love, you are the sea that pulls me deep
The blue, the void that haunts me in my sleep
My love, you are the earth beneath my soles
The soil, the ground to which returns my soul
My love, you are the air you steal from me
The breath, the life that dies if you will flee
Simply put, my love, you are the world that is all this
The hill I choose to die upon, the lips I choose to kiss
My dashing dreamer, you have sunk your weight
And I, your pacer, have learned to bear the wait
So leave me not to let me live, my love
Til our love joins the earth or open sky above
Specific Smut Warnings: Masturbation, Voyeurism (Mingyu watches in secret so technically dubcon), Unprotected Sex (DON’T DO IT OMYGOD), Reader is NOT on birth control (I TOLD YOU IT’S BAD), Size Kink, Rough Sex (right off the bat), Breeding Kink (welcome back), Dubcon (the leglock part), Extremely risky sex (might as well just call it impregnation sex LMAO), In my mind they get Plan B
wc: 4k (my longest fic i’ve ever written !!!) summary: if there’s anything you and jeonghan have learned from all your years together, it’s that you love each other. so much. throughout your whole lives, it’s the one thing that stayed a constant through it all warnings: fluff, childhood friends to lovers, alcohol, a lot of bittersweet ness, so so so much romance !!! you might cry.. also a little bit of death maybe? :3 an: happy burstday to my whole world 🤍 words cannot explain how special these 13 men are to me, and not even this can equate to how much love and appreciation i have for them. this is only a fraction of my appreciation, but i hope you can feel it nonetheless. listen 🎧 too much by mark lee, 우연 by jeonghan 1 to 13 masterlist!
the meeting ୨୧
with sticky fingers, glue extremely uncomfortable against your skin, you keep your hand raised for miss teacher to come help. she’s too busy helping the boy with macaroni noodles in his nose. you don’t care to learn his name. his personality is too big for you.. he’s always yelling, and the first time you heard his tiger roar it made you cry.
she’s still busy. he’s got them completely stuck up there, you think. she has to take him to the nurse. miss teacher’s teacher friend comes to watch the class while she leaves with macaroni boy. you keep your hand raised, and it’s starting to hurt from how long you kept it up. miss teacher’s friend isn’t paying attention either, though.. apparently one of the other boys knows her from somewhere else, and he keeps taking her attention from you because of his singing.
you accept defeat, putting your hand down with a sigh. you look around your table, one you’re all by yourself at, and there’s not a wipe in sight. you try a tissue, but it sticks to your skin and leaves an icky feeling. you can’t use the sink, because miss teacher said to ask permission, and asking permission is too scary!
everyone’s tinkering away on their artwork, loud sounds of crayon buckets, singing, and yelling all filling up your senses. no one sees you, and no one’s helping. it’s all too much, and your eyes screw shut. you don’t want to cry, because someone will see and make everyone look at you ‘cause they noticed. you get down under your table, hiding your head in your arms (keeping your hands a safe distance from your body) as you not only hide from the world, but also hide your tears.
jeonghan sees your entire situation from his table. he thought it’d be funny at first, watching you struggle and potentially make a really big mess, but you look sad. why are you sad at making a mess? it’s so fun! you look so icky and not happy with all the glue and fuzzies on your hand, and he notices your chest moving fast. he looks at his companion to see if he noticed, but said friend is too busy coloring in his shinchan to notice.
“cheollie, look.” he pokes the boy in his shoulder, and he looks about ready to cuss like his dad does when he hits his toe. “that girl is crying.” jeonghan points to you, body shuddering from under your workspace.
“it’s rude to point.” seungcheol smacks his friend’s hand down. “and i saw. the right thing to do is to tell miss teacher.”
“miss teacher isn’t here. she left with youngie, ‘member?”
“oh. so we get the other teacher? because she’s in charge now ‘till miss teacher comes back.” seungcheol always talks like he’s the boss, but that’s just because he got the teacher’s helper job this month. and the ones before that.
“no!” jeonghan grabs seungcheol’s sleeve, letting him go when he stops moving and puts his hands on his hips. “i’m miss teacher now! i can fix it!”
he looks around for the wet wipes to give to you. they’re on the big shelf, so he waits until the new lady turns away to run over and take them. with his evil laugh, he tiptoes away and puts them on your table.
slipping down to sit beside you, he taps your shoulder. “did you make a mess?” you nod, head still down. he grabs the wet wipes, ripping some out of the container. a little water splashes out, but he makes sure it doesn’t hit you. “it’s okay. everyone makes messes sometimes. don’t be sad.”
you pick your head up, sniffling aggressively, before putting your hands out. instead of giving you the wipes, he does it for you with a little ‘hannie can fix it!’, gently scrubbing away at the mess on your hands. you’re still sniffing away the whole time, using your now (mostly) clean hand to wipe at your eyes.
once he’s finished, he closes the container and hands you the box of tissues. “you have some boogers.” he giggles at your embarrassed face, slowing down when you don’t react or say anything.
he asks your name, and you give it to him, a little wobbly, and he takes your hand to shake it. “i’m jeonghan. i’ll be your friend now, okay?” he brushes his hair from his eyes, “we’ll be friends forever! and i’ll always be here to help you when you need it.”
childhood ୨୧
you and jeonghan are a little older now. not old enough, you both say, but old enough to start having homework and wish you were as cool as your upperclassmen. ever since you met in kindergarten, jeonghan’s kept his word, staying by your side no matter what. his “stinky” little sister started going to school too, and she’s just as fun to be around. he gets jealous though, and always pulls you away from her to focus on him instead.
right now though, he doesn’t have to worry much. little sis is in her little kid classes right now while you guys get to have recess! you and him are sitting on the bench next to all your friends, some of which are playing basketball, while the others draw with sidewalk chalk or hang upside down on the monkey bars.
jeonghan would very much prefer playing basketball, but you don’t like the idea of getting too close to other people or the idea of contact sports. he doesn’t really understand why, but the thought of you sitting by yourself, considering the fact that you don’t like any of the outdoor activities, makes him upset. he’d very much rather stay with you, making sure you aren’t lonely, watching over you as you pluck wildflowers from the grass.
“jeonghan?” seungkwan starts, getting the attention of the both of you. you both look up from your hands, where the both of you were looking at the small collection of flora you had found. “are you two dating?”
immediately you guys are grossed out, scooting to the opposite ends of the bench. “ew, no! that’s disgusting! we’re just friends, right?” jeonghan says, grimacing at the idea, before turning to you.
you nod, a small little movement, “just friends. i’m too young to get a boyfriend, and i don’t like how much boyfriends and girlfriends touch. it’s.. icky.”
“you guys touch a lot.. so, doesn’t that mean you’re dating?” when you guys shake your head, he calls the attention of soonyoung, who eventually brings the rest of your friend group over. “soonyoung, they’re dating, right?”
“come on guys, don’t make a crowd like that, it’s overwhelming!” jeonghan complains, partly trying to change the subject, but also trying to save you because he knows you’ll start getting uncomfortable soon.
soonyoung makes his way over, pinch fingers on his chin like he’s making some sort of elaborate analysis. “um, yeah, they’re dating! my sister has a boyfriend, and they do the same stuff as her and jeonghan! they hug every day at the end of school, and you know who else does?”
this small connection creates a moment of silence before everyone bursts out in loud chatter, some complaining about your age, others yelling and screaming about cooties. the commotion is enough to bring the teacher over, ending in your recess cut short and a conversation about why having a boyfriend or girlfriend is not something you should be worried about right now.
your discomfort is eased when you go home and talk to your mom, asking her if you and jeonghan have to date. she’s full of giggles when she lets you know that yes, boys and girls can be just friends, and he’s simply someone who cares a lot about you.
teenhood ୨୧
you’re in your math class, and you’re sat next to seungcheol. jeonghan’s right behind you, not allowed to sit next to you due to his endless chatting. not a single one of you is paying attention, all too focused on the trip to the convenience store that you’re planning to make after school.
you’re writing in cheollie’s notebook with a list of everything you, him, and hannie might want to buy when something hits your head. seungcheol catches it, giving a glare to the boy across the room who threw it. you didn’t even do anything, but just seeing his face freaks you out. he unfolds the piece of paper, and when it’s fully unraveled, you take a look.
‘i like shy girls. will you be my shy girl? - hyungwon’
you look at cheol, who looks at you, before handing the paper to jeonghan. he takes one glance at it, switching his gaze to hyungwon, before tearing the paper up and throwing it on the floor.
the teacher asks him to pick it up and he refuses, giving him one of two referrals for the day. the next one comes after class, sending him home with bloody knuckles and one less friend. not that it mattered anyway, the only friend he truly cares about is you.
every question you ask about his outburst is avoided, not only because he doesn’t want to talk about it, but he doesn’t have an answer. he’s just protective, okay? watching over you like a brother, nothing else.
college ୨୧
it’s nearly 4am when jeonghan finally comes stumbling through the front door of your home, giggling and burping like an idiot. when he sees you it only gets worse, eliciting a sigh from you as he falls into your lap.
“hannie, can you get up please? you’re bending the pages of my book. i spent a lot of money on this.” you complain, yet you make no effort to push him away, heart warm at how content he looks to be with you.
“shit, sorry.” he brushes hair from his eyes, sitting straight up on the couch before his head eventually falls on your shoulder. “i’m so drunk.” you have no idea why he’s making such a statement, and honestly it makes you cringe because.. obviously? all it takes is one whiff for you to know. not even, just look at him.
“i know, and that’s why you should go to bed. it’s almost daytime already.” you say, already helping him up to take him to his bedroom.
“wait!” he puts his hands out, backing away from your grasp, “..can we sleep here? in the living room, like we used to?”
you look at him, so incredibly tired, both physically and mentally, pinching the bridge of your eyebrows as a headache threatens to kick in. he looks so cute, unfortunately for you, pouting as he accidentally falls back into the couch after losing his balance. he straightens back up right away though, even making an effort to put his hands together to help persuade you.
eventually you relent, grumbling about him needing to change out of his clothes as you go grab all your blankets. he follows right behind you, not even thinking twice when he starts stripping while you’re in the middle of stripping his bed of its blankets. he pays no mind to your obvious flusteredness, simply chuckling before going to help you.
there’s a little blanket cushion underneath your backs, little fairy lights creating a cozy atmosphere as you lay facing each other. jeonghan’s eyes keep fluttering shut, begging him to go to sleep, but he fights it, forcing them open to watch you. his hand falls to your cheek, knuckles brushing your skin, running over the side of your face before pushing stray hairs behind your ear.
“you know, i’ve always found you so pretty. like, a crazy amount.” he says bluntly, casually, as if it’s something normal.
“excuse me?”
“yeah.” his voice is so soft, his pupils blown wide as his eyes trail over your pretty features like he’s committing them to memory. “you just have something about you that makes me feel like i’m drowning, and i can’t get out. but i don’t want to. i love it.”
“you’re being weird, han. go to sleep.” you flush, pulling the blanket up to your nose.
immediately he’s propping himself up on his elbow, other hand pulling it back down. “let me see you, please…” he nearly zones out for a good while, making you squirm as his eyes lock onto your face.
“you know.. i think i love you. i always have.” he pauses, looking you over before taking a look at himself, his surroundings, and the entire apartment you rent together, “yeah. i never really understood what love looked like, but i get it now. i look at us, and i know. it’s us.” he chuckles.
“jeonghan, wh- you’re drunk, you can’t just say that when you don’t even mean it-”
“shh, shh, i’m not lying. there’s some saying or whatever, right? anyway, long story short, i’m telling the truth and i’m gonna go throw up now.”
adulthood ୨୧
you’re walking down the streets of paris, walking alongside your boyfriend, jeonghan, with seungcheol and the others on your other side. it’s time for one of those week-long group vacations, and for some reason jeonghan forced everyone to agree to go out of the country. usually your trips are only thirty minutes or so from home, but this time you’ve gone days away. you keep asking him why he spent so much money for everyone to come out here, but he just shrugs, saying eh, i needed a change of scenery.
the bags in your hands are getting heavy as you walk down the streets of the shopping district, everything’s lit up in the night lights, river glistening as you and the group walk alongside it. jeonghan forced you to leave your wallet at the mansion-turned-rental that you all are staying at, paying for literally everything you touched. by now, you’ve racked up copious amounts of jewelry and other accessories, and just as you turn to him, ready to indirectly ask why he hasn’t started carrying your bags for you, you realize he stopped walking. everyone stopped walking, actually.
“hannie? guys, what are you doing?” you look at jeonghan, standing alone with a nervous smile, the rest in a small clump behind him. they shush you, pointing and gesturing to your boyfriend.
“baby, come here,” he says, breathlessly, taking your hands when you come close enough. “wanna know why i brought you here?” you hum, and he tries his hardest to hide the shaking in his breath before he continues speaking.
“it’s because i wanted to give you something special. a trip with all your favorite people, me first obviously..” he chuckles, “but seriously. i want this to be a trip for you to remember, because it’s going to be the last one before our lives change.. a lot.”
he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a tiny velvet box, and your eyes nearly fall out of your head as he drops to one knee. your full name falls from his lips, and all of a sudden you’re tearing up as he starts a little speech.
“i still remember the first time i saw you. on the first day of kindergarten. you were crying, sobbing actually, because you didn’t want to leave your mom. a lot of our other classmates were crying too, but you were the only one i felt bad for. everyone else? i wanted them to shut up.. seriously.” he doesn’t waste a second to glance at a few of your friends behind him, laughing as their complaints help to ease his nerves a bit. “since then, i made it a mission to help things.. not suck for you. at least back then, i wanted you to be happy during school. but.. we got older, and we never drifted apart. as the years went by, i my mission changed, even if i didn’t know. it changed to me.. wanting you to be happy always. for your whole life. that’s still what it is today. so, if you’d let me try my best to succeed, will you please marry me?”
you don’t even hesitate to nod yes, falling into his arms, kissing him while you cry like the same baby you were twenty something years ago. the same crybaby jeonghan fell in love with, and will continue to love forever.
the wedding ୨୧
yet again the tears keep falling as you stand before your fiancee, stuttering and sniffling through your vows. you poured your whole heart into them, so so grateful for the life you’ve gotten to live alongside jeonghan. he’s been your rock through everything, like a little island that’s always there to listen, always there to help. there’s not a single person on this earth who knows you better than he does, not even yourself. before he learned to read the alphabet, he knew how to read your emotions, read between the lines of everything you said and help you accordingly. he’s who you go to for everything, he’s who you think of first when anything good happens, and it’s been like that ever since you were little, back when you were little, still finger painting as a class activity.
it’s his turn now, and he pretends that something’s in his eyes as he wipes them, making the crowd laugh. he takes a deep breath in before pulling a loose leaf paper from his blazer and clearing his throat.
“it’s been thirty years of knowing you, loving you, and i think it’s time that i finally make a confession.. do you remember when we were in college, and i came home drunk? yeah, yeah, i know it happened a bunch of times.. but there’s one specific occasion where i mentioned how much i love you. i always lied about that night, saying i didn’t remember, but i think now’s the time where i tell you.. i did. and i still stand by everything i said. i’ve always been yours, since i befriended you back when we were five. i didn’t know it, but that exact moment is when my heart became yours. it has been ever since then. you are the best thing the world has ever given me, and i’ll forever be indebted to you for showing me what love is like, and how proud and lucky i am to be able to give that to you. i’m incredibly grateful to have you in my life, and.. oh, you thought i could go a whole ment without any teasing? funny.. anyway, i’m so incredibly lucky to be marrying you, and so excited to be legally tied to my favorite crybaby. now, let’s get married, hm?”
after many teary giggles and kisses, you and jeonghan are finally husband and wife. it feels so right, so perfect. it’s not even anything different, you guys are just living the same life you always have, doing the same routine, all with a new title. yet, it feels good knowing that you are legally each other’s, rather than just in your heads. the whole night is spent basking in that, full of joy knowing that you are forever tied together, each other’s firsts and lasts.
getting older ୨୧
you can’t do as much as you used to, and you’re getting to the age where you start getting discounts at local events. your skin is littered with scars and wrinkles, evidence of all the joy and laughing you’ve experienced throughout life. you’re committed to a life at home, planting pretty little flowers in your garden and sitting on the porch of your country home, reading books and waving at the little kids playing in the street. it’s peaceful, and most dread the part of life where you get old, but to you? it’s perfect. everything you’ve ever needed.
jeonghan’s car pulls into the driveway, and his smile shines bright as he makes his way toward you. he falls into the seat next to you on the swinging bench with a groan, rubbing his creaky knees as he hits the cushion. suddenly, his grimace switches to something sweeter as he pulls a pretty bouquet of flowers from behind his back, placing it in your lap with a smile.
“you deserve something nice.” he says, leaning in for a kiss. you wrap an arm around him, returning the affection before placing your head in his neck.
“i love them, hannie, they’re so beautiful.” you smile, eyes closed and all as he strokes your hair, looking down at you like he’s met an angel. to him, he did.
“my pretty angel only deserves the best, no?” he leans back, letting you cuddle into him as you watch the clouds.
“i wouldn’t say pretty, now.. i’ve got wrinkles, and my hair is grey.” you pout.
he shushes you, peppering kisses over every wrinkle, and all over your crown. “bullshit- oh, sorry, i mean.. nonsense. you’re just as beautiful as you were when we met, okay? like i said, my pretty angel only deserves the best, right?” he looks at you expectantly until you hum in agreement, “now, if only i was able bodied enough to still give you the best in bed, oh i’d show you-”
“jeonghan!” you giggle, swatting at his chest. he only pouts, shrugging innocently as you laugh together. despite getting older with every day, he never fails to make you feel just as beautiful and just as loved as you did back when you were twenty.
the sixteen year old girl across the street watches you both with her friends, and they all nod in agreement when they say that they only want a love like that. something so sweet, so pure that everyone can just tell how long you’ve loved each other. every day, he comes home from work (don’t worry, it’s not taxing at all and he gets paid good) with a cute little gift for you, his eyes turning into big hearts at the grateful little smile you give him every time. the whole neighborhood adores you two, looking at you both as models of pure, true love.
the end ୨୧
it’s late at night, and after a good few hours of stiffly slow dancing to your favorite music, you and jeonghan finally lay down. you spent the night doing a lot of things you haven’t done in a while, now that you think about it, and it was quite refreshing. you ate a bunch of junk food, sang silly songs with unnecessary amounts of curse words, and now you’re ending it with endless pillow talk.
neither of you addressed it, but you both have a feeling that this is the last time you’ll be able to do this. you aren’t scared. this may be the first time you aren’t afraid, but jeonghan looks so calm that you feel like things will be okay. he simply shot up, definitely pulling something in the process, taking your hand and offering for you both to spend it having as much fun as possible.
that you did! the whole night was spent reminiscing on the past decades with each other, and it truly felt like you were traveling back to that point in time. each photobook you flipped through, each friend you thought of and silently congratulated for outliving you both, it all felt.. peaceful. maybe a little bittersweet, but every moment is looked back on fondly.
“we’ve spent all of our lives together,” he starts, fingers combing through your hair as you lay down together. “i’d say you made them the best years of my life, but that’d be dumb. you were there for the whole thing.”
you chuckle, tucking your head into his neck. “it’s okay, i’d say the same thing.”
he hums, “seriously, though. you make me so happy. i don’t think you know just how much.”
it’s then that you fall asleep for what would be the last time, promises of a more romantic tomorrow. no death talk was allowed, jeonghan wouldn’t have that. you only spoke of a ‘next time’, one where you were definitively together. you don’t fight it, just accept that you’re falling asleep in his arms for the last time. it’s okay, because you’re passing knowing that you lived a full, long life. one where you never doubted how much you were loved.
thank you so much for reading! reblogs + feedback are much appreciated ♡
—☆ there's someone behind jeonghan's blurred memories— someone whom he can't reach out for. he's running blindly on a foggy path, determined to fill the missing piece of you in his heart.
pairing - jeonghan x f!reader
genre/warnings - non idol au, psychological au, romance, lovers to strangers to lovers, major angst, fluff, mentions of medical terms (probably butchered), mentions of psychological terms, heavy anxiety, amnesia, mentions of blood and injuries, cursing, kissing, skinship, use of petnames, lots of tears, eventual happy end that feels bittersweet
wc - 12k
A/N - to all of you who are about to begin reading this, thank you for choosing to spend your time on RTY which is a project very close to my heart! i spent a lot of my time and effort writing this, any feedback would be greatly appreciated <3 once again, big thank you to my bbangi ( @kissbyoon ) who's the sole reason this has come to life!
October 14th
The biting cold stings his cheeks as he runs across the snowy field, a soft laughter echoing in his ears. Fat, fluffy snowflakes drift down, landing on his eyelashes, melting instantly. He’s bundled in a thick scarf, but his gloved fingers are intertwined with another hand—soft and small—pulling him forward. He feels a gentle tug, and he’s being pulled into a frantic snowball fight. For a while, all he sees is white—the snow and a shadow.
It’s the shadow of a girl. A girl he loves.
She spins around, a sprinkle of snow dusting her hair. He can hear his heartbeat thrumming in his ears, waiting desperately to catch a glimpse of her beautiful face.
Just a little closer, he thinks. Just a little more…
Suddenly, a sharp, searing pain erupts in his head. The joyous sounds of laughter are swallowed by loud, piercing sirens that blare impossibly close to his ears. The pure white snow beneath his feet is no longer white; spreading, staining, is a shocking, crimson red. Jeonghan feels like he is dying when his eyes snap open.
The ceiling greets him with a tiny crack. His dream dissolves into the gray of early morning, making him wipe harshly at his tears.
He sits up, pushing tangled hair from his face. It’s the same dream. Always the same. Happy, vivid, until the very last second. He never sees the face. He never knows who she is, this shadow that haunts his sleep and leaves him feeling so utterly lost when he wakes up.
He stares at the wall clock to check the time; 6AM. He's barely got any time to sleep anymore, and when he sees the text from his sister to come see her at her college, he knows he's getting up.
He sighs, swinging his legs out of bed as his feet hit the cold floor. He knows that for a long time, waking up has felt like losing something precious every single day. The intensifying pain in his chest insists he should be looking for her, but he has no idea how.
For the longest time, he has had no idea how.
All he knows is that the reason why he's still alive is because he needs to find her.
He needs to find the girl from his dreams—the girl he loves.
You.
October 21st
The sterile scent of the clinic usually makes Jeonghan's stomach churn, but today, it's just another numb sensation. He sits on the cool examination table, the paper crinkling beneath him.
Dr. Lee sits across from him, her tablet resting on her lap. She knows his story—the fragments and the void—almost as well as he does.
"How was it been, Jeonghan?" She asks, her voice calm, already anticipating his answer. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It's been worse."
"The dream feels so real now. Like I'm actually... dying." He shudders, the memory still chilling him. "And then I just snap awake, with that same ache, that same frustration. And I never get to see her.”
Dr. Lee hums, making a quick note in her diary. "The intensification of the dream imagery suggests your brain is indeed working hard to process and retrieve these repressed memories. The amnesia you're experiencing, dissociative amnesia, often manifests with these dream patterns as the subconscious tries to bridge the gap." She pauses, looking at him intently. "And the feeling of needing to find her? Has that grown stronger?"
"It's all I think about," he confesses, his voice cracking towards the end. He inhales sharply to get himself talking. "It's this constant pressure in my chest. Like I'm supposed to find her, like my whole life depends on it.' It sounds crazy, I know. But it feels like I have to find her just to make sure she's okay, even if I don't know who she is or why I care so much." He clenches his fists. "How long is this going to take, Dr. Lee? I feel like I'm stuck, living half a life."
"There's no set timeline for memory recovery, Jeonghan," the doctor replies gently. "It's a complex process. The brain protects itself by walling off traumatic memories, but it also has an incredible capacity to heal. The fact that these dreams are becoming more vivid is a positive sign. It indicates your mind is actively trying to retrieve the information. Sometimes, external triggers—places, sounds, smells, even familiar faces—can unlock your memories. Keep paying attention to those subtle feelings of familiarity you mentioned before."
Jeonghan sighs, rubbing his temples. He knows all that his doctor is saying. He's heard it before—it feels repeated—but he has also felt it work.
For these five years, ever since his accident, he's gone from not remembering anything to actively trying to piece together the fragments of his past.
“It's just so frustrating. To know there's something so important, someone so important, and I just…” he trails off, unable to voice out his thoughts. He lets his face fall, staring into nothingness like that would somehow help him picture something more than shadows.
"It is, Jeonghan," Dr. Lee agrees, her voice full of empathy. "But don't overdo it. Your subconscious is actively working on this. As long as you're willing, you'll be able to remember her. You've come so far already. When you first came in, you did not even know such a person existed in your pre-incident life. Now you do, you remember. Isn’t that a good sign?”
She offers a small, reassuring smile. "For now, focus on managing your stress, getting enough rest, and continuing to engage in activities you enjoy. Your well-being is important while your brain continues this difficult work."
Jeonghan nods, trying to mentally give himself a pat on the back. Despite all the yearning he insistently feels, he knows that as long as he's willing to not give up on the idea of you, he'll find you.
As long as you stay well, he'll find you. He just hopes you remember him too.
October 26th
The festival buzzes with a cozy warmth, twinkling string lights and crackling fire pits illuminate the chilly evening. The aroma of hot chocolate and roasting chestnuts swirls from food stalls, mingling with the lively chatter of people who are starting to bundle up and welcome winter.
This is an event Soobin and Seokmin never miss, and thus, an event that places you squarely in Jeonghan's orbit, as it has for the past five years.
You stand by the makeshift stage, watching Seokmin enthusiastically sing along with a student band. Soobin stands beside you, seemingly impressed by his skill but keeping an act of embarrassment up. You keep smiling at Seokmin, not entirely paying attention to him because your mind is preoccupied.
Then you see him.
Jeonghan walks towards you and Soobin, holding two cups of something steaming. His presence, although comforting, stabs your heart over and over.
He laughs at something Soobin says—a laugh that is felt deep in your bones, a laugh you've heard countless times in dreams, in memories, in the quiet moments you've replayed from a past he no longer holds.
"Took you long enough," Soobin teases, grabbing a cup from him.
"The queue was insane," Jeonghan replies, handing you the other cup. His fingers brush yours for a fraction of a second—a spark that means nothing to him, but ignites a phantom warmth in your palm. He doesn't meet your gaze, his eyes already flicking towards Seokmin on stage.
You take a sip of the warm drink, the sweetness coating your tongue.
This is it. This is your life now.
Five years. Five years of these brief, polite encounters. Five years of watching him, of hearing his voice, of seeing the subtle changes in his face—the way his hair grows, the new lines around his eyes from a life you’re no longer a part of.
You remember the first time you saw him after the accident—lying on the hospital bed all pale and unconscious. The doctors explained the amnesia, the "protective wall" his mind had built. You couldn't tell him. You couldn't force him to remember; for it could be even more traumatic. You just had to be… there. And that meant a stranger.
Every time you see him now, a fresh wave of grief washes over you. You look at him now, bathed in the soft glow of the festival lights, and he is everything you remember—kind, gentle, beautiful. He glows with a light that you know, deep down, you helped put there, a light you nurtured in the years you shared with him. And yet, that light shines upon you as if you are just another face in the crowd.
He turns slightly and catches your eye for a fleeting moment involuntarily . A polite, almost apologetic half-smile touches his lips before he looks back to the stage. There’s no hint of recognition, no flicker of memory, just the casual courtesy he extends to everyone he doesn't know.
Your heart aches like a fragile glass figurine slowly cracking. Even after all these years, you cannot say you've grown used to his indifference. Because you haven't. You never will.
You are the only one carrying this immense weight, the only one who remembers the promises, the inside jokes, the dreams you built together. And you have to pretend it doesn't break you every single time. Because to tell him, to burden him with a past he can’t recall, might be to shatter the beautiful, unaware person standing right in front of you. So you just smile, sip your coffee, and let the growing ache settle in your heart.
"Okay, hannie focus," you whispered, nudging Jeonghan's knee under the table. "This is important. Ten years from now, where are we celebrating?"
Jeonghan's head was propped on his hand, his soft and crinkled eyes fixed on you. You were trying, and failing, to look serious as you both pretended to study in the library of your college.
His smile broadened at your question. "Ten years? That's so far away. We'll probably be old and gray, trying to remember what we had for breakfast."
"Hey!" you swatted his arm lightly. "Don't be silly. We'll be amazing. Still us. Just... older. And hopefully richer." You leaned closer, lowering your voice a little. "So, a beach resort? A cruise? Or something completely crazy, like a cabin in the woods with no signal?"
He traced the outline of your hand on the table, his featherlight touch tickling your skin. "A cabin in the woods sounds cozy. But... no signal? How would I post our anniversary pictures?"
You clicked your tongue at him. “You don't need to post them.”
"Seriously, though," he said, his voice softening, "Wherever we are, as long as it's just us. Doing something we love. Maybe somewhere with lots of good food. And definitely somewhere I can still hold your hand like this." He tightened his fingers around yours, a simple gesture that sent warmth through you. "I just want to be with you."
You feel your heart swell with love. "Me too. Anywhere. As long as it's you."
You rested your head on his shoulder, breathing in the comforting scent of him—faint laundry detergent and that uniquely Jeonghan smell of sweetness.
“Okay, so maybe not a cabin. How about Gwangju? Remember we went there last year? We could rent a cozy cottage and stargaze."
He hummed thoughtfully, his fingers still entwined with yours. "Gwangju? Where we found the old record store with that weird jazz album?"
"Exactly!" you lifted your head, beaming. "Perfect! Imagine we are back there ten years from now. It would be so romantic."
"Deal," he said, his eyes shining with affection. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, his lips lingering for a moment. "Our tenth anniversary in Gwangju. Just you and me."
The harsh fluorescent light of your office kitchenette flickers, pulling you sharply from the memory. You stand by the counter, a lukewarm mug of forgotten tea in your hand.
You look down at your phone that has the calendar app open.
November 1st.
Exactly one month and nine days till your tenth anniversary.
A single tear slips down your cheek, feeling cold against your skin. You still go to Gwangju sometimes, alone. You still listen to that jazz album. And you still wait, every single day, for him to remember.
————
November 5th
The earphones you've plugged in play a distinct voice on repeat. You can feel it in your bones—the chill of the weather, and the ache that has stayed with you for the last twenty seasons.
From across the busy street near the campus gates, you watch Soobin wave at her brother. She hopes to hug him when he finally reaches her, and you involuntarily suck in a deep breath.
Even from this distance, you can sense the comfort between them. You clutch on the strap of your bag tighter, feeling your heart ache a little louder now—as if it were a metal being hammered on.
You continue to watch as she talks, and he listens with a permanent fond smile on his face. Then in a haste goodbye, she forces him to turn and pushes him off. You zoom in on the slight chuckle that escapes his lips, and despite the distance, you can hear it right in your ears. You've heard it far too much to not know what it sounds like. You miserably hope to hear it close to yourself again, to be the reason it escapes his mouth.
Within a blink of your eye, he's gone; walked off the pavement like he was meant to leave. Soobin is still standing there, searching for something in her bag when you slowly cross the street to stand in front of her.
"Soobin?" you call out softly.
She looks up, her hand pausing inside her bag. You watch a warm smile spread on her face. “Hiiiii!”
“Did you come to drop Seokmin off? What is he, a kid? I know it's our first day of college but in order for him to be more responsible, I think you should stop baby—”
Her sentence is fractured when you inhale sharply and wrap you arms around her in a tight hug.
“Hey—”
“Please let me stay like this for a while.” You plead, closing your eyes shut and tightening your arms around her to feel his lingering presence.
You can feel a faint trace of the warmth that radiated from her brother just moments ago clinging to her jacket. It's a small, almost insignificant thing, but in that moment, it feels like the closest you can get to him.
Then you pull away, trying to ingrain his scent in your senses like it isn't just tearing your heart apart. Soobin looks at you, her eyebrows slightly raised in question. You offer a weak, sad smile that doesn't reach your eyes. “We should normalize giving hugs.”
“You saw him just now, didn't you?” She asks, holding genuine concern in her eyes. You sigh, shaking your head softly and smiling at her in order to shift the topic. You cannot appear vulnerable.
“Why don't you go find Seokmin so you both can sit together in class? He might make new friends.”
Soobin either takes the hint or she genuinely forgets all about your history with her brother. She gasps, her lips tightening and a frown taking over her face. “I won't let that happen!”
Your smile falls as soon as she runs off to find your brother and her best friend. You let a tear roll down your cold cheek as the voice in your earphones begins singing again. His voice.
Jeonghan’s voice.
Your Jeonghan.
The warmth on your own jacket feels like a small piece of him you can carry with you until maybe, just maybe, he remembers.
November 7th
Jeonghan's apartment is painfully quiet as he stands near his bedside drawer, staring at the bracelet in his hands.
Simple and silver, with a tiny, almost unnoticeable scratch near the clasp. He doesn't remember owning it, but he knows he's seen it before. He often finds himself staring at it, turning it over and over in his palm, trying to pinpoint the connection he knows he has with it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows it might lead him to you.
He sighs after a while, dropping it back in the drawer and turning around. When he's at the door, he feels a sharp jolt run through him.
It's not just a painful flash, but a vivid image: a park bench, a sunny day. He sees his own hand, intertwined with another, tracing that very scratch on the bracelet. He feels the warmth of that other hand—so real it almost burns. He hears distant laughter, high and clear, like wind chimes. He doesn't see a face, but the feeling of immense comfort and love consumes him.
His apartment starts to tilt from the sheer force of this new, vibrant memory. His head throbs with a searing pain as more fragmented memories rush in. A quiet cafe, the faint scent of coffee, a hand slipping across the table. A late-night study session, soft whispers. Every detail punches him in the gut, and he feels like he hasn't been breathing.
He stumbles backward, bumping into the wall beside his bedroom, gasping for air. He tries to close his eyes, hands pressed hard against his temples but all he can see is spots dancing near the edges of his vision.
He knows he's probably rambling, body shaking uncontrollably. He curls into himself, gasping, desperate for the world around him to stop its violent spin.
"Jeonghan?"
He flinches at a warm presence, feeling a hand on his shoulder and the loud voice piercing his ears.. He slowly, painfully, forces his eyes open.
Your face is etched with concern and an ache he fails to see. He also fails to register the way he instantly and desperately holds onto your hand, as if the act of letting go would pain him to bits.
“Hannie,” you murmur, letting your thumb softly trace circles on his palm. “Let's breathe, alright? Breathe with me. Inhale…”
You take in a sharp inhale, watching him follow you after a second with his eyes closed and hair disheveled. You count till 4 in your head, and then exhale loud enough for him to follow. He does. Slowly, steadily, trying to keep himself stable. You count till 7, and then inhale with him again.
Eventually and painstakingly, his internal chaos begins to fade. The spinning slows and the sharp pain in his head dulls to a throbbing ache. He stares into nothingness once he's found enough oxygen to fill his lungs thrice in a row.
You let out a sigh of relief, watching his hand loosen around yours. It's the first time that you've seen him in this state, and though you've managed to quell your own panic, you're still tangled in your own complicated emotions.
You've seen his confusion, his distant politeness, his absentminded glances. You've witnessed the flicker of unrecognition in his eyes countless times. But never this.
Never this raw, visceral panic. It tears at your heart, seeing him so utterly lost and vulnerable, and for a second it makes you realize the depth of the void inside him too.
What a curse it would be to live a life he can't remember.
You suddenly want to wrap your arms around him completely, pull him into a hug that says I remember everything, I'm here and you're safe. But you can't. You can only sit here and watch the man you love breaking before you, while you are trapped in the role of an acquaintance.
“Are you okay?” You ask in a low voice, afraid of breaking the solace he is falling in.
He takes a second to divert his attention to you, and you watch him register your presence. His eyes widen slightly, and he instantly pulls his hand back.
"What—" he starts, his voice hoarse, his gaze fixed on your face. "What are you doing here?" He glances around his apartment, bewildered. "How did you...?"
Your eyes fall to your empty hand, but you offer a small, sad smile to him nevertheless. "Soobin asked me to collect some notebooks she forgot here last weekend.” You gesture vaguely towards the door. "Seokmin was with me, actually. He just went to get something from the car. He knew the passcode. Soobin told him because she said you might be at work.”
Jeonghan stares at you, his ears reddening slightly in embarrassment. He glances from your face to the open door, then back to you, still processing the proceedings.
He nods slowly, getting up with wobbly legs. “Sure. You… uh you can get the things. Might be in that room,” he gestures to the spare bedroom that Soobin uses whenever she comes to his place. You take a deep breath, and stand up as well, forcing all your emotions back to the depths of your brain.
Only when you're at the exit of his apartment does he watch your back and his brain rings.
Hannie.
You called him by his nickname. A nickname that he's heard in his dreams.
You're going away. He needs to stop you, so he calls out in an urgent voice.
“Y/N!”
You turn, arms occupied with Soobin’s stuff that you need to deliver to her dorms. Your heart races, meeting his still disheveled state and his intense gaze that's making you shiver a little.
“Yeah?” You manage to croak out when he stays quiet. He licks his lips, and opens his mouth when you feel the stuff in your arms being taken.
Your gaze travels to Seokmin who's gently apologising for taking so long and now being the one carrying the stuff. He looks at Jeonghan, and greets him with a smile, still saying something you cannot comprehend.
“Let's go?” Seokmin asks, looking at you, and you snap back to reality. Nodding, you look at Jeonghan who also meets your eyes, but now the intensity you saw earlier is dim.
“You were saying?” You try, and he opens his mouth again. But then decides against it. He chuckles slightly, and shakes his head, a hand running through his long hair. “No. I wasn't saying anything.”
You think your heart cannot ache any more than this.
For days to follow, despite work, Jeonghan pulls out the silver bracelet from his pocket, and stares at it, turning it over and over, trying to force the hazy memory of the park bench, the intertwined hands to sharpen. It's a futile exercise, one he repeats countless times a day.
He sees an old photo on his desk—a group shot from college. He doesn't recognize half the faces, but he does know you. He knows you were with him in college. He's been told that much because of how intertwined your life has been with his.
He thinks it's a curse that he never focused on keeping memories. All his notebooks from college were sold, he never had any memory books, nor did he ever like keeping picture albums.
One thing that could've helped him was his phone, the one that was crushed with him on that unfortunate day. After his recovery, he had spent countless days scrolling through his laptop to find something from the life he forgot, but all that he saw were stupid college documents and some other things that only fueled his confusion.
Even now, he researches amnesia, reads articles about memory recovery, attends every therapy session Dr. Lee recommends. He's desperate for answers, for any clue, but he never asks anyone directly. The thought of burdening his parents, or his sister, of laying his broken past on them, is unbearable. He's already been a burden for far too long after his accident.
The accident that turned his whole life upside down.
It was the graduation party, filled with cheap champagne and stories of cram school. Jeonghan caught your eye from across the crowded party hall, a silent plea etched on his face. You subtly nodded, a conspiratorial grin playing on your lips.
"Bathroom break," you mouthed, gesturing vaguely towards the hallway. He mirrored your action a moment later with a sheepish smile. He could always count on you. You were the only one who knew Jeonghan hated parties and crowds. He'd take any chance to sneak out, and though you were very much a party person, you loved Jeonghan too much to not sneak out with him.
You met by the emergency exit, feeling the chilly night air welcome you. “You know Joshua might kill us for disappearing.”
“Shh, I don't care," Jeonghan whispered, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the quiet street. "He's definitely going to notice this time!" you giggled, trying to keep up with his long strides.
"He'll probably just be relieved I'm not cornering more faculty members to ask about postgraduate opportunities," he shrugged, his laughter echoing softly in the night. "Besides," he stopped, turning to face you, his eyes twinkling under the streetlights, "Tonight is about us. Not endless graduation photos or job advice."
"Exactly!" You laced your fingers through his. "And I have a brilliant idea for a celebration."
"Oh yeah?" He raised an eyebrow, softly brushing your hair away from your face. "Do tell."
"Remember our playground?"
Jeonghan's face lights up, giggling at the memory of your first kiss on the squeaky red swing. It was your first day of college after two whopping years of high school spent crushing on each other.
(You fell down from the swing and he was kind enough to keep laughing. You were upset, and in order to make it up to you, he kissed you which marked the first day of your dating.)
“It's probably deserted now. Perfect for some end-of-an-era stuff. DON'T YOU DARE LAUGH AT MY MISERY THOUGH!”
He laughed nevertheless, but fondly, and didn't need more convincing. When you reached the playground, the swings stood still, albeit dusty. You sat side-by-side on the same squeaky swings, your legs dangling. You talked about the future, about your tentative plans, the exciting uncertainty that lay ahead. You spoke of your love that had grown stronger with every late-night study session, every shared meal, every whispered secret under the college stars.
Somewhere along, you leaned closer and kissed him, unable to keep your smile hidden. Then, with a sudden playful glint in his eyes, he scooped up a handful of the frosty ground and packed it into a loose snowball. "Think you can handle this, angel?"
Before you could react, the snowball hit your cheek in a soft puff of icy powder. "Oh, you are on!" you shrieked, retaliating with your own hastily formed missile.
What followed was a flurry of laughter and flying snow. You ducked behind the slide, pelting him with nonstop snow. He chased you around the swings, his joyful shouts echoing in the stillness of the night. You were breathless, giddy, completely lost in the pure, carefree joy of the moment.
Jeonghan stopped, panting, a wide, happy grin on his face, his eyes sparkling with affection. "You know," he said, his voice slightly husky, "I can't imagine my life without you."
Your hand stayed in the air, your laughter dimming to a soft smile at his statement. You knew he was buttering you up in order to stop you from throwing the snowball. But in that moment, you wanted to tell him the same too. So you did. "And I can't imagine mine without—"
But a sudden, deafening roar ripped through the night, pausing your speech. All the happiness was instantly swallowed by the screech of tires and the blare of a horn. A massive truck with blinding headlights, seemed to materialize out of nowhere, careening onto the sidewalk.
Time seemed to slow down, the world tilting and distorting at an ugly angle. Your blood ran cold as you saw Jeonghan turn, his eyes widening in terror, his body frozen in the truck's path.
You barely blinked, and there was a horrifying crunch followed by deathly silence.
All you could see was metal and a sickening red stain blooming on the frosty ground. Your scream was trapped in your throat as the world you knew shattered into a million pieces before your eyes—all of it obliterated in a single, brutal instant.
November 15th
Jeonghan smells the scent of roasting nuts and sweet pastries as he stands outside the tiny bookstore he visits on most Fridays, just because he has always felt an unexplainable pull towards the place.
He is browsing the poetry section, his fingers idly tracing the spines of books, when a low laugh drifts from the next aisle. It's a laugh he's heard before, fleetingly, in the background of his life.
He glances over, almost instinctively. You're there, standing by a display of new releases, a small smile on your face as you chat with the bookstore owner. Seokmin is beside you, already lost in a comic book.
Jeonghan's breath hitches. He doesn't know why, but he cannot look away. His eyes trace the outline of your features, noticing every crease on your skin as you smile.
He remembers the feeling in his living room just days ago and his stomach involuntarily tightens. He feels a strange warmth spreading through his chest—a yearning that feels both ancient and brand new—completely tied to you.
He can feel his heart beat faster, and instantly a cold wave of guilt washes over him. He can sense the shadow from his dreams swirl in front of his eyes, and in some twisted corner of his mind he knows that his future is tied to that girl. To feel this raw attraction to someone else feels like a betrayal to her.
He pulls his gaze away from you, forcing himself to focus on the lines of poetry, but the words blur. He's still running after his forgotten memories, while you're just there, under the soft glow of the bookstore lights, completely unaware of the conflict raging inside him—the way he fights the very connection he instinctively feels towards you.
November 17th
You have no idea why you're sandwiched between Seokmin and Soobin in Jeonghan's apartment on his plush couch.
A predictable rom-com drones on the TV that you give zero cents about because from where you're sitting, you can sense the discomfort Jeonghan is feeling.
You can't really pinpoint why he's a little more avoidant than usual, but with all your might, you hope it's not because of you. You remember any time that he was uncomfortable around people in your past, and how you were the one to help him out of such gatherings always.
You'd rather jump off of his balcony than know that he's uncomfortable because you—someone he's barely acquainted with—are there, on a weekend that was supposed to be just his sister and him.
Fuck, no. You should've denied Soobin. You should've told her it could be burdensome for Jeonghan. But stupidly, you let your emotions get the best of you. The sheer need to be close to him, to be in his diameter just to be remembered, ate you up instead.
“They're asleep,” he says suddenly, and you blink, ears reddening because he has probably caught you staring at him. You weren't really, you were just zoned out.
You glance at Soobin who's snoring softly against the couch rest, while Seokmin, curled into a ball at the other end, had clearly lost the fight against sleep an hour ago.
You watch Jeonghan stand up from the armchair, and push his hair back in an act that leaves you a little sad. “You can continue watching. I'll go get some fresh air.”
Within a blink, he's off to his balcony, walking in through the sliding glass door.
You wait a beat, watching his shadowed figure. You're not sure what comes over you when you slowly stand up and follow him out onto the balcony.
The night air is sharp and chilly, signalling an impending harsh winter. Jeonghan stands at the railing, his back to you, staring out at the constellation of city lights. His shoulders are hunched and you've seen him upset far too many times to not know what his posture means.
You walk closer, stopping a few steps away. The silence stretches, and you can feel the sharp beating of your heart. All you want is to wrap yourself around him and never let go.
You hear a sniff, and your heart drops. Your hand reaches at your own heart, rubbing to ease the pain away. You cannot, for the love of God, watch him cry right now.
“Are you crying?" Your voice surprises you with how low it is.
He flinches, craning his neck to look at you before quickly straightening. Even in the dim light, you can see the wet sheen on his cheeks and the subtle redness around his eyes. He averts his gaze almost immediately, discarding his tear with one swipe of his index finger.
"No," he mumbles in a rough voice. "Just tired."
You shut your eyes tight, taking in a deep breath before walking over to stand beside him. It feels like a curse to have known Jeonghan, because you could've believed him and not cared. You could have walked away, forced your brother awake and gone back home.
But you're left staring at the dark sky, remembering every single time he said the same thing to hide his suffering, and hoping for a miracle to ebb his pain.
For a while, you try to find your words and you're thankful that he doesn't ask you to leave, strangely so.
“It's okay, you know,” you pause, mustering courage to look at his beautiful face, “if you need to vent.”
He stiffens slightly, feeling his heart run a marathon while aching unconditionally. He doesn't respond, just stares out at the city again, his fingers gripping the cold metal of the railing.
“I know you don't talk about it to anyone, but I'm sure it must be hard,” you continue, keeping your voice low, "Dealing with a life-altering accident is not easy.” You pause, an ironic, sad smile taking over your face before you look at him again. “So you can talk to me if you want.”
He finally turns, his eyes searching yours. There is that desperate vulnerability and raw need for understanding that you've always seen in him.
He gulps the lump forming in his throat, and he hates how he wants to suddenly lay down his thoughts for you.
“Are you sure?” He asks, swiping his tongue over his dry lips. “It's quite heavy of a topic.”
You chuckle inwardly, meeting his unsure eyes and nodding at him. There's nothing you wouldn't do to ease his pain, even if it means putting more burden on yourself. “I've got all night.”
Jeonghan feels like his heart might burst. From the life he remembers, he had never felt these sensations that he has suddenly started feeling for you. And he hates it. He despises it because you are not someone who should be the subject of his affection, but God, he cannot stop himself from wanting to spill his all to you.
"This loss follows me everyday,” he begins, his voice distant and pained. “It's like I'm living a life, but there's this huge part missing, and I don't even know what it is,” he gestures vaguely, the tremble in his hand noticeable.
“My dreams show me just enough to know it was something beautiful. But they never show me her face. I feel like even on the day of my accident, she was with me but I know nothing else and it's just so damn frustrating.”
You wish to bend your arms and make them a warm cradle for him. You wish to stuff your face on his shoulder and cry like a baby. You wish to scream, and tear the sky apart. But you can only suck in your tears and stare at him with nothing but empathy in your eyes.
He looks at you, and in the soft glow from the apartment, his eyes linger on your face. A flicker of warmth passes through his gaze and it drops for a brief second to your lips. A subtle, almost imperceptible shift, and then he immediately looks away, a small frown deepening on his forehead as he pushes the unwelcome sensation down.
He quickly shakes his head, as if to clear the thought, his focus returning to the heavy weight of his words. He is searching for her, the one from his past, and these confusing feelings for you are a distraction he cannot afford.
"I keep finding things," he continues, oblivious to your internal struggle, "like this one bracelet. And it gives me these flashes, these feelings of an intense connection. But I can't put a face to it. I have no pictures, no old messages, nothing. I know I'm stupid but I couldn't have thought I'd lose my memories one day.”
You want to hold his face and tell him that it's okay and he's not stupid, but you listen and let him speak.
“And I feel like I'm running out of time to find whatever it is I lost. This constant grief for something I can't even name. It's just... exhausting. To feel like a part of you is just gone, forever, and you can't even fight for it properly because you don't know what you're fighting for." He sighs heavily, and helplessly. "My whole life feels like a puzzle with missing pieces, and I'm the only one who doesn't know what the picture is supposed to be."
Your heart fractures further. For a minute, you think what would happen if you just tell him the truth.
But then what? What would he do? Would he be overwhelmed by a past he can’t grasp? Would he resent you for holding onto a memory he'd lost?
You could tell him everything, release the five-year ache in your own chest, but at what cost to him? Would he even believe you? Or would he shatter completely? The thought of causing him more pain is unbearable. It would mean breaking the very person you'd silently sworn to protect, the person you loved more than anything.
"It's not a curse to want to remember, Jeonghan," you murmur, your voice thick with all the emotions you're blocking. "It's human. And you're not a burden. Never." You reach out, slowly, hesitantly, and place a hand on his arm. His skin feels cool under your palm, but the muscle beneath is tense. "It's okay to feel lost. It's okay to be frustrated. But you don't have to carry it all alone."
He looks at your hand on his arm, then slowly, his gaze rises to meet your eyes again. The raw emotion in his face is startling. He doesn't recognize you, not truly, not in the way you yearn for. But he sees comfort, a safe space. He sees someone who understands, and doesn't need him to be perfectly alright.
Purely driven by that overwhelming need for comfort, he leans into your touch without a word. And then, he wraps his arms around you. It is a hesitant embrace at first, slowly tightening, as if he is stabilizing himself.
Is this how finding a drop of water feels like after years in a desert?
For five years, your body has starved for this. For the familiar warmth of him, the solid press of his chest against yours, the scent that was uniquely his. Now, it floods your senses, making every nerve ending scream with an aching relief.
His warmth seeps into your skin, through your clothes and straight to the frozen core of your heart. You close your eyes, letting your own tears finally fall onto his shoulder. You hold him, clinging to the familiar comfort, trying to imprint every detail of this moment onto your memory, with a silent prayer that one day, he will remember why he is there, in your arms.
November 21st
Jeonghan is stuck in a loop of the same dream again. He sees flashes of many things—blood and snow and her. Even in his sleep, he knows that he'll wake up feeling miserable again. He'll not see her face again.
But this time, it's not a flash. It's not a full picture either, but a rapid succession of images: a gentle curve of a smile, eyes crinkling at the corners in laughter, a faint blush on a cheek.
It’s a face. A face he just saw, moments ago, clear in his mind. Your face.
Then, as usual, a sharp, searing pain erupts in his head. Loud, piercing sirens ring all around him, and his eyes finally snap open.
He gasps for air, a trail of sweat dripping down his forehead. The image of your face still burns behind his eyelids as he wipes harshly at his tears, trying to piece things together.
He sits up with a hand on his head, trying to press on the pulsating pain. He clenches his jaw in frustration, unable to believe the pure ridicule of his mind games.
"Seriously?" he mutters to himself, "Now I’m even dreaming about her?"
"It's just because I saw her last night," he tells himself, rubbing his temples, as if he can physically scrub the image from his mind. "It's just because I’m tired, and I’m feeling…" He avoids naming the attraction he has started to feel for you. He feels like he's cheapening the lost connection he's been grieving for years because this can't be the face of his past. This is just a momentary weakness, a distraction he has to let go of.
He sighs, swinging his legs out of bed, the cold floor doing little to ground him. He needs to get to her. The real her. Not some convenient substitute his tired, confused brain has conjured up because of a fleeting attraction.
He needs to find the girl from his dreams—the girl he truly loves. He needs to find the one he was meant to find. And it's definitely not you.
November 23rd
The late afternoon sun dips low, casting long, purple shadows across the university's old quad. It’s quiet now, the bustle of student life having receded for the evening. Jeonghan walks slowly, his hands in his pockets with a familiar restlessness gnawing at him. Dr. Lee's words about external triggers echo in his mind. He feels drawn to this part of campus, to the cluster of old, gnarled trees near the philosophy department building, where the benches are worn smooth from years of use. He doesn't know why, but he often finds himself here, hoping for a spark, maybe a memory.
He reaches a secluded bench, tucked away beneath the largest oak. He pulls out the silver bracelet, turning it over and over in his palm and closes his eyes, trying to conjure the image of the park bench, the intertwined hands, the laughter. But all he sees is a fleeting, frustrating glimpse of your face from his dream. He sighs, shaking his head. "Get it together," he mutters to himself. He can't let a simple attraction hijack his search. This place feels important, he just needs to focus.
He opens his eyes, scanning the empty benches and the worn path. Then he sees you.
You're sitting on a bench a little further down, tucked partly behind another tree. You're reading a book open in your lap, but your gaze is distant, fixed on something unseen. The golden light of the fading sun catches in your hair, making it glow and you look peaceful, almost serene.
A sudden, sharp jolt shoots through Jeonghan. It's that same powerful current he felt in the coffee shop, on his balcony. A pure, raw attraction that slams into him and leaves him breathless. His stomach tightens, and his heart begins to hammer against his ribs. He feels an undeniable urge to walk towards you, to sit beside you, to simply be near you.
He clenches his jaw, fighting it. No. This isn't what he's here for. This isn't her. This is a distraction. A beautiful, magnetic distraction, yes, but a distraction nonetheless. He reminds himself of the face from his dream, the one that is supposed to be the real one, the one he needs to find. He tells himself that this intense feeling for you is just a side effect of his loneliness, of his yearning. He can’t let his search be derailed by a fleeting emotion.
He turns his body slightly, angling himself away from you, pretending to be absorbed in the old oak tree's bark. He focuses on the rough texture, the deep grooves, anything to avoid looking at you again. He pulls the bracelet back into his pocket, gripping it tightly, as if making a silent vow to the unknown person from his past that he won't get sidetracked.
You finally look up from your book, eyes casually drifting over the quad to take in the quiet evening. When you see Jeonghan’s back turned to you, your heart feels the familiar ache—the sadness that always comes with seeing him so close, yet so far. You watch as he abruptly pushes himself off the bench and walks away, disappearing around the corner of the building without a backward glance.
You sigh, the sound barely audible in the quiet of dusk. You watch the empty space where he stood, the invisible barrier between you feeling thicker and heavier than ever. He's still searching, and you're still here, holding all the answers he desperately seeks, while he actively walks away from them, believing you're just another passing stranger.
November 25th
The sterile scent of the clinic feels heavier today as Jeonghan sits across from Dr. Lee, fidgeting with the silver bracelet in his hand. He continues to shift in his seat, unable to say all that is on his mind.
"The dreams," he starts in a shaky voice. "They're... changing. Last night, in the snow dream, I saw a face."
Dr. Lee leans forward slightly. "And whose face was it, Jeonghan?"
He hesitates, shame and confusion warring on his face. He doesn’t even know how to say it without resenting himself. He hates being in this loop—this crazy ditch that his life has suddenly thrown him into.
"It was... a classmate. Well, not a classmate anymore. Just someone I know through my sister.” He avoids your name, almost as if saying it out loud makes the dream more real, more of a betrayal to the true person he believes he's searching for. "I've been feeling this... this attraction to her, lately. I know it's stupid. I keep telling myself it's just because she's kind, and she was there when I had a panic attack. But then... then her face was in the dream. And it scares me, Dr. Lee. I don't want to be distracted. I don't want to forget the person I'm supposed to find." He runs a hand through his hair, agitated. "It feels wrong. Like my mind is trying to trick me, to give me an easy answer when the real one is still lost.”
Dr. Lee listens patiently, her gaze unwavering on him. She sets her tablet down, lightly exhaling before smiling. "Jeonghan," she says, her voice soft but clear, "what if the face you saw... is actually her?"
The silence that follows her words is deadly. Jeonghan thinks that he wants to laugh, and scream, maybe even rip at his own flesh to stop the words from registering in his brain. But unsurprisingly, he can’t bring himself to do any of that. He’s just frozen in his place, unblinking, and his mouth slightly agape.
The color drains from his face. "No," he whispers under his breath. He shakes his head, slow at first, then more vigorously. "No, that's impossible. I don't... I don't remember her. Not like that. I've known her for years, just as Soobin's friend. I would know. I would feel it, properly. It's just a coincidence. Because I saw her. Because I'm... confused." His voice rises with each denial in a desperate attempt to push away the unsettling thought. "The dreams are just showing me something random, because I'm thinking about her too much. It's not her. It can't be her."
Dr. Lee watches his frantic reaction, her face softening with genuine concern. She reaches across the desk, placing a calming hand on his trembling one. "Jeonghan, breathe. It's okay. I understand why this is shocking."
"But consider this. Your subconscious is trying to reconcile conflicting information. Your heart, your deepest emotions, might be recognizing something your conscious mind cannot yet access. The fact that her face is now appearing in such a traumatic dream, combined with your conscious feelings of attraction and familiarity... it's a powerful connection. Your brain isn't trying to trick you. It's trying to heal. It's trying to show you the truth."
Jeonghan pulls his hand back, still trembling slightly, though his immediate panic is receding under her calm voice. He feels completely thrown off by the terrifying implication, as if a whole sea was dumped on his head and he’s drowning. All this time he was searching, grieving for a ghost, when the person might have been right there.
"But... how?" he asks, his voice barely audible. "Why don't I remember anything? How could I forget something so... so big?"
"That's the nature of dissociative amnesia, Jeonghan," Dr. Lee explains patiently. "Especially when trauma is involved. The brain creates a wall. But sometimes, when it feels safe, or when enough cues accumulate, that wall can become permeable. This new dream is a very strong cue. It’s a sign that your memories are trying to surface." She offers a small, kind smile. "It's a huge step, Jeonghan. A very positive sign, even if it feels terrifying right now."
He closes his eyes, trying to process the overwhelming information. The face from the dream. Your face. The bracelet. The park bench. The way you instinctively helped him through his panic attack. The pieces are there, floating, but they won't quite connect.
"Is there... is there anything you can give me?" he asks, his voice still hoarse, filled with a desperate weariness. "For the headaches especially?"
Dr. Lee nods. "I can give you something to help with the sleep and the anxiety, yes. A mild sedative to help calm your system down so your brain can process this more gently. But remember, Jeonghan, medication can only support the process. The real work, the healing, is happening inside you. This isn't something we can force. It's a journey." She writes something on her tablet, then presses a button. "The prescription will be sent to your pharmacy. For now, try to rest. And think about what your dreams are trying to tell you, even if it's uncomfortable."
Jeonghan nods, pushing himself up from the table, the clinic feeling both more oppressive and strangely hopeful than ever before. He walks out into the muted afternoon, the world seeming to spin around him, not from panic now, but from the dizzying, terrifying possibility that the person he's been desperately searching for, has been there all along.
November 27th
It smells like old paper and coffee in the bookstore, comforting Jeonghan’s restless mind. The evening crowd has already thinned out, leaving nearly no people in the cozy space.
He gravitates towards the poetry section, running his fingers along the spines in a futile ritual of seeking answers where there are none. He’s still trying to push away the unsettling image of your face from his dream, and the very unlikely possibility that has started to kill him from the inside.
A soft chime from the entrance signals a new arrival and he glances up absently.
There you are, shaking a fine mist from your hair, a small, worn paperback clutched in your hand. You freeze for a while when you meet his eyes, then offer him a polite smile before drifting towards a secluded alcove at the back, filled with philosophy texts. Jeonghan watches you go, clenching his jaw in an attempt to not curse. He tries to focus on the verses before him, but his thoughts are only occupied by flashing images and Dr. Lee's words.
Suddenly, he hears soft drumming against the windows of the quiet bookstore. He looks out, watching a torrential downpour erupt, the sky outside turning a bruised purple.
Jeonghan hears your small gasp from the alcove, and then you are stepping out with wide eyes, looking towards the window.
"Wow," you murmur, "that escalated quickly."
"Looks like we're stuck for a bit," Jeonghan replies, moving unconsciously closer to the alcove, seeking the slight shelter it offers from the sudden chill that has seeped into the bookstore.
You lean back against a tall bookshelf, your eyes drawn to the rain-lashed window while your heart thrums achingly in your chest. The soft light of the bookstore makes your silhouette seem almost ethereal. Jeonghan finds himself standing directly in front of you, the books on the shelves pressing in from either side, leaving barely an inch between your bodies.
He can feel the warmth radiating from you, the soft scent of your skin and the rain on your clothes. You stare at him, slowly blinking like you're astonished by his intense gaze and sudden proximity. You almost want to reach up and kiss him, or do anything to fuse him into you. Just so your longing for him would suffice. But according to your better judgement, you stay still, looking into his eyes and letting him study you.
And then it happens.
A flash of lightning illuminates the alcove, highlighting your face just as a deep ring of thunder vibrates through the floor. You flinch, a small shiver running through you, and instinctively lean a fraction closer to him. In that brief, blinding light, your eyes meet his and your lips part as if to whisper something about the storm. And in that instant—the familiar, comforting scent of you, the genuine fear in your eyes reflecting the lightning, the way your breath hitches, so perfectly echoing a long-forgotten fright from a stormy college night—it isn't just attraction anymore. It isn't just a fleeting dream.
It is suddenly, undeniably, you.
The playground, the snow fight, the feel of your smaller hand fitting perfectly in his, your breathless laughter, the ten-year promise in that messy library, the truck, the world-shattering crunch—they all click into place. Not a full, flowing reel of every single memory, but the foundational truth of who you were to him.
Jeonghan stays absolutely still, not flinching away. He just stares, his eyes fixed on your face in the dim, storm-lit alcove with a blank, terrifying intensity.
The storm, you know, is raging inside him. You can almost physically feel the tremor that runs through his rigid body even as he remains utterly still. His silence is chilling, utterly unreadable, and yet you feel an overwhelming change in the air between you. He looks at you as if he is seeing a ghost, a miracle, and a devastating truth all at once.
You want to reach out, to touch his face, to ask, Do you see me now? Do you know? But his gaze is freezing you in place.
"Oh, there you two are! Just checking everyone's alright in the weather. Looks like it's starting to get really stormy.” The bookstore owner appears at the end of the aisle, holding a flickering lantern. Jeonghan blinks once, slowly, like someone emerging from a deep, long dive. His eyes are now clouded, filled with an incomprehensible mix of shock, fear, and a dawning grief that is almost unbearable to witness. He pulls his gaze away, his mouth opening slightly as if to speak, but no words come out.
"We're fine, thank you!" you manage, your voice a little shaky, grateful for the interruption. You force yourself to move, grabbing the book you needed from the shelf. "Just got caught by the rain." You cast one last glance back at him before hurrying towards the front of the store.
The bell chimes as you exit, the rain turning into a soft patter. The small alcove is empty again. Jeonghan is alone. He stumbles backward, his legs giving out, until he hits the cold bookshelf. He slides down, slowly, until he is huddled on the wooden floor between stacks of books, his knees pulled tight to his chest.
His head is splitting. The storm has broken. He remembers your face. Your laugh. Your scent. Your name.
Y/N.
He remembers everything despite it not being a complete, flowing memory. It’s many flashes of the life he'd spent with you amidst vast, painful blanks. He knows who you were. But the years, the hundreds of conversations, the everyday moments, the texture of your life together is still a void.
The realization of the forgotten years and the silent suffering he has unknowingly put you through for five years hits him with the force of a punch. He buries his face in his hands, an aching sob tearing from his chest. It isn't panic now. It’s pure, raw grief. Grief for the lost time. Grief for the pain he'd caused. Grief for the love he had forgotten.
He remembers you, but the enormity of what he had lost, what you both had lost, is simply too overwhelming. He chokes on a sob, his body shaking violently in the quiet bookstore.
Jeonghan wishes he could turn back time.
December 9th
For days after the bookstore, Jeonghan moves through a fog, the world around him feeling both new and impossibly old. Everything about you plays on a loop in his mind, but he doesn't rush. He walks. He sits. He stares. He allows the grief for the lost years, the shame of his oblivion, the weight of what you had endured, to wash over him. He replays every interaction, every glance, every touch, and sees them through the devastating lens of truth. He remembers the accident now, but it’s interwoven with the desperate joy of remembering you. He processes the shock and the remorse and he knows he has to understand himself first—he broken parts, the healed parts—before he can face you.
The clock hasn't struck 12 when he finds himself in Gwangju, standing in front of what used to be the old record store. The place has turned into a small café, and it reminds him of just how much he's missed. How much has changed.
He stands there, staring at the glass door of the café from the side, not even able to properly look in and find out what's happening. Are there people inside? Are there many workers or just one? Is the owner planning to close up at this time of the night? He loses track of time, just standing there aimlessly and thinking about you. You, who had been here every year and watched the place being broken down to turn into a café.
His eyes shift slightly as the café door chimes softly. You step out, pulling your coat tighter against the growing chill. You don't see him at first, just tilting your head back, your eyes closing for a moment as something light and soft lands on your eyelashes.
The first snowflake.
Then another. And another. The world begins to hush, tiny white specks swirling down from the grey sky. You smile wistfully and hold out a gloved hand, catching a few. Then you close your eyes again, a silent wish forming on your lips.
Jeonghan watches you and suddenly, the pain in his heart is so profound it makes his knees weak. He takes a shaky breath, every nerve in his body screaming, yet he feels strangely calm at the same time. He has to do this.
He walks towards you, his footsteps barely audible on the snow-dusted pavement. Softly, he looks at you for a while before exhaling. "What did you wish for?" he asks, his voice a little rough, cutting through the soft hush of the falling snow.
You open your eyes, startled, and your head snaps towards him. Your face registers pure shock at first then you smile at him softly. "Jeonghan? What... what are you doing here?" Jeonghan sees right through your act, and just tilts his head helplessly, as if trying to tell you without words. You gulp the lump in your throat, barely managing a strained smile. "It's getting late. I should... I should go." You turn the other way in a desperate attempt to escape the sorrow his oblivion has brought.
"Angel."
Jeonghan's voice is low, and almost small in a way that tells you he's unable to speak. You freeze, a soft exhale leaving your lips. Angel. He called you angel. You're not just Y/N anymore, you're his angel.
The first snow falls heavier around you both as you slowly turn to look at him. His eyes meet yours and they are no longer blank, no longer confused. They are full.
Full of memories. Full of regret. Full of a love that had never truly died.
"I love you," he says, almost pleading in a whisper but the words shatter the silence like thunder.
The street suddenly feels too small for your existence. Heck, even the world feels small for you to breathe in. Your knees buckle like every single ounce of pain and every hidden memory you had carried for five agonizing years has ripped through you.
Jeonghan hears a few short breaths that leave your mouth till you crumple, dissolving onto the damn cold ground. The snowflakes melt on your hot cheeks as violent sobs tear from your throat. You bury your face in your hands, trying to stifle the sound, but it’s impossible. You can't suffice a lifetime of anguish after it is finally given permission to escape.
Jeonghan is there in an instant. He drops to his knees in front of you, the cold soaking through his pants, but he doesn't care. All he sees is you, and all he wants is your comfort.
He reaches out with gentle hands, hovering for a while before finally resting on your shoulders. You can't help the sharp inhale you take at his touch, trembling uncontrollably as you look at him.
"Y/N," he murmurs, his voice thick with tears he isn't letting fall. He looks so sad, so utterly devastated for you. "Are you okay? God, I'm so, so sorry. Please. Please tell me what to do. I'll do anything. Anything you ask. Just... please don't cry like this."
His thumbs gently rub circles on your arms, his touch impossibly tender, as if he's scared of breaking you. Scared of being too much after not being there at all.
You continue to look in his desperate eyes, finally hearing words you'd died for, finally meeting your Jeonghan in five years. All you try to do is speak, but no words come out. It's as if the world has dumped the whole sky on your fragile existence, and you don't know whether you want to push the weight away or embrace it.
Hannie. Hannie. Hannie.
His name is the only sound that leaves your lips, and he pulls you into him instantly, burying his face in your hair. His arms wrap around you strongly, pulling you against his chest, holding you as if you were the most precious, fragile thing in the world.
For a long while, he just holds you there on the cold pavement, under the first snowfall, not caring of how cramped his knees become. Your sobs slowly subside into shuddering gasps against his coat.
"Y/N," he whispers, gently pulling back just enough to look at your face, his hands moving to cup your tear-stained cheeks. His thumbs brush away the cold moisture. "Please, love. Look at me."
Your swollen eyes meet his tender ones again, and you swear you feel as if your heart has restarted. His clear, wide eyes are filled with sorrow and a disbelieving hope. In their depths, you see the man you loved, truly seeing you for the first time in so long.
"I am so, so sorry," he chokes out. "For everything. For every single day you had to carry this alone."
“Jeonghan,” you murmured shakily, your hands carefully tracing the line of his cheekbone, as if confirming he's indeed real. He hums patiently, and attentively, ready to kill himself right there if you just asked.
You shake your head, more tears falling down your cheeks the moment you see wetness in his. Your arms round his neck, and you drop your head on his shoulder, inhaling him and letting yourself cry. “I missed you so much.”
He shuts his eyes tight to let his tears finally fall, and tightens his arms around you, as if the past five years can be melted away by this proximity.
He buries his face in your hair, breathing you in, while you cling to him, your hands fisted in his coat, letting the last of your tears fall.
Jeonghan is here, and yours, finally providing you his warmth after you spent a lifetime in the agonizing cold.
You’re cuddled up with Jeonghan in a small cottage he has rented for the night. The explosion of both your emotions has passed, and it's just comfortingly silent now. You can't believe you're in his arms as your tenth anniversary approaches in nearly an hour, but you look out at the falling snow and thank God that your wish was answered.
His fingers thread through your hair softly while you play with his hands that you've wished to hold every single day since the past five years. You both know you have so much to talk about, but at the same time, you need the space to be able to breathe a little calmer.
You shift slightly, your voice barely above a whisper against his chest.
"Hannie," you begin, your voice a little hoarse from all the crying, "Do you know how many hours, minutes, and seconds there are in five years?"
His hand, which had been stroking your hair, stills. He slowly pulls back, his wide, teary eyes meeting yours.
He murmurs your name in a plea, like he desperately wants to turn back time and hold you like this every single day. "No, I... I can't even imagine."
"I’m not even that good at math,” you smile sadly, neck craned up to look at him. A lone tear escapes your eye and traces a path down your cheek. "But that's just how long I waited. That's how many hours, minutes, and seconds I loved you while you didn't even know my name."
Jeonghan’s heart constricts so violently he thinks it might stop. He reaches out, his thumbs gently wiping away your tears. “Angel,” he chokes out, his eyes mirroring your glassy ones. "I’m sorry. I…”
You hold his hand on your face, shaking your head and disrupting his speech. “I'm not telling you that to hear your apology. I’d rather die than have you feel like you're at fault for any of this. I just want you to know how much I love you. How much I've loved you all this while.”
Jeonghan bites his lip, cradling your face softly and letting his tears fall. You instantly reach up to wipe them, no matter how cramped your neck is starting to become.
“How did you... how did you bear it? How did you do that? God, how did you stay?” He asks, gaze desperately searching yours for an answer. “I can't believe I watched you. I saw your pain. And I didn't know. I didn't know anything!”
"Because you were you," you whisper, leaning into his touch. "Even when you didn't remember, there were flashes of my Jeonghan.” You pause, letting another smile touch your lips that’s less sad and more hopeful. Your fingers trace their way into his long locks, “You know, sometimes you even looked at me differently. Even when you didn't know why. So I just... I just held on. I told myself every second of every minute that you were still in there. My Hannie. And I just had to wait for you to find your way back.”
You didn't want it, but a fresh wave of tears streams down your face. “And you did, hannie. You did.”
He pulls you into him almost fiercely, burying his face in your hair, letting his own tears fall onto your head. He calls out your name in a broken voice, filled with a love so immense it consumes him. “I swear, every single one of those seconds you waited, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I will fill every blank. I will love you twice as hard for every moment we have lost."
You nod inadvertently against his embrace, your hands rubbing against his clothed skin. You don't know if it’s to comfort yourself, or him, but you can't stop. You both sob with each other quietly until you feel the subtle relaxation of both your breathing.
He slowly pulls back after a long time, his chin gently brushing the top of your head. “It's almost midnight, isn't it?”
You glance at the old clock on the wall, ten minutes to twelve. Your tenth anniversary. "Come on," he says before you can answer, with a new energy in his voice. He carefully untangles himself from you, offering his hand. "Let's go outside."
You tilt your head in confusion. “For what?”
“To celebrate our tenth anniversary, of course.” You don't mistake the genuine but small smile that Jeonghan looks at you with, and your heart flutters in your chest. You take his hand, smiling back at him despite how new this whole thing feels. “But. we don't have a cake or anything.”
He just pulls you up, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a smile you hadn't seen in years. “We don't need a cake. We have the first snow and each other. That's more than enough. We can pretend this whole month is our anniversary, a do-over. We can stay in Gwangju, have lots of fun, and you can tell me all those stories I can't remember yet."
He says as he grabs the thick blanket from the sofa, wrapping it around both your shoulders. The world is strangely new when you step into the small porch. Distant lights illuminate the snow as it falls as Jeonghan leads you off the porch, a few steps into the untouched snow.
You stand there side by side, the blanket wrapped around both of you, feeling the cold air against your faces and the warmth of his body pressed against yours. You look up at the endless sky, your breath misting in the air. You don’t need to say your wish. You just feel it rising from your soul. You don't want to spend a second without Jeonghan by your side again.
When he squeezes your hand, you tilt your head to look at him. His eyes are full of the love you'd dearly missed in all this time, and just as the distant church bell chimes its first stroke of midnight, he leans down.
His lips are cold from the snow-kissed air when they tenderly meet yours, slowly deepening with all the sorrow and hope of a lifetime.
You close your eyes, tasting the snow, the cold, and your overwhelming love. Tears track down your cheeks once again, mixing with the melting snowflakes. He pulls you closer, tighter, until there is no space left between you. You break the kiss to bury your face in his shoulder, still crying, but this time with a wide, trembling smile on your lips.
“Happy anniversary, angel. Thank you for holding on until I reached you.” You hear him, feeling his tears wet the skin on your neck. You sniff, letting a giggle full of disbelief leave your lips. “I wanna kiss you again, hannie.”
Your head is gently pulled back to meet his teary yet smiling eyes, “Then kiss me, baby.”
You wrap your arms around his neck, the blanket fully falling off the both of you and you kiss him again.
Jeonghan is here. He remembers you. You are home. Your and his time has aligned. And amidst the first snowfall of your new beginning, you are finally, truly, at peace.
footnotes: thank you for reading till the end, i hope you liked the ride!
shut the fuck up already. do you even realize how fucking pathetic you look?? sitting there kissing her ass like it’s your full-time job, acting like ur special just cuz you reblog her shit. newsflash: ur nothing. ur not a writer, ur not funny, ur just her dumb little echo. you bark when she barks, you laugh when she laughs, like a fucking trained dog on a leash. it’s embarrassing to watch.
uhhh… hi?? wrong inbox maybe?? (ノ-_-)ノ~┻━┻
Attention: lost cockroach spotted in my ask. Whoever owns it, come pick it up 🪳✨
#can't believe my first hate comment wasn't for me
I was literally whining to my friend last week like “why are they cutting my shifts, why am I broke, where’s my money 😭” … and apparently God was eavesdropping.
Because tell me WHY I’ve been clocked in like a prisoner of war since 18 AUGUST?? Ten hours. Every. Single. Day.
YESTERDAY I WENT TO WORK AT 3 AM.
GUESS WHEN I CLOCKED OUT?? 10 PM.
Bro I saw the sunrise AND sunset through the windows while folding jeans like some Victorian child laborer. I don’t even know what day it is anymore. I don’t live at home, I live in Aisle 7.
God didn’t even negotiate, He just went:
“Oh you wanted hours? Bet. Take ALL of them. Starve your social life. Sleep is optional. Bones? You don’t need bones. Work, little rat.”
So yeah. That’s why I disappeared. I don’t run this account anymore, my store does.
israel murdered five journalists this morning outside of the nasser medical complex. maryam abu daqa, mohammed salama, hossam al masry, moaz abu taha and ahmed abu aziz. they also murdered mohammed el habiby, a sixth year medical student, on his 24th birthday, in addition to at least 15 civilians. this is the third strike on nasser hospital, which is the hospital that sees the third largest amount of dead and injured. war crimes upon war crimes!! where is the outrage? why does the world view now as a suitable time to stop caring? do you not view their lives as being as valuable as yours??
Summary: He is a storm, only one person can tame him.
WC: 3.5k
Seungcheol let out a long, heavy sigh, shaking his head. His patience was hanging by a single, fraying thread.
Today wasn’t supposed to be like this. He’d woken up thinking—no, hoping—he could finally have a day that didn’t chew him up and spit him out. Rehearsal in the morning, a bit of rest, and then maybe—just maybe—some uninterrupted time with you after a week of being swallowed whole by the schedule. He hadn’t even seen you in days.
The day started fine… well, he thinks it did. He ate something for breakfast—an apple… or was it a guava? Hell if he knows. Not that it mattered, because by the time he reached practice, the universe had clearly decided to play games with him.
First, Mingyu was in full baby-giraffe mode—stepping on him not once, not twice, but three times during choreography. Then Hoshi, running on what had to be six espressos, was yelling loud enough to wake the dead, bouncing around to “get the energy up.” Jeonghan was in peak moody-cat form, dancing just lazily enough to make everyone repeat the same part again… and again. And Jun? Jun was firing off jokes every five minutes—good ones, sure, but Seongcheol couldn’t even muster a smile.
Today, everyone seemed… extra. And he was running out of extra to give.
The door creaked open mid-song, and their manager poked his head in with that too-cheerful-for-this-hour smile.
“Alright, boys. Quick thing—we need you to try on the costumes for the upcoming event. Oh, and we’ll need everyone’s updated measurements so the fitters can adjust them properly.”
Seungcheol froze. He turned his head so slowly it could’ve been in a horror movie.
“…Right now?”
“Yep! Shouldn’t take long,” the manager chirped.
Shouldn’t take long. That was the final straw.
“Are you kidding me?!” Seungcheol’s voice cracked through the room like a gunshot, making everyone flinch. “We’ve been here since morning, running the same damn eight counts because someone”—he shot a glare at Jeonghan—“can’t commit to moving his lazy body!”
Jeonghan blinked, stunned.
“And Mingyu—stop stomping on me like I’m a floorboard you’re trying to break!”
Mingyu’s eyes went wide. “Hyung, I—”
“No! Don’t even start.” He pointed at Hoshi. “And you—either tone down your voice or buy me new eardrums. I’m this close to losing hearing in my left ear.”
Hoshi shut his mouth instantly.
“And Jun—STOP making jokes! No one’s laughing except you!”
Jun raised his hands like he was surrendering.
“And now,” Seungcheol turned back to the manager, his tone dripping with disbelief, “you want us to waste another hour trying on itchy, glitter-infested costumes instead of letting us breathe for five damn minutes?!”
Silence. Pure, heavy silence.
He raked a hand through his hair, muttering, “Unbelievable. I swear, if one more thing gets added to today’s schedule, I’m walking out and moving to a cabin in the mountains. Don’t test me.”
The silence after his rant was suffocating—everyone frozen, barely blinking. But then the manager, clearly suicidal, mumbled,
“…And, uh… you also have your dietitian check-up today. It’s already on the schedule.”
That was it. Something in Seungcheol’s soul snapped like dry twigs under a tank.
“ARE YOU—” he practically roared, “—KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?!”
He spun so fast his baggy shirt flared out like a cape. “You think I can survive this week, survive rehearsal with circus clowns for members, and THEN go sit there while someone tells me I’ve had one too many grains of rice?!”
"Circus Clowns?" Someone's offended voice reached his ear.
He turned and jabbed a finger at Mingyu. “STOP existing like a newborn deer. My toes are crying, Mingyu. CRYING.”
Mingyu looked like he would cry. Hoshi looked at him with pity and turned to Seungcheol to defend his poor mate but-
“Lower your voice by ten decibels or I will duct tape your mouth shut. Don’t test me, Soonyoung.”
Jeonghan glared at Seungcheol as he turned to him. “You—either dance or admit you’re here for the paycheck. I am done watching you channel limp spaghetti.”
Jun backed away but seungcheol caught him too “Crack one more joke and I’m sending you to perform at a funeral.”
But then… he turned on the good ones.
Joshua blinked, confused. “Cheol—”
“JOSHUA, I DON’T TRUST PEOPLE WHO ARE TOO QUIET. You’re too perfect. It’s suspicious. You’re plotting something.”
He turned his gaze to DK, who stepped back. “I was just—”
“SEOKMIN, STOP SMILING LIKE THAT! Nobody is that happy during hell week unless they’ve lost their mind!”
Woozi looked up from his corner. To defend them but “Scou—”
“And YOU, WOOZI—wipe that calm face off. You think you’re safe ‘cause you’re short and innocent? NO. You’re the ringleader of half this chaos, I know it.”
Vernon, blinking slowly: “… he didn’t even—”
“VERNON, WAKE UP. Blink faster or something, you look like a Windows XP loading screen.”
Even Dino wasn’t spared.
“And YOU, MAKNAE—stop breathing so loud. You sound like a puppy. I can’t handle puppy noises right now!”
By now he was breathing like a bull in a rodeo, hair sticking to his forehead, eyes darting around for the next victim. “Matter of fact—NONE of you are safe. I am done with all thirteen of you, done with costumes, done with dieticians, done with EVERYTHING!”
Seungcheol snatched his phone off the table like it had personally wronged him, stomped out of the practice room, and slammed the door so hard the mirror rattled. His footsteps echoed down the hallway, heavy and fast, until they faded into the distance.
Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. It was like a horror movie where everyone’s waiting to see if the killer comes back.
Then… click. The faint, distant sound of a door locking.
Jun’s eyes went wide. “He’s in his studio,” he whispered like they were discussing a hostage situation.
Joshua frowned. “That’s fine, right? He just needs space—”
“No.” Jun shook his head slowly. “When Seungcheol locks the studio door, it’s DEFCON 1. He’s either gonna write an angry diss track about us or burn the whole schedule to the ground.”
Mingyu gulped. “Should… we check on him?”
Jun gave him a look. “Do you want to lose your head?”
Everyone collectively looked at the floor, pretending to be fascinated by their shoes.
Jun sighed, pulling out his phone. “There’s only one person who can get him out of this without bloodshed.”
The members all stared. “You’re calling her?”
Jun nodded gravely and hit your number. The phone rang, once… twice…
The moment you picked up, Jun didn’t even say hello.
“Y/N… listen to me very carefully. We have a situation.” His voice was low, urgent, like he was calling from a warzone.
You frowned. “What kind of—”
“A Code Crimson,” he cut in. “The General has snapped. I repeat—Seungcheol has gone rogue. No one is safe. Not even Vernon.”
You blinked. “…Not even Vernon?”
Jun’s tone turned grave. “He called him a Windows XP loading screen. Unprovoked.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Oh god.”
“Oh god is right,” Jun rushed on. “First Mingyu got stepped on—no, Mingyu stepped on him three times, and that was the first crack in the dam. Then Hoshi yelled in his ear, Jeonghan decided to be a limp noodle during choreo, Jun—that’s me—made a harmless joke, and suddenly I’m public enemy number one. And the good boys? Oh, don’t think they escaped. Joshua got accused of being ‘too quiet’ and ‘plotting something.’ Seokmin got yelled at for smiling. Woozi was apparently the ‘ringleader of all chaos.’ Dino was told to stop breathing. Breathing, Y/N.”
You stifled a laugh. “Is he… okay?”
“NO, he’s not okay! He’s in his studio. Locked the door. You know what that means!”
“…That he need space?"
Jun gasped like you’d just blasphemed. “No! It means he’s in bunker mode. Last time this happened, he wrote a spite album in one night. Half the lyrics were about killing us. We had to perform them in front of our families.”
You rubbed your temples. “So you’re calling me because…?”
“Because only YOU can get him out before he either commits career homicide or drives us into early retirement. I’m begging you—bring snacks, bring affection, bring… whatever sorcery you have over him. Without you, we’re doomed.”
You sighed. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”
Jun exhaled in relief. “God bless you, Y/N. And hurry. The clock is ticking.”
___
The hallway had been eerily quiet since Jun hung up with you—until the heavy, sharp footsteps started again.
Bang! The practice room door flew open so hard it bounced off the stopper. Seungcheol stood there, still radiating pure rage, hair messy, jaw tight. His eyes swept the room like he was about to resume the purge.
Everyone froze like deer in headlights.
He stomped straight to the corner table, snatching up his car keys. “Forgot these,” he muttered, voice still low and dangerous, like a storm rumbling in the distance.
He was halfway to the door again when it opened from the other side.
And there you were.
You didn’t even have to say anything—just standing there made the tension shift. The members all stared between you and him like they were watching a bomb defuse itself.
Seungcheol froze mid-step, staring at you. His anger was still there, tight in his shoulders, but his grip on the keys loosened just slightly. “…What are you doing here?” His voice wasn’t as sharp now, but it was still edged.
Jun, from the back, mouthed Thank god and stepped behind Joshua like he was hiding from crossfire.
You arched a brow. “Heard you went nuclear on everyone.”
Seungcheol’s jaw flexed, eyes flicking away like a kid caught misbehaving. “…They were testing me.”
From the corner, Mingyu muttered, “Hyung, all I did was—”
One sharp glare from Seungcheol shut him right up.
You stepped fully into the doorway, blocking his exit. “Keys down. You’re not running off.”
He tilted his head, defiance in his eyes. “And if I do?”
You smirked, voice calm but firm. “Then I’m dragging you back by the collar. Your choice.”
The room held its breath.
For a moment, he looked like he might argue… but then he sighed, shoulders sinking the tiniest bit, and muttered, “Fine.”
Behind you, Jun whispered to the others, “See? Sorcery.”
“Sit.”
He stared at you for a beat like he might refuse… but then sat, shoulders hunched, frown still carved deep into his face.
You crouched in front of him, resting your hands on his knees. “Cheol-ah… talk to me. What’s going on in that overworked, stressed-out head of yours?”
He looked away, muttering, “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Mm-hm,” you hummed. “You’re so fine you went Godzilla on twelve innocent men?”
His brow furrowed. “They weren’t innocent—”
“Yes, they were,” you cut in gently. “Mingyu didn’t step on you on purpose, Hoshi wasn’t yelling at you, Jeonghan was just tired, Jun was making you laugh even if you didn’t feel like it… and the others? They were just breathing, Cheol.”
His lips twitched like he wanted to protest. “They—”
“They’re your members,” you said softly, brushing a hand over his arm. “Your family. They’ve been working just as hard as you. They didn’t deserve the full Seungcheol wrath.”
He groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “I just… I haven’t had a second to breathe this week. I wanted today to be calm, to spend time with you, and then it just… kept piling on.”
Your expression softened instantly. “See? That’s what I wanted to hear. Not this scary leader act.”
You cupped Seungcheol’s face, making him meet your eyes. “Next time, instead of bottling it up until you’re yelling about Windows XP, maybe… tell someone. Tell me. You don’t have to carry everything alone.”
He exhaled, finally letting some of the tension go. “…I might’ve gone too far.”
Behind you, the members exchanged glances like might was the understatement of the year.
You smiled faintly. “A little. But they’ll forgive you. Especially if you apologize… and maybe buy them dinner.”
He groaned again. “You’re siding with them.”
“I’m siding with you, Cheol. Because this isn’t you. And I like you better when you’re calm and smiley, not terrifying everyone into silence.”
That earned you a tiny, reluctant smile. “…Fine. Dinner’s on me.”
From the back, Hoshi pumped a fist. “Yes!”
You straightened up and offered your hand. “Come on.”
He eyed it suspiciously. “…Where are we going?”
“To apologize.”
His nose scrunched. “Do I have to?”
“Yes,” you said, slipping your fingers into his and tugging him to his feet. “And I’m holding your hand the whole time so you can’t storm off like an angry grandpa.”
That earned a few muffled laughs from the members.
You led him to the center of the room, planting him there like a kid about to recite an apology in class. “Alright, go ahead.”
He sighed so dramatically you thought he might collapse from sheer suffering. “…I’m sorry.”
You squeezed his hand. “Try again. Like you mean it.”
He shot you a look, but your raised brow made him cave. “…I’m sorry for yelling. I was… stressed, and I took it out on all of you. Even the ones who didn’t deserve it.”
From the back, Vernon mumbled, “That’s all of us, hyung.”
Seungcheol’s jaw flexed—your hand squeeze stopped the comeback before it formed. “…Yes. All of you.”
Mingyu’s eyes softened. “It’s okay, hyung.”
Hoshi grinned. “I forgive you if you take us to barbecue tonight.”
Seungcheol groaned, but you smiled sweetly at him. “Right, Cheol?”
He muttered, “…Fine. Barbecue. My treat.”
The room erupted into cheers, the tension finally breaking. Jun leaned toward Joshua and whispered, “See? She’s the only one who can tame him.”
Seungcheol, still holding your hand, glanced at you with a tiny smirk. “…You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
You grinned. “Oh, absolutely. Now smile for your boys before they start thinking you’re still mad.”
The room had mostly relaxed after Seungcheol’s apology, everyone chatting about dinner plans. But you noticed Jeonghan hadn’t said a word. He was leaning against the mirror in the corner, arms crossed, gaze fixed firmly on the floor.
You walked over, crouching slightly to meet his eye level. “And why are you over here looking like a kicked puppy?”
He glanced at you, lips jutting out in a pout. “Ask your boyfriend.”
You blinked, then looked back at Seungcheol—who suddenly found the floor very interesting. “Cheol-ah… what did you say to him?”
Seungcheol rubbed the back of his neck. “…I might have… told him to stop dancing like limp spaghetti.”
Jeonghan scoffed, turning his head away dramatically. “Might have? You basically called me useless in front of everyone.”
You frowned and gently touched his arm. “Hannie, you know he didn’t mean it like that. He was mad at everyone, remember? You just got caught in the crossfire.”
He still wouldn’t look at you. “…I’ve been working hard too, you know. And then he yells at me like I’m not trying.”
That made Seungcheol finally step closer, guilt written all over his face. “Hannie… I’m sorry. I was frustrated, and I took it out on you. You have been working hard. You’re one of the reasons we’re even holding it together.”
Jeonghan peeked up at him, still half-pouting. “…Barbecue and you carry my bag tomorrow.”
Seungcheol chuckled, relieved. “Fine.”
Everyone had finally settled, laughing here and there, the tension fading. But of course, Hoshi couldn’t resist stirring the pot.
You smiled, patting Jeonghan’s shoulder. “There we go. Two big boys making up.”
“Hey, remember when Mingyu almost cried earlier?” he said with a grin, elbowing DK.
DK snorted. “Almost? His eyes were glassy, man. One more glare from Seungcheol and he would’ve burst.”
Jun leaned in with mock seriousness. “I swear, I saw his bottom lip trembling. Like a cartoon puppy.”
The room erupted in laughter, except for Mingyu—who sat there, blinking rapidly. “Yah—stop—” he mumbled, trying to laugh it off. But the more they teased, the more that tight feeling in his throat came back.
Seungcheol raised a brow. “Wait… are you—”
“I’m not crying!” Mingyu said quickly, voice suspiciously shaky.
Joshua leaned forward. “Oh my god, you’re actually tearing up again.”
Mingyu scrubbed at his eyes. “I—It’s just—ugh, it was scary, okay?! Hyung was yelling, I didn’t know what I did wrong, and my foot still hurts from stepping on him—” His voice cracked on the last word.
The members howled, Hoshi clutching his stomach. “You’re making me cry from laughing!”
You stepped in before they could push him over the edge. “Alright, alright, leave him alone. He’s sensitive.” You patted Mingyu’s arm, giving him a sympathetic look. “Don’t worry, Gyu, I thought you were brave.”
He sniffled, mumbling, “Thanks, Y/N… at least someone is on my side.”
From the back, Jun muttered, “You still look like you’re one glare away from bawling.”
“JUN!” you and Mingyu shouted in unison
Mingyu was still sniffling, rubbing at his eyes while the others chuckled. Seungcheol, who had been watching quietly, finally sighed and stepped forward.
Without a word, he wrapped those long arms around Mingyu, pulling the giant puppy into his chest. Mingyu froze for half a second before melting into it, his head dropping onto Seungcheol’s shoulder.
“There,” Seungcheol said, his voice softer now, rumbling against Mingyu’s ear. “Stop crying. You’re my favorite kid, you know that?”
Mingyu sniffled again, muffled against him. “…Really?”
“Of course,” Seungcheol chuckled, rubbing his back like he was patting down a big Labrador. “You drive me insane, but you’re still my favorite.”
From across the room, Jeonghan crossed his arms. “Wow. And here I thought I was the favorite.”
“Same,” DK pouted.
Hoshi gasped dramatically. “Hyung, I gave you half my lunch yesterday and this is how you repay me?”
Seungcheol just tightened his hug on Mingyu, smirking. “Sorry, kids. This one’s mine.”
You just shook your head, smiling. “I think you all just need hugs.”
Mingyu grinned through the remnants of his tears, leaning into the hug a little more. “…Okay, now I feel better.”
Seungcheol glanced at you with a knowing look. “You volunteering?”
You laughed nodding.
Seungcheol pulled back from Mingyu, giving his arm a final squeeze. Then he glanced around the room, lips curling into a half-smirk.
“…You know what? Everyone line up.”
The members blinked.
Joshua frowned. “Line up… for what?”
“Hug apologies,” Seungcheol said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “In order of how badly I yelled at you.”
Jun immediately pointed at Mingyu. “Then he should’ve been first—”
“He already got his,” Seungcheol cut in. “Next.”
Reluctantly, Jeonghan stepped forward, still half-pouting. Seungcheol sighed and wrapped him in a hug. “Sorry for calling you limp spaghetti.”
Jeonghan smirked against his shoulder. “…I was dancing lazy, though.”
“Shh,” Seungcheol muttered, pulling back. “Next.”
Hoshi bounced up. “Apology accepted in advance if this hug comes with barbecue.”
Seungcheol rolled his eyes but hugged him anyway. “Sorry for the eardrum comment. You are… slightly quieter than a jet engine.”
Woozi walked up slowly, eyebrow raised. “You called me the ringleader of chaos.”
“You are the ringleader of chaos,” Seungcheol said while hugging him, earning a rare laugh from Woozi.
DK got his hug with a sheepish, “Sorry for yelling about your smile. I love your sunshine energy"
Then it was Vernon’s turn. Seungcheol sighed. “Sorry for the Windows XP thing.”
Vernon shrugged mid-hug. “It was kind of accurate, though....and real creative”
Seungcheol hugged him with a chuckle. “Sorry for telling you to stop breathing. That one was… maybe a little harsh.”
From the back, you crossed your arms with a teasing smile. “You forgot one person.”
He looked at you, confused. “Who?”
You tilted your head. “Me. You didn’t yell at me, but you did make me come all the way here to babysit you.”
Seungcheol’s grin softened into something warmer. “That hug’s gonna be longer.”
The members groaned dramatically as he pulled you in.
Seungcheol wrapped his arms around you, holding on like you were the only thing keeping him alive. his voice dropping to a quiet murmur only you could hear.
“I need cuddles… kisses… and a lot of attention.”
You smiled against his shoulder, whispering back, “You’re gonna get all of them.”
He let out a low chuckle, his breath warm against your ear. “…God, you really do know how to tame me.”
Summary: Joshua Hong is many things. But a gentleman? Not exactly.
Or
Joshua Hong is a gentleman in public — charming, polite, always smiling, the picture of grace.
Behind closed doors, with you, he’s anything but.
One careless slip in front of Minghao earns you a punishment that leaves you shaking, crying, and floating in subspace. Joshua makes sure you remember exactly who owns you… and when it’s over, he’s the one holding you while you come back.
Joshua Hong is many things. But a gentleman? Not exactly.
Yes—he’s charming, handsome, polite to a fault. The type to remember your coffee order without asking, to pull out your chair before you can reach for it, to walk you on the inside of the sidewalk like some chivalric hero, to show up with flowers at every date. The man who smiles at strangers simply because it’s the right thing to do.
A gentleman? …Well, maybe in public.
In private?
That’s Mister Yes Ma’am at dinner… and Mister “say it again” at 2 a.m.
You’d never believe someone so soft-spoken could whisper filth in your ear—could call you a whore like the word was meant for you alone. But last night’s words still pulse in your head like a bruise you keep pressing.
"You’re gonna take everything I give you like the good fucking whore you are."
Yeah. Soft-spoken.
The same man who smiles like ☺️ at everyone else will look at you like you’re a sin he’s been starving for. Eyes black with want. Eyes you could come to without him touching you.
The same man who strokes your hair and pats your head at dinner will, hours later, curl that same hand into your roots, drag you to the mirror, and make you watch yourself break apart while he calls you pathetic.
He didn’t just ruin your lipstick. He ruined your legs. Your ass. Your idea of what a good man was supposed to be.
His kinks aren’t “oh, he’s a little spicy” kinks—no. They’re entire locked chapters of himself you didn’t know existed until you were already reading every single line with your knees on the floor.
They say some skeletons are best left buried.
But his? His make you call him sir while your voice shakes and your body gives in.
His members talk about how nice he is. His fans coo about what a gentleman he is. But none of them notice you in a turtleneck in 25° heat. None of them ask why. They don’t know it’s because someone decided you needed some... “breathing exercises.”
The blasphemy is that you know.
Only you know what he is—what he’s capable of—and you’re the only one who does.
His version? One hand locked around your throat, the other steadying you, counting in a low voice to see how long you can last before the air runs out.
They don’t see the smile on your face hiding the tremble in your legs, the way you want to sit but can’t—not after last night’s “discipline” left your ass welted and your body jerking from the faintest brush of fabric. Not after he fucked you like your pussy had committed some personal crime.
Sitting hurts. Standing hurts. You’re suspended in that sweet, aching middle ground.
And he knows. Oh, he knows. That’s why he brought you here. That’s why his hand rests at the small of your back—whether to steady you or remind you, you can’t tell.
_________________
Who knew Joshua Hong had a pain kink?
Well—you do.
Or maybe… your ass does.
Before the door could even shut, his hand was on your throat, pinning you to the wall so hard the frame rattled.
“What,” his voice was low, dangerous, “were you about to say in front of Minghao?”
You tried to speak, to stumble through some excuse, but his grip tightened—not enough to black you out, but enough to make your voice die in your throat. He tilted his head, eyes calm, almost disappointed, and that was somehow worse.
“I told you what would happen if you even hinted about us.”
He released your neck only to grab a fistful of your hair, dragging you down hard to your knees. “You want to run your mouth? Then you’re gonna use it. And you’re gonna remember why you keep it shut.”
His cock was in your face in seconds, thick and already hard, the slap of it against your lips stinging more than it should. You barely had a breath to prepare before he forced himself past your lips, bottoming out in one brutal thrust that made you gag instantly.
There was no rhythm, no build-up—just raw, punishing thrusts that sent the back of your head bumping against the wall. His fingers dug into your scalp, holding you steady as he fucked your throat like it was nothing more than a hole for him to use.
Your eyes watered. Drool poured down your chin. You clawed weakly at his thighs, but his other hand came down to your jaw, locking you in place so you couldn’t move an inch. Every time you tried to pull back, his hips surged forward, hitting the back of your throat until your vision blurred and your lungs screamed.
“Breathe through your nose,” he ordered through gritted teeth, not slowing down for a second. “You wanted attention—now you’ve got it.”
He didn’t stop when you coughed. He didn’t stop when you whimpered. He kept going until your head felt light, the edges of your vision darkening, and your body swayed forward in desperation for oxygen.
He wiped that spit across your cheek with his thumb, smirking like you were nothing but a mess he’d made. “Pathetic little slut.”
Only then did he pull out, his cock glistening with spit, a thick strand connecting him to your mouth. You were dizzy, gasping, eyes glassy and throat aching.
"J-Josh-" you tried to speak but your voice cracked.
You barely had a second to catch your breath before his grip in your hair tightened again, yanking you to your feet so fast you stumbled. He dragged you down the hall, your legs shaking, your scalp burning from his hold.
In the kitchen, he slammed you against the counter, pressing his chest to your back. “Now,” he growled in your ear, “let’s see if I can fuck the lesson into you so deep you never forget it.”
Before you could breathe a reply, he hoisted you onto the cold kitchen counter like you weighed nothing. The chill seeped into your skin, shocking your senses, but his presence—towering over you, holding you in place—burned hotter than anything.
“Last night your ass suffered because you disobeyed me.”
His voice was low, deliberate, dripping with promise. He spun you around so fast your heels scraped the tile. “Today…” his fingers dug into your hips, “…your pussy will suffer.”
Your dress was yanked up to your waist, your legs shoved apart so wide the stretch made you whimper, he tore fown your panties withouteven second thought. He hooked one thigh over his forearm, pinning it there, the other forced out by his knee. You were open—completely exposed—and the way his eyes dragged over you made your stomach flip.
“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice almost affectionate. “Still wet from letting me use your throat. You’ll count every fucking one. If you lose count, we start over.”
The first slap landed sharp against your pussy, the sting spreading instantly. You gasped, your back arching, but his grip held you down.
“O-one,” you whispered.
Another slap, harder.
“Two—”
He didn’t wait long between hits. By the fourth, your thighs were twitching, your hips instinctively trying to shy away from the pain—but he pressed you harder into the counter, holding you exactly where he wanted you.
“Five—”
“Louder.” His palm came down again, this time directly on your clit. You yelped, the pain white-hot and searing.
“S-six!”
He slowed the rhythm, dragging his hand over your folds between each strike, smearing your wetness before pulling back again. The teasing was almost worse than the smacks—it gave you hope, only to rip it away with another punishing blow.
By eight, your eyes were glossy. By ten, tears were streaming down your temples, your voice cracking with every number.
“Sir, please—no more—”
“Not your call,” he said smoothly, not even winded. Another sharp strike made your hips buck violently, but his forearm kept you pinned. “You’ll take what I give you.”
You sobbed out “Thirteen,” but he didn’t slow. Each smack alternated—clit, lower, clit again—keeping the pain unpredictable. You couldn’t brace for it, couldn’t control the way your body jolted every time his palm connected.
“Seventeen—oh my God—eighteen—”
“Keep going.”
Your legs were shaking so badly you thought they’d give out if he let go. By twenty, you were slurring the numbers, voice high and broken.
Finally, he paused—but only to run two fingers over your swollen, throbbing folds, the sensitivity so sharp you flinched away. He forced you still with his other hand.
“Messy,” he said, tone almost amused. “You’re dripping all over my counter.” He gave your clit one more light tap—mocking, cruel—just to watch you gasp. “Guess you didn’t hate it as much as you want me to believe.”
And you knew from the look in his eyes—he wasn’t done. Not even close.
His palm came up to your throat again, not squeezing—yet—just holding you there, his thumb under your jaw tilting your chin until you were forced to meet his eyes. You were still sprawled across the counter, legs spread, pussy swollen and glistening from the punishment.
“Do you remember what your safe word is?” he asked, voice calm but heavy with that dangerous undercurrent.
Your lips trembled. “G–Gentleman.”
He smirked, leaning in just enough that you felt the heat of his breath. “Good girl. Keep it close. You might need it.”
You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering under his fingers.
“Close your eyes,” he ordered.
You obeyed instantly. There was the sound of him moving away, the soft creak of a cupboard opening, then the faint clink of glass. Curiosity mixed with dread in your chest.
When he returned, you felt the cool base of a wine bottle graze the inside of your thigh.
“I want to soothe you,” he murmured, his hand stroking your trembling leg as if he hadn’t just wrecked you minutes ago. “I want to run my tongue over your pathetic, sore little pussy until you’re begging to come.”
You bit your lip, the tension in the air thick enough to choke on.
“But…” his tone shifted, silk hardening into steel, “…what’s in it for me?”
Before you could answer, the shock hit—cold wine cascading over your heat, pooling against your clit before running down your folds. You gasped sharply, hips jerking at the sudden chill, but his grip on your neck kept you exactly where he wanted you.
“Now,” he said, eyes locked on yours, “let’s see how sweet you really taste.”
The wine’s cold sting lingered for a heartbeat before his mouth was on you—hot, wet, and merciless. The temperature shift was brutal, your body jerking as his tongue slid through your folds, spreading the chilled liquid over every swollen, punished inch of you.
Your moan broke halfway into a gasp, the sensation too much. The sting from the spanking, the cold from the wine, the heat from his mouth—it all collided in a dizzying overload.
“J–Joshua—”
His grip on your thighs tightened, dragging you closer to the edge of the counter until your hips were flush with his face. “Not my name,” he murmured against you, the vibration making your back arch. “Try again.”
“Sir—” you choked out.
That earned you a deep, slow lick from the base of your slit to your clit, his tongue pressing hard enough to make your legs twitch. He didn’t pause—just sealed his mouth over you, sucking hard while his tongue flicked relentlessly against the swollen bundle of nerves.
The sound was obscene—wet, messy, almost feral. He groaned into you like he couldn’t get enough, like every drop of wine and slick he swallowed was better than any drink he’d ever tasted.
Your hands scrambled for purchase, fingers digging into the edge of the counter, head tipping back as helpless sounds poured out of you. “Oh my—ah—please—”
He pulled back just long enough to look at you, lips shiny, eyes dark and glassy. “Please what? You’ve got a safe word. You’re not using it, so you must want more.”
Before you could catch your breath, two fingers slid into you—slowly, just to the second knuckle—then curled deep, dragging along your front wall while his mouth latched onto your clit again.
The moan that tore out of you was broken, breathless. Your legs tried to close around his head, but he shoved them open wider, holding you down as if you were nothing more than something to be devoured.
It was unbearable—the steady, ruthless drag of his fingers inside you, the relentless flick of his tongue, the heat of his mouth against your overstimulated clit. Every time you thought you might tip over the edge, he adjusted—faster, harder, deeper—pulling you along with no escape.
You were gasping now, your voice cracking as you tried to form words. “Sir—too much—oh my God—”
“Mm,” he hummed against you, not stopping for a second. The sound vibrated through your core, sending shockwaves up your spine. “Then come for me. Let me taste all of it.”
Your climax hit hard, your whole body seizing as your cries filled the kitchen. You could feel yourself throbbing around his fingers, feel the gush of slick he was drinking down like he was starved for it.
But he didn’t stop. Even as you sobbed from the sensitivity, even as your hips twisted away, he followed—tongue dragging, fingers curling, milking every last tremor from your shaking body.
When he finally pulled back, your thighs were trembling uncontrollably, your chest heaving. His lips were wet, his chin slick, and his expression… wrecked.
“God,” he breathed, almost to himself, “I could live here.”
And from the way his grip tightened on your hips, you knew he wasn’t anywhere close to being done.
You barely had time to breathe before his fingers dug into your hips again, dragging you even closer to the edge of the counter until you felt his breath hot against your swollen, soaked pussy.
“Look at you,” he said, voice dripping with something between pride and cruelty. “Already shaking… and I’ve barely gotten started.”
You whimpered, but it only made him smirk. One hand snaked up to your throat again, tilting your head so you had to watch him—had to see the hunger in his eyes before he dropped his gaze back to you.
The first lick after your orgasm made your whole body jolt, a sharp cry tearing from your throat. It hurt—burned—and yet sent heat curling low in your belly all over again.
Joshua noticed. Of course he did. “Mm. That sound,” he murmured against you. “It’s like your body can’t decide if it hates me or needs me.”
Then he went in for the kill—tongue circling your clit in slow, deliberate motions, only to suddenly suck hard enough to make you choke on a moan. His free hand spread your folds wide, thumb pressing just enough on your oversensitive clit to make your back arch off the counter.
“Sir—please—too much—” you gasped, voice cracking.
“You can still talk.” His tone was maddeningly calm. “So you can take more.”
And then his fingers were inside you again—three this time—stretching you while his mouth kept working your clit. The sting of the stretch combined with the relentless stimulation made your vision blur.
Your hands clawed at the counter, nails scraping against the wood as your hips jerked uncontrollably. “I can’t—I—”
“You can,” he cut in, curling his fingers deep until you screamed. “And you will. You’re not done until I say you’re done.”
Your tears slipped hot down your temples, your cries broken and raw. Every nerve felt lit, your thighs trembling so violently they slapped against his shoulders. You could barely keep your eyes open, every muscle tightening and releasing as your body betrayed you—climbing toward another orgasm despite the pain.
When it hit, it was brutal—your breath catching, your body locking up before you shattered, sobbing his title.
But Joshua didn’t stop.
Even as your hips twisted and your hands tried to push at his head, he stayed latched to you, fingers pumping, tongue flicking, chasing every aftershock until you were beyond moans—reduced to helpless, incoherent whimpers.
When he finally pulled back, your thighs instantly tried to close, but his hands kept them spread. His lips and chin were slick, his eyes glazed with a hunger that made your stomach flip.
He leaned over you, his mouth brushing your ear. “You’re not done yet, sweetheart.”
And with the way his cock pressed against your inner thigh, hard and heavy… you knew he meant it.
His hands slid under you, lifting you effortlessly. The sudden change from counter to his chest made your head swim—partly from the aftershocks, partly from the fact you were still trembling.
He carried you bridal style down the hall, but there was nothing romantic in his grip. It was possessive, like he was transporting something he owned. The air felt colder in the bedroom, but you barely had time to notice before he tossed you onto the bed with enough force to make you bounce once.
“Strip.”
You froze for half a second, sitting there on your knees, chest heaving.
“Now.” His tone left no room for hesitation. He sank into the armchair near the bed, spreading his legs, forearms resting casually on his thighs like he had all the time in the world to watch you squirm.
Your cheeks burned as you reached for the hem of your dress, tugging it over your head. His gaze followed every movement, sharp and assessing.
“There’s my little mess,” he drawled, eyes flicking to the damp spot on the inside of your thighs. “Look at you… still dripping. I didn’t even touch you for that one.”
You swallowed hard, your hands moving to unclasp your bra.
“Slower,” he interrupted. “Let me enjoy it. You owe me that after tonight.”
Your fingers fumbled with the clasp under his stare, finally getting it undone and letting the straps fall from your shoulders.
“Pretty,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on your chest. “Shame you don’t get to touch them unless I tell you to.”
The humiliation made your stomach twist—being bare under his gaze, every inch of you exposed while he stayed fully dressed, sitting like a king watching a performance.
Your panties were the last piece, the torn lace still hanging on your thigh from earlier. You slid them down slowly, stepping out of them as his mouth curved into something dark.
“Hold them out,” he ordered.
You hesitated, but obeyed, dangling the scrap of lace between your fingers.
“Now drop them,” he said, pointing to the floor like it was nothing worth keeping. “That’s all you are right now, sweetheart—something for me to use and discard.”
His words hit deep, the degradation both stinging and making your pulse race. He leaned back, letting the silence stretch, his gaze raking over your naked form.
“Now,” he said, pointing to the floor in front of him. “Here. Crawl to me.”
“Good,” he said finally.
The words hit like a shockwave—low, calm, but threaded with absolute command.
Your throat went dry.
“On all fours, sweetheart,” he added, leaning back in the chair, spreading his knees like a king awaiting tribute. “Show me exactly where you belong.”
Heat flooded your face, shame and arousal mixing until it was hard to tell them apart. Slowly, you lowered yourself onto your hands and knees, the plush carpet brushing against your skin.
The first move forward felt like a mile, your body acutely aware of how exposed you were—back arched, breasts swaying, your pussy on display with every shift of your hips.
Joshua’s eyes tracked every inch of you, slow and deliberate. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Keep that ass up. I want to see every bit of what’s mine.”
You crawled closer, the air between you heavy and suffocating. Your palms pressed into the carpet, your knees dragging forward inch by inch under his unblinking gaze.
“Slower,” he said suddenly, the word slicing through the silence. “Make me want it.”
You adjusted your pace, hips swaying just slightly with each movement. His lips quirked into the faintest smirk, his eyes darkening as he shifted forward in his chair.
When you reached his knees, you stopped, waiting.
Joshua leaned down, one hand curling under your chin, forcing your eyes up to his. “Look at you,” he said softly, almost in awe. “You have no idea what I’m about to do to you.”
And the way his grip tightened told you—oh, he meant every word.
You were still on your knees between his legs, eyes locked on his, when his hand moved—fast.
The crack of his palm against your cheek rang out in the room, the sharp sting blooming instantly across your skin. You gasped, head tilting slightly from the force, breath catching in your throat.
Before you could process, his hand was in your hair, steadying you, pulling your gaze right back to his.
“There she is,” he murmured, eyes sweeping over your flushed face, your parted lips. “My pretty mess.”
The sting in your cheek throbbed, but his voice—low, reverent—made heat rush through you in equal measure.
He tilted his head, studying you like you were some priceless work of art only he was allowed to touch. “You are,” he said slowly, each word deliberate, “the most beautiful being in the world.” His thumb brushed over the spot he’d just struck, a twisted tenderness in the gesture.
The contrast made your chest ache—his cruelty paired with adoration, the kind that left you dizzy, unsure if you wanted to melt into him or run.
And he knew it. He saw it in your eyes, the way you shivered when his hand slid down from your face to your throat, holding you there with that familiar, possessive grip.
“That’s why,” he added, leaning in until his lips nearly brushed yours, “I get to ruin you like no one else ever will.”
His grip on your throat eased just enough for him to pull you forward, closing the space between you in one decisive move. His mouth crashed into yours, hot and demanding, stealing the breath right from your lungs.
It wasn’t a sweet kiss—it was possession, all teeth and tongue, his hand gripping the back of your neck to keep you right where he wanted you. You whimpered into his mouth, still dazed from the slap, the praise, and the heavy burn of overstimulation lingering in every nerve.
You barely noticed his other hand sliding between your thighs until two fingers were already pushing into you—deep. The intrusion made you moan sharply into his mouth, your knees wobbling as your body tried to pull away from the relentless sensation.
But he didn’t let you. His grip on your neck kept you anchored to the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as his fingers set a punishing pace inside you.
Your body was too raw, too sensitive—every thrust against your already-swollen walls made your hips jolt, every curl of his fingers scraping that spot inside you sent shockwaves down your spine.
You tried to pull back to breathe, but he chased you, biting at your bottom lip before sealing his mouth over yours again. His thumb found your clit, rubbing circles that made your entire body tremble.
“Mm,” he hummed into the kiss, feeling you squirm, “still so tight… so wet. Didn’t I already take two from you?”
You nodded weakly against his lips, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as another wave built far too quickly.
“Then come for me again,” he growled, deepening the kiss as his fingers moved faster, his thumb pressing harder until you broke—crying out into his mouth, your body convulsing around his hand.
He didn’t stop kissing you through it, swallowing every moan, every gasp, every desperate sound, as if claiming even the noise you made belonged to him.
When he finally pulled back, his lips were wet, his breathing steady while yours was ragged. His fingers were still inside you, drawing out the aftershocks until your thighs shook violently.
“Too much?” he asked softly, almost mocking—because you both knew you weren’t going anywhere.
He didn’t give you time to recover. One moment you were still gasping from the relentless fingering, the next his hands were on you, hauling you to the bed with the kind of strength that made you feel small—helpless—in his grip.
The mattress dipped as he pushed you down, his body following, pinning you beneath him. His mouth found yours again in a bruising kiss, but there was no tenderness in it—just heat and hunger, the kind that devoured.
“On your back,” he ordered against your lips, and when you didn’t move fast enough, his hands flipped you effortlessly, pressing you flat into the mattress. Your knees parted instinctively as he settled between them, his cock heavy and hard against your thigh.
You barely had time to brace before he was inside you in one deep, brutal thrust. The stretch made you cry out, the force of it punching the air from your lungs.
“Fuck—” you gasped, but he cut you off with his hand wrapping around your throat, pressing just enough to make your vision spark.
“Don’t speak unless it’s to tell me who owns you,” he growled, hips snapping forward again, harder this time. The sound of your bodies colliding filled the room, wet and filthy.
“You—” your voice was already shaking, “you own me—”
“Louder,” he demanded, driving into you so hard the headboard slammed against the wall.
“You own me!” you screamed, the words breaking as another thrust made your eyes roll back.
His other hand came up, palm connecting with your cheek in a sharp slap that made your breath hitch. “Good girl,” he said, almost mocking. “Now tell me what I am to you.”
“Sir—master—please—”
The smirk that curved his lips was dark, satisfied. “That’s right. You’re mine.”
He kept fucking you like he was trying to hammer the truth into your bones—deep, fast, unrelenting. Your nails clawed at the sheets, your back arching under the force of every thrust.
His grip on your throat tightened, cutting your air just enough to make your head spin. “Look at me,” he ordered, and you forced your eyes open, meeting the molten heat of his gaze.
“You’re going to remember this every time you try to mouth off,” he said, his voice low and steady despite the way his hips were pounding into you. “Every time you think you can keep something from me. This—” he slammed into you so hard you screamed, “—is what happens.”
Your body shook beneath him, the overstimulation making it impossible to think. You were already babbling—half-formed words spilling out between moans—but he didn’t slow.
Then his hand left your throat and slid to your jaw, fingers forcing your mouth open. Without breaking rhythm, he spat into your mouth, watching your eyes widen as you swallowed without hesitation.
“Good,” he murmured, his thumb pressing into your tongue for a moment before he pulled his hand away. “Now keep it open.”
He pushed two fingers between your lips, pressing them down on your tongue until you gagged around them. The sound made his thrusts somehow harder, sharper, his hips slamming into yours with renewed force.
“Choke on them,” he said, curling the digits just enough to make you sputter. “I want to hear you gag while I fuck you.”
Tears pricked your eyes from the combined force of his cock driving into you and his fingers filling your mouth, your own muffled cries only spurring him on.
“God, look at you,” he groaned, leaning over you so his chest pressed against yours, caging you in completely. “You’re nothing but a pretty little fucktoy, aren’t you?”
You nodded as best you could with his fingers still in your mouth, the humiliation and the way his words sank into you making your pulse race.
He finally pulled his fingers free, but only so he could slap your cheek again—harder this time—before gripping your face, squeezing your cheeks together so your lips puckered. “Say it.”
“I’m your fucktoy—yours—only yours—” you sobbed, the words tumbling out broken and desperate.
His eyes darkened even further, something primal flashing there. “Damn right you are.”
His pace grew almost feral now, his hips driving into you like he couldn’t get deep enough, the sound of skin on skin echoing around the room. You were past the point of holding anything in—screams and sobs spilling freely as your body shook violently beneath him.
“Come for me,” he ordered, one hand sliding back to your throat. “Right fucking now.”
The command sent you spiraling, your climax hitting like a freight train. Your vision went white, your entire body locking around him as the pleasure tore through you, your voice breaking on his name.
But he didn’t stop. He kept thrusting through it, riding you hard while you writhed and shook beneath him, your cries turning into incoherent babbles.
“That’s it,” he growled, watching you unravel. “Dumb little thing—can’t even think, can you?”
You shook your head weakly, tears slipping down your temples.
“Good,” he said, the word dripping with satisfaction. “Don’t think. Just take it.”
His grip on your throat tightened one last time as he drove into you with punishing force, the sound of his own low groans mixing with your ragged, breathless moans.
When he finally came, it was with a deep, shuddering thrust that made you gasp. He held you there, buried deep, his hand still on your neck, his eyes locked on yours as if to brand the moment into you.
Then he eased off your throat, brushing his thumb over the mark his grip had left, almost tender—almost.
“You’re mine,” he said again, softer now but no less certain.
And with your body wrecked and your mind blissfully empty, you could only whisper the truth back. “Yours.”
“Beautiful,” he murmured, almost tender despite the ferocity in his movements moments ago. “My perfect, ruined girl.”
His eyes roamed over your tear-streaked face, your parted lips, your dazed expression.
The room was quiet now, the air heavy with heat and the lingering scent of sex. Your body was limp beneath him, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, your eyes glassy and faraway.
Joshua eased out of you slowly, his movements careful now, like he was afraid of breaking you. The sudden emptiness made you whimper softly, your legs trembling even as he shifted to lie beside you.
“Shh, I’ve got you,” he murmured, sliding an arm under your shoulders to pull you against his chest. His other hand immediately found your hair, stroking through the damp strands with slow, repetitive motions.
You didn’t speak—you couldn’t. You were floating, drifting somewhere warm and safe, the last few minutes a blur of sensation and surrender.
Joshua pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there. “You did so well for me, sweetheart. So, so good.”
Your breathing steadied under the sound of his voice, each word tugging you back toward yourself. His hand kept moving in your hair, gentle and rhythmic, the other rubbing slow circles into your back.
“You can come back now,” he whispered. “No rush. Just breathe with me.”
He matched his breaths to yours, guiding you without saying anything else, his thumb occasionally brushing your jaw or tucking a strand of hair away from your face.
The world felt softer here, in his arms—his heartbeat under your ear, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his body holding you close.
When your eyes finally blinked open and found his, the corners of his mouth curved into the gentlest smile. “There’s my girl.”
You managed a small, tired hum, leaning into the hand still cradling the back of your head.
Joshua kissed your forehead, lingering there as he murmured, “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
And in that moment, you believed him.
Your breathing had steadied, but your limbs still felt heavy, every muscle warm and loose from the drop. You were tucked against his chest, hoping he’d stay like this forever—just holding you, keeping the world out.
But then his hand slid up to your cheek, thumb brushing softly over the skin. “Stay put,” he said gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll be right back.”
A small sound of protest escaped you, your fingers curling into his shirt. You didn’t want him to leave—not when you were still floating, still wrapped in the haze of him.
“Joshua…” you murmured, but his lips curved into a knowing smile.
“I know, sweetheart,” he said softly, prying your hand from his shirt only to kiss your knuckles. “But you know I won’t sit still until you’re fully aftercared. You need it.”
You knew he was right. As much as you wanted him to stay in bed, to keep you cocooned in his warmth, you also knew Joshua—once his mind shifted into caretaker mode, there was no stopping him.
So you let him go, watching as he moved across the room with that quiet, purposeful focus he always got when tending to you. The sound of a drawer opening, the faint rattle of jars and tubes, and then he was back—ointment in one hand, a soft cloth in the other.
“Good girl,” he murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Let’s take care of those marks.”
His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he examined your skin, murmuring little reassurances while he worked. Every dab of ointment, every soft stroke of his fingers, was a silent reminder—you were safe, you were his, and he wasn’t going anywhere.
Once he’d finished smoothing ointment over every sore spot, Joshua leaned in and kissed the top of your thigh—soft, almost apologetic.
“There,” he murmured, “all taken care of...in every way”
You hummed, your eyes half-closed, sinking into the mattress. You thought he’d finally lie down with you, but instead, he disappeared into the bathroom. You could hear the tap running, the faint sound of a cabinet opening.
When he returned, he had a warm, damp towel and a fresh glass of water in hand. He set the water on the nightstand, then climbed onto the bed beside you.
“Let’s clean you up, baby,” he said quietly. His hands were tender as he ran the towel over your skin, wiping away the lingering mess with slow, deliberate strokes. Every now and then, he’d murmur something—“You did so well tonight,” “So proud of you,” “My beautiful girl”—like each word was meant to pull you further out of the haze.
When he was satisfied, he set the towel aside and reached for the water. “Small sips,” he reminded, holding the glass to your lips. You drank obediently, your throat still dry from earlier, and he gave a pleased little hum when you finished half.
“There’s my girl.”
He tugged the covers back, guiding you under them, then joined you—immediately pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you, one hand finding your hair again, stroking gently.
“You’re safe. I’ve got you,” he whispered against your temple. “Nothing else to do tonight except rest.”
“Love you,” you mumbled into his shirt, already slipping deeper into the comfort of his embrace.
Your body melted into his, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you. His scent, his warmth, the soft weight of his hand tracing your spine—it all wrapped around you like a cocoon.
It made you happy knowing that only you get to see this side of him, both freaky and gentle. Both his perfect manners and perfectly filthy personality.
“I love you too,” he murmured back, kissing your hair. “Now sleep, my pretty baby. I’m not going anywhere.”
And you believed him, letting yourself drift, knowing that as long as Joshua was holding you, nothing could touch you.
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