gotnigs

[gotnigs]

ANOTHER CHANCE ──── S. JOHNNY

⟢　you always knew you would run into johnny at your high schools’s reunion. what you didn’t expect is to fall right back into the way things used to be. even more surprising, johnny asking to try again. ⟣

PAIRING ⦂ johnny suh x fem!reader WORD COUNT ⦂ 3.2k CONTENTS ⦂ high school sweetheart!johnny , dad!johnny , fluffy , bittersweet , missed chances , mainly dialogue , happy ending.

──── © HAEIVIE , 2025. /

the reunion was louder than you expected. music thumping through the speakers, laughter filling the gaps between conversations. you knew coming here meant opening a time capsule, but you didn’t expect your heart to stumble the second you saw him.

johnny suh.

your high school sweetheart. the boy who once held your heart in his calloused hands, who whispered forever against your lips during late-night drives. the one you let go.

he looks good. too good. taller, broader, still wearing that easy, lopsided smile. but there’s something softer in his eyes now, a weight of time and experience.

then you see her.

a little girl, maybe five or six, clinging to his hand. she’s dressed in a pale yellow dress with frilly sleeves, her dark hair tucked into two neat braids. when she looks up at him with wide eyes, full of curiosity and trust, your stomach turns.

she has his eyes.

your breath catches. it’s not like you ever expected johnny to stay frozen in time, but this? this is something you hadn’t prepared for. before you can decide whether to turn away or walk over, he sees you.

his expression shifts, surprise flickering across his face before something else settles in. hesitation, nostalgia, maybe even something softer. he says something to the person he was talking to, then, before you know it, he’s making his way toward you.

“hey,” he says, voice warm, familiar.

“hey, johnny.”

a beat passes. his daughter tugs at his hand, shifting shyly behind him, and he glances down at her before crouching beside her.

“this is sohee,” he introduces, his voice gentler now. “sohee, this is an old friend of mine.”

sohee blinks up at you, her small hands gripping the fabric of her dad’s jacket. for a second, she doesn’t say anything. then, carefully, “hi.”

you crouch slightly to meet her at eye level, offering a small smile. “hi, sohee. i really like your dress, it’s very pretty.”

she lights up at the compliment, glancing down at the fabric like she’d forgotten what she was wearing. “thank you,” she says, her voice a little brighter this time. “daddy let me pick it out.”

you steal a glance at johnny, who only shakes his head with a helpless smile.

“you have good taste,” you tell her, and she giggles before getting distracted by something across the room.

johnny stands again, exhaling like he has a million things to say but doesn’t know where to start.

“she’s beautiful,” you offer gently.

“yeah,” he murmurs, watching her fondly. then, quieter, “she’s the best thing that came out of my marriage.”

your heart clenches.

“i heard.”

he nods, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “divorced two years ago.”

you don’t know what to say. the air between you feels different now, weighted by time and distance. you should tell him you’re happy he’s here, that life looks good on him, but all you can do is watch the way his shoulders shift like he’s bracing for something.

“do you want to catch up?” his voice is careful, like he’s giving you an out. “just for a bit?”

you exhale a soft laugh, tilting your head. “yeah. i’d like that.”

his lips twitch, like he wants to smile but doesn’t want to get ahead of himself.

and just like that, time folds, bringing you back to him.

it was quieter now. the music still hums in the background, but most people have trickled away into smaller groups, laughter fading into softer conversations.

you and johnny find yourselves outside, sitting on the hood of his car like you used to when you were young. the air is cooler now, the night stretching wide above you, and for a moment, neither of you speak.

“so,” he finally says, turning his head to look at you. “this is weird, right?”

you huff a laugh. “a little.”

“seeing you again… i didn’t expect it to hit me like this.”

you glance over, meeting his eyes. they’re the same, warm and deep, but there’s something new behind them; experience, loss, love in a different form. you wonder if he sees something different in you, too.

“me neither,” you admit, your voice quieter now.

he leans back on his hands, exhaling slowly. “sohee really liked you.”

you smile at the mention of his daughter. “she’s adorable. she’s got you wrapped around her little finger, huh?”

johnny laughs under his breath. “you have no idea.”

there’s something tender in the way he talks about her, and it makes your heart ache in a way you don’t fully understand. he’s a dad now. he’s built a life, one that no longer revolves around running around past midnight and whispered promises.

but sitting here like this, the past doesn’t feel so far away.

“i always wondered what it’d be like,” he murmurs suddenly.

you tilt your head. “what?”

“seeing you again.” he pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. “i don’t know what i expected, but… i think i was scared it wouldn’t feel the same.”

your breath catches. “and does it?”

johnny studies you for a long moment, his gaze dipping to your lips, then back to your eyes. he doesn’t answer right away, but you can feel it in the air between you.

finally, he exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “yeah,” he says. “it does.”

you don’t know what that means. maybe he doesn’t either. but for tonight, you let the silence settle around you, warm and familiar, like time never stole you away from each other at all.

sohee was a few feet away, standing on the curb and balancing on the edge like it’s a tightrope, her little arms stretched out for balance.

“careful, sohee,” johnny calls, though his voice is light, more amused than worried.

“i got it, daddy!” she giggles, hopping onto the pavement with a dramatic flourish before running back toward you both. she stops right in front of you, tilting her head. “so, you were daddy’s friend?”

the question makes johnny shift beside you, but you only smile. “yeah. a long time ago.”

she blinks up at you, then turns to her dad. “but you said you don’t see your old friends.”

johnny clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “well, this is a special case.”

sohee narrows her eyes like she’s trying to solve a puzzle. “hmm,” she hums, then looks back at you. “i think daddy likes you.”

johnny nearly chokes. “sohee—”

you bite back a laugh, leaning down slightly. “oh yeah? what makes you think that?”

she grins mischievously. “because he’s looking at you like he looks at ice cream.”

you do laugh this time, covering your mouth. johnny groans, dragging a hand down his face. “you’ve gotta stop exposing me like this, kid.”

sohee just giggles, clearly pleased with herself. then she yawns, rubbing at her eyes before tugging at her dad’s sleeve. “i’m sleepy.”

johnny sighs, giving her a fond look before lifting her into his arms with practiced ease. she immediately curls into him, tiny hands gripping his jacket.

he looks at you, hesitant. “i should probably get her home.”

you nod, something warm settling in your chest at the sight of him holding her so gently.

“yeah,” you say softly. “it was really nice seeing you again, johnny.”

he doesn’t respond right away, just watches you for a beat, like he’s memorizing your face. then he smiles, a little softer this time.

“you too.”

and as you hop of his car and allow him to walk around it, sohee peeks over his shoulder and waves sleepily. you wave back.

you start to walk away, back inside maybe when you here johnny speak again.

“wait.”

you turn. he shifts so he’s holding sohee more securely, but his gaze is fixed on you, something unreadable behind it.

“do you wanna get frozen yogurt sometime?” he asks, almost hesitant. “like we used to?”

you blink, caught off guard. “frozen yogurt?”

“yeah,” he says, lips twitching like he’s trying to play it off as casual. “i mean, obviously sohee would come too, but… i think she’d like it. i think you’d like it.”

you hesitate. there’s a part of you that wants to say no. to leave things as they are, neatly tied up in the past. but there’s a bigger part of you that still remembers the way frozen yogurt tasted at 11 p.m., sitting across from him in a booth, laughing over nothing and everything.

you nod. “okay.”

—

the next night, you find yourself at the same shop you used to go to as teens. the frozen yogurt shop is quieter than you remember, the neon glow of the sign casting soft light over the street. it used to be a special spot for the two of you.

tonight, it’s just the two of you. johnny had dropped sohee off at home first—“she would’ve fallen asleep in the cup,” he’d joked. now, he sits across from you, stirring his yogurt with his spoon, watching you with that same unreadable expression.

“i never thought we’d be here again,” he admits suddenly.

you glance up.

he exhales, tapping his spoon against the edge of the cup. “i imagined it, but…i never thought it’d actually happen. if we’d ever run into each other, if we’d still get along. if—” he pauses, then shakes his head, lips pressing into a wry smile. “just… a lot of ifs.”

your chest tightens. you know what he means.

“i thought about it too,” you confess. “but i always figured it was better not to dwell on it.”

johnny huffs a soft laugh. “yeah. me too.”

the silence between you is thick with all the things left unsaid, the missed chances, the roads you both chose that led you away from each other. but there’s something warm underneath it, too. something familiar.

“i’m glad we’re here, though,” you say after a moment, offering him a small smile. “even if it took us a while.”

johnny looks at you for a long moment, his gaze softer now.

“me too.”

and as you sit there, frozen yogurt melting between you, it doesn’t feel like a second chance. not yet. but maybe, it’s the start of something new.

—

“so… divorced, huh?”

johnny snorts, leaning back against the booth. “yeah.”

“was it bad?��

he shrugs. “it wasn’t good. but we both knew it wasn’t working. i think we held on longer than we should have because of sohee.”

you nod, stirring your spoon through your yogurt. “she’s lucky to have you.”

johnny smiles at that, but there’s something wistful in his eyes. “thanks. i try. even when i have no clue what i’m doing.”

you chuckle. “that’s parenting, right?”

he huffs a laugh. “yeah. pretty much.” then, after a beat, he asks, “what about you?”

you glance up. “what about me?”

“you never got married?”

you shake your head. “no. came close, once, but… it didn’t work out.”

johnny watches you carefully. “why not?”

you exhale, resting your spoon against the cup. “i think… i think a part of me was always looking for something that felt like this.” you motion between the two of you, then laugh softly. “not us, exactly. just… the way it used to be.”

he doesn’t say anything right away, just looks at you with something unreadable in his expression.

“it wasn’t always easy,” he says after a moment.

you smile faintly. “no. but it was real.”

johnny swallows, looking down at his yogurt. “yeah. it was.”

for a while, neither of you speak. the shop is quiet, save for the soft hum of music overhead and the occasional laughter from a group near the counter.

then, johnny shifts, leaning forward, arms resting against the table. “you ever think about what would’ve happened if we hadn’t…” he trails off, searching for the right word.

“fallen apart?” you supply.

he chuckles, though there’s no real humor in it. “yeah.”

you sigh, tracing the rim of your cup with your finger. “sometimes. but it doesn’t change anything.”

“no,” he agrees. “but it’s nice to wonder.”

you look at him then, really look at him, and for a moment, it feels like being seventeen again. like you’re sitting across from the boy who once knew every piece of you. who kissed you like you were his whole world. who touched you like you were a piece of art in a museum. who looked at you like you hung the stars in his sky.

but you’re not seventeen. and he’s not just johnny from high school. he’s a father now, a man who’s lived a whole life without you in it.

and yet, somehow, you’re here.

“yeah,” you murmur, smiling just a little. “it is.”

johnny watches you for a beat longer, then leans back, exhaling like he’s letting go of something.

“you wanna get out of here?” he asks. “go for a drive?”

you raise an eyebrow. “like old times?”

he grins. “why not?”

and maybe it’s reckless. maybe it’s a bad idea. but when you nod and grab your coat, following him out into the cool night air, it feels like the only choice you were ever meant to make.

you and johnny are back in the car, the hum of the engine mixing with the soft sound of the radio playing in the background. the night air is cool through the open windows, but the familiar hum of his car feels comforting, like nothing ever really changed. he’s driving aimlessly, the road stretching out before you, but neither of you seems in any hurry to get anywhere.

“you know,” johnny says suddenly, breaking the silence, “we never really had closure, did we?”

you glance at him, the streetlights casting fleeting shadows over his face. his expression is thoughtful, almost distant, as though he’s still figuring out the words.

“we had the end, didn’t we?” you reply softly, leaning back against the headrest.

johnny sighs, his grip on the steering wheel tightening for a moment before he relaxes. “yeah. but not the kind of closure i wanted.” he pauses, glancing at you. “not the kind that would let me move on.”

you’re silent for a few moments, letting the words settle between you. there’s no easy way to answer that. the truth is, you’ve never really moved on either. not completely. not when every time you thought you had, something about him or the way things were came rushing back.

“johnny, i—” you start, but the words don’t come out right. you don’t know how to say it without it all sounding like some kind of apology, like it’s something you both need to fix.

he interrupts you gently. “i’m not asking you to fix anything. i just… i miss us. i’ve missed us.”

your chest tightens at that, the sincerity in his voice reaching deep into you. the old longing resurfaces. something that’s been quietly there under everything all these years, and you’ve tried so hard not to admit it.

the car slows, and johnny pulls off onto a quiet road that you don’t quite recognize. he parks on the side, the headlights casting long shadows against the empty street.

johnny kills the engine, and suddenly, the quiet between you is thick with something unspoken. it’s almost too much, too fragile, like if either of you spoke, the moment would shatter.

“sohee,” johnny says after a beat, his voice softer. “i think it would be good for her. you and her.”

you turn your head to look at him, caught off guard. “what do you mean?”

he hesitates for a moment before speaking again, his hands gripping the steering wheel in a way that suggests how much he means it. “i know you’re not the same person you were when we were younger. but seeing you again… i think it would be good for sohee, you know? you’re perfect with kids. and i’ve seen how you are with her, how gentle and patient you are. it would be good for her to have someone like you in her life.”

his words hang in the air, and you feel a rush of warmth flood your chest. you hadn’t expected this, hadn’t realized how much he still saw in you.

“but more than that,” johnny adds, his gaze softer now, “i just… i want to try again. not just for her, but for us. i think we could make it work, for her and for us. i want to give it a real chance. i think we both deserve that.”

you stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest. you’ve been through so much, both of you, and yet here he is, asking you to try again. the weight of it is almost too much, but there’s a sweetness in his eyes, a sincerity that makes your heart ache in all the right ways.

“you know i’ve missed you, right?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

johnny nods, his thumb tracing the edge of the steering wheel. “i think i’ve missed you more than i realized. and i think sohee would be lucky to have someone like you around.” he glances over at you, his voice turning quieter, more intimate. “i don’t want to go back to how things were. but i want to go forward. with you.”

you’re silent for a moment, letting the truth of his words settle over you. it’s so easy to say no, to protect yourself from the hurt, from the uncertainty. but it’s also so easy to say yes, to step forward into something that feels both familiar and new.

“i want to try too,” you say, your voice steady despite the storm inside you. “i really do.”

johnny smiles, his relief visible in the way his shoulders relax, the tension leaving his face. he leans over the console, his eyes searching yours, and then gently cups your face with both hands, his touch warm and tender.

you’re suddenly hyper-aware of the space between you, the closeness of him now almost overwhelming. the car feels too small, too intimate, but you can’t bring yourself to pull away. his eyes flicker between your lips and your eyes, as though asking for permission, silently waiting for you to decide.

“i—” he starts softly, his voice low, “can i kiss you?”

your heart races, and the question feels like a formality, something he already knows the answer to, but you nod anyway. it feels like you’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, and now it’s finally here, so much sweeter than you imagined.

johnny leans in slowly, giving you every chance to pull back if you want to. but you don’t. you don’t want to. you meet him halfway, your lips brushing against his gently at first, like a question neither of you has answered until now. and when it deepens, when you both let go of the hesitation that’s kept you apart all this time, it feels like coming home.

the kiss is soft but filled with everything unspoken between you, a promise of what could be. it’s sweet, it’s messy, and it’s everything you’ve both been holding back for far too long. when he pulls back just enough to look at you again, there’s a look in his eyes that makes your heart flutter.

“thank you,” johnny whispers, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “for giving us a chance.”

you smile at him, your forehead resting against his, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe, just maybe, everything’s going to be okay.

[gotnigs]

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so bossy - johnny suh

wc: 1k summary: deny it all you want, sass him all you want, but you’re definitely johnny’s girl. warnings: blood/injuries, flirty + bad boy!johnny, nerdy ish reader, neighbors to ??? (implied neighbors to lovers) lmk if anything is missing! an: this is sooo rushed but i wanted 2 post it before posting my 600 follower event !!! i hope you all likey 😛

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you’re nose deep in a textbook at a time where your eyes really should be shut when a knock sounds at your door. you simply raise the volume of your speaker, study playlist filling the room as you choose to ignore the outside world and civilization. it works for a while too, and you just about get back into the groove until a rattling sound starts tapping against your window.

you lower the music, squinting to look at what it could be, and groan, loud enough for the person at your window to hear. making your way over, you begrudgingly open the window. you don’t even get a chance to let him in, his heavy body shaking the fire escape (and your entire living room) as he tumbles through the window and hits the floor with a groan.

“get up.” your tone is sharp. “you’re getting dirt, and.. blood, all over my floor.” he mumbles a damn under his breath, and you ignore him, continuing your nagging, “and did you need to use the fire escape? you live in the same building. just use the elevator like a normal person.“

“sorry pretty, don’t want any losers following me home, now do i?” johnny says, voice a little raspy, probably from yelling. he sits down on your kitchen counter, and you’re so ready to yell at him for it until you see just how much he winces when he hops uo there.

after pulling the ever-growing first aid from your bathroom, you make your way to where he’s sitting. even while sitting down, you still have to crane your neck to look at him. with a warm, wet cloth, you begin wiping at the blood on his lips and cheeks. there’s countless spots on his face and jaw that are swollen, split open by whoever he got caught up with.

your finger dips into some ointment, rubbing it over all the sidewalk burns and cuts. he’s actually quite compliant throughout the process, staying silent like you always beg him to be when this happens.

“you’re being oddly good. it’s weird.” you say, hoping to mask your bashfulness when you begin running your finger over his lip, covering it in ointment where the skin is broken.

he smirks, “i’ve already-“ without thinking, you speak over him, murmuring about how he’ll split it open again, grabbing his face to stop his smile. he continues despite you talking, fighting back a laugh at your sudden touchy nature. “-pissed you off enough, haven’t i? can’t hurt to be a little nice.”

“that’s a first.” you say, ignoring anything else he says while trying not to be squeamish as you place butterfly bandages over his skin, standing on your tiptoes to do so. under the dimmed lights of your kitchen, his gaze is hard on your eyes, your cheeks so flushed they match the color of his wounds.

you finish up, throwing away your trash and putting your first aid kit away. it’s a miracle, really, how you managed to push through it with his incessant yapping and flirting, but it’s done. when you come back from putting everything away, he’s still there, having moved to the couch, laying down with his arm covering his eyes.

“are you staying?” you ask, scoffing when you see that he still has his shoes on, ripping them off his feet and bringing them to your front door.

he sits up, his smile full of surprise and flirtatious intent. “oh, so i have a choice now? what’s gotten into you, sweetheart?”

you roll your eyes, pushing his legs off the arm of your couch to sit on it. “if you don’t answer my question, i’ll do it for you.” elbows propped on your knees, you tuck a hair behind your ear, keeping your eyes down.

“i’ll stay, then. ‘s too much work to walk home.” he groans, obnoxiously loud, stretching as he sinks into your couch cushions.

“you live like two doors down, john, don’t be ridiculous,” you call out from down the hallway, reaching into your hall closet for a spare blanket, and a pillow from your bed for him to sleep with. without much care, you throw them in his direction, a grunt sounding when they hit his body.

“aww, i can’t stay in your bed?” he fake pouts, laughing when you give him the most disgusted look while standing over him.

“you stink. and you’re dirty. and bloody.” you say, arms crossed, hugging your cardigan to yourself.

he sits upright, patting the spot next to him. you sit down, the gap between you big enough to keep you comfortable, but still awkward. he leans back, truly making himself comfortable (as if he hadn’t already) by manspreading. he turns to you, appearance lazy and tired, yet full of teasing and romantic energy.

“that wasn’t a no, was it?” he teases, leaning in close. he’s not even trying anything, simply invading your space to get a rise out of you. your eyes widen, leaning back for every inch he gets closer. the inside of your body is on fire, getting even worse when you accidentally look down at his lips. and of course, he notices, his sly grin only getting bigger.

“i-” you sigh, your head falling into your hands. he leans in even closer, arm falling around your back. you shake your head, kicking your feet in a fit of nerves, or who knows what even.

“you’re always so bossy, but you don’t have much to say now, hm?” you peek through your fingers and see him right next to you, at face level, and flinch. he smiles, leaning back in his seat like he had before.

“g- go to sleep, john..” you say, getting up and walking to your bedroom. his eyes follow you the whole time, only shutting when you disappear behind the door. for the rest of the night, your minds are both hooked on the knowledge that no matter how bossy you may be with him, he’s had you wrapped around his finger since the first time you patched him up.

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nct 🏷️ @chenlezip @coquettejunnie

[gotnigs]

.⊹˖ᯓ★. ݁₊ love at first like | a mark lee smau

004: the soft launch.

꒰ annas note: ꒱ i know this took forever for me to get out but i truly hope you guys enjoy the chapter :( i kept having to rewrite so much of it because I DONT LIKE THE WAY IVE WROTE THIS but it will have to do (i hate disappointing because everyone was super excited and i don’t want to let you guys down T_T).

it was finally (dreadfully) the next day and you almost forgot that you and mark had to go on a fake date until you awoke to your phone buzzing. wondering who it was bothering you, you turn to your side and grab your phone, mark showing up on the screen.

[9:00AM] mark nct: dude are you awake? 🤔

[9:05AM] mark nct: its our fake date today, come on

[9:30AM] mark nct: i'm waiting outside ur dorm, take ur time to get dressed and things. i have something believable planned if ur comfortable? hopefully? just hurry.. please..

you get up out of your comfy bed, ripping the duvet from around your waist with a heavy sigh. "why today?" you groan to yourself as you quickly get dressed into something nice. as soon as you leave your dorm, you see mark dressed in a red jumper, some beige pants and docs.

“you look smart for our ‘date’, don’t you?” you ask with a small laugh as he looked up, his throat drying a little at what you were clad in. wow. you looked great. obviously, he didn’t want to say that out loud so with a small fake cough and an arm moving to his nape, he asked if you were ready to go and you said yes.

as you both start walking, mark seems.. oddly very quiet so you decide to speak up, startling him in the process. “you’re quiet, what’s on your mind?” “huh? oh, just- i don’t know.. i want this to be realistic, you know?” you chuckle and shake your head at his words. why was he panicking trying to make it realistic?

“whatever you’ve picked out, i’m sure it will be good, well i hope anyway because we need to pull it off..”

and.. when you arrive at the destination, you suppose he did a pretty damn good job at it. a beautiful fountain nearby with grass surrounding it. a pink plaid blanket on the grass, wine bottle and two glasses in a picnic basket, delicious snacks placed onto it too. “wow..” you mumble softly as you take in the sight, it was scenic.

you both sat together, getting to know one another more, soft laughs shared between and small whispers as you tried to perfect the photos you were taking of the area and one another.

“ah, can i post this one?” mark asked you and you look up to see a photo of the scenery, your arm just in the corner with your hair, making it definitely look like a soft launch. you smile and nod, “sure. it looks good, you’re good at taking photos. who taught you? i know you learnt from someone.” you joke and he chuckled, shaking his head, “definitely wasn’t the best before but jaemin, i don’t know if you know him, but he’s the best photographer i know and i got some tips from him just for this..”

he got tips from his friend (and fellow member) just to get some photos of you for a fake date? damn, he’s committed alright.

by the end of the day, mark drops you off back at your dorm and blurted out, “for a fake date, that was pretty real, wasn’t it? i hope you enjoyed it.. i- uh, tried my best to make sure you did and that you were comfortable throughout the whole thing.”

“i did mark, and don’t worry. i was comfortable.. hey, let’s try something a little more open next time. if you’re up for it?” you ask and his eyes lit up, “yo, for real? i’ll figure something out and i’ll be in touch. anyway though, i best get going, goodnight yn. be safe.” and that was it, bidding goodbye and then you got comfortable for bed after doing your nightly routine.

you lay under the covers, sighing softly as you scroll through socials, seeing all the talk about you and marks stories today. you let out a soft giggle at some reactions, were people always this dramatic about their favourite idols? you suppose you understood it, you felt that way about your celebrity crush.

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tags: @polarisjisung @luvmrk @finewinesixtynine @bbyjjunie @multifandomania @jenocity23 @iluv7tn @sungbites @haluenx @222brainrot @iluvkyo @ayukas @mmjhh1998 @skibidihan @f6llsun @florihaei @kiszjuli @cloudmrk @cigsaftersuh @i06hae @neozon3nha @urlocalbeaner5 @sunghoonsgfreal @nasasungs @mbella607 @desssss-0 @prettymoles @haechsworld @mejaemin @yizhrt @fullmoon0606 @n0hyuck @dilflover44 @nctdreamchaser @stuckonmark @bananinhazz @luvs4haechan @tynlvr @remgeolli @jae-n0 @blondemrk @lukeys-giggle @mimi894 @haechyuckan @jakiki94 @sacdepixie @bluedbliss @yoyomul @nctrawberries @hoeingthefuckup @joneborder (if i forget to tag anyone plspls let me know!!)

[gotnigs]

crucifix pendant + tank top combo … gay in his 30s uniform

[gotnigs]

Take it | l.jn

🎧 into it . chase atlantic

☆ jeno x reader

⋆ 18+ mdni!

⋆ word count! 1.5k

oneshot, nonidol!jeno, afab!reader, bf!jeno, dom!jeno, sub!reader, unprotected sex, car sex, dirty talk, manhandling, possessiveness, spanking, brief cumplay, teensie bit of degradation, creampie, a bit public (they’re in a parking lot), use of pet names (baby), porn no plot...

synopsis . car sex with jeno. that’s it.

likes, reblogs, comments are appreciated!!

author note: you guys voted jeno so here it is! ;p

i apologize if there is any mistakes, this isn't proof read and english isn't my first language. enjoy!! ><

“W-what if someone sees—?” you squeak out, eyes scanning the parking lot in case of any passerby.

“Fuck worrying about who sees,” your boyfriend says, voice rough as he manhandles you in the backseat.

His knee slots between your legs, one of his hands snaking up your neck—his fingers tangling in your hair to tilt your head back, exposing your throat for him to claim.

Teeth scrape against your pulse point, his other hand sliding up your shirt, calloused fingers digging in the soft flesh of your stomach.

“Gonna ruin you so good,” he rasps out, his mouth pressing wet kisses to your neck, “that you forget how to speak.”

His hips grind down on you just hard enough for you to feel how hard he is, and then his mouth is on yours.

The kiss is all tongue and teeth. It’s heated, it’s rushed, it’s messy. But that’s how it was with Jeno, and you loved every bit of it.

When he pulls back from the kiss for air, you waste no time getting on all fours, sticking your ass out for him eagerly.

Jeno’s breath catches in his throat as you get on your knees for him with shameless eagerness, your ass pressing against the thick outline of his cock—already hardening at the sight of you basically begging for him.

He shakes his head with a low chuckle, weren’t you just freaking out about being in public a few minutes ago?—and here you were, presenting yourself to him like a good little slut.

His hands find your hips, fingers digging into your flesh possessively as he lets out a low groan.

“Fuck—” his hips jerk forward instinctively, the fabric of his jeans straining as you grind back against him. “You’re starving for it, baby, look at you,” he says, amused.

You only offer him a whine in response as you press up against him, teasingly wiggling your ass against his arousal.

One of his hands fist in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your neck once again. His other hand lands a stinging slap across your ass—the sound sharp in the quiet of the car, and you can’t hold back the moan that leaves your mouth at the sting.

“Gonna fuck you stupid,” he growls, teeth scraping your neck briefly before pulling back and flipping your skirt up, fingers hooking into your panties and tearing them down your thighs. “Make your scream my name until you’re too dumb to even think straight.”

He frees his length, cock springing to his abdomen, already leaking with precum.

He teases your slit, guiding the head of his cock up and down your dripping folds, gathering your wetness before he pushes against your entrance—hips snapping to yours with no warning.

You can’t hold back the choked moan that leaves you at his sudden thrust, walls clenching involuntarily, your hands coming to grip the car door for stability.

Jeno’s fingers dig in the soft flesh of your hips as he slams into you with brutal precision—he knows your body like the back of his hand. Each snap of his hips driving his cock deeper, hitting that sweet spot inside of you that makes your vision go blank.

“F-fuck— Jeno!” you whine out. The pretty little moans spilling past your lips just spurring him on.

The car rocks slightly with every punishing thrust, the leather seats creaking under your combined weight as your nails claw at whatever you can reach.

“That’s it—fucking take it,” he snarls, voice thick with lust as his palm comes down sharp on your ass—the slap echoing through the car. You can’t help but clench around him at the tinge of pain mixed with pleasure.

“Keep squeezing me like that—“ he starts, followed by a guttural noise as his hips continue snapping to yours. “Just makes me want to ruin you more—” he grunts.

One of his hands slam against the window, his fingers splaying against the glass as his thighs tremble. His free hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back to attach his lips to your delicate skin, littering your throat in his marks—his teeth sinking down in your sensitive flesh before pressing soft kisses, soothing the mark.

“Gonna cum so deep inside you,” he rasps out, voice hoarse as his hips pick up pace. His thrusts grow erratic, his cock pulsing as your walls flutter around him. “Fill this pretty pussy, gonna— fuck— feel me for days.” He snarls, hips rolling in shallow brutal thrusts, his breathing coming out short and ragged.

And when you sob his name, the sound that leaves his lips is almost feral. His hand leaves the window to grip your hip, fingers digging into you as he drags you back against him—your ass pressing against his body with every thrust.

“J-jeno—! So c-close, m’so close—!” you cry out with a whiny moan.

His thrusts turn punishing, feeling his own orgasm coiling in the pits of his stomach.

Your tight walls clench around his length as your body starts to sputter with your incoming release.

“Jeno—!” you sob, his name spilling your lips like some sort of prayer.

Jeno’s entire body tenses as he feels you clench around him—his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave bruises as a guttural groan leaves his lips.

“Fuck—fuck, baby” he rasps, voice wrecked as he watches you starting to fall apart beneath him, your body trembling as you sob his name. His grip on you tightens, pulling you impossibly closer as his hips snap foward, driving himself deeper in your sweet cunt.

“That’s it,” he groans, his breath hot against your ear as his fingers trail up your spine, one hand coming to wrap around your throat from behind—not choking, but applying enough pressure to make your breath hitch. “Take it—take every fucking inch like the good girl you are.”

His other hand slide down to your clit, fingers working in tight, brutal circles as he fucks into you harder, his pace relentless now.

And when you sob again, walls fluttering around his thick length—his hips start to stutter as he chases his own release, his body burning for you.

You come undone with a breathless scream. Your sobs, whimpers, and the lewd sound of your bodies connecting fill the car as Jeno chases his own realease, overstimulating your poor abused cunt.

Jeno’s pace turns sloppy as your cunt clenches around him like a vice, your scream of pleasure sending a shiver straight down his spine. His bruising grip on your hips doesn’t falter, holding you flush against him as he fucks you through your orgasm—each ragged thrusts dragging his cock against your oversensitive walls.

“That’s it—fuck—squeeze me just like that,” he growls, his voice thick with need as his hips continue snapping to yours, his balls slap against your clit with every snap of his hips. His breath comes out in short ragged pants, pressing his head to your shoulder as he chases his release.

Your whimpers only spur him on—his strong grip pulling you back against him as he keeps fucking into you with brutal precision.

The car reeks of sex, the leather seats slick with sweat as your body trembles beneath him, completely wrecked by his touch.

“Fuck, baby— Gonna cum, deep,” he snarls, his thrusts turning erratic, his cock pulsing inside of you as his orgasm rips through him.

Hot, thick ropes of his cum flood your cunt, his hips grinding roughly against your ass as he milks himself dry inside of you.

He collapses over you with a shuddering groan, his lips brushing your shoulder in a possessive kiss, murmuring a soft “mine” before pulling out of you.

When he finally pulls out, his cum drips down your thighs—the evidence of his claim undeniable. Your thighs shake as you’re left empty, body slumping against the seat.

Jeno catches you before you fully collapse, his strong arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you flush against his chest.

His hand grab your jaw, tilting your head so he can press a kiss to your lips before he trails down your neck, pressing open mouth kisses to your skin.

His hands roam your trembling body as he whispers, “Took me so well, didn’t you, baby?”

His fingers trail down your stomach, dipping down your thighs to feel the mess he made—your slick coating his fingers as he groans.

He brings his fingers up to your lips, pressing, and you take his fingers in your mouth. His breath hitches as your tongue swirls around his fingers, licking them clean like the good little slut he knows you are.

He presses a lingering kiss to your cheek before dragging his wet fingers down your chin, smearing your own slick across your lips and down your jaw.

“Fuck,” he groans, “So perfect, all mine.”

© ssweetreveries follow for more!

[gotnigs]

the letters i "never" sent .ᐟ  | to all the boys i've loved before ୨ৎ | nct dream

when a box of y/n’s secret love letters accidentally gets sent out, their world turns upside down as seven different boys from their past suddenly confront them about their hidden feelings. each boy has a different reaction—some amused, some shocked, and some realizing they might just feel the same way. as y/n navigates the chaos of their exposed crushes, they find themselves at the center of an unexpected love story, one where they have to choose between the people they once loved—and the ones they might just love now.

pairing: nct dream xfem!reader

note: the prologue is here! i'm ngl i don't think this is my best work but sorry it took me so long (a month) -- um school is literally my 24/7 but thankfully spring break is next week so i have more time to work on everything and hopefully get everything out! i have like..... 2 more months of school and then i'm FREED. stay strong mrkified nation, daddy (me) will be back soon

word count: 1.2k ᶻ 𝘇 

tatbilb masterlist ✴︎

main masterlist ⟡

Sunlight peered into your room as your alarm started to blare that forsaken tune that told you it was time to get up for school. Your eyes still felt heavy as you slowly tossed and turned until you eventually arose from your spot in your bed. While you were slowly opening your eyes you were feeling slightly groggy, you started gathering your stuff to get ready for the school day. The sound of water pouring in the shower could be heard from the bathroom as you looked through your closet for something to wear. After you picked out an outfit you quickly ran towards the bathroom to get ready for the day.

You got to school with 5 minutes to spare and surprisingly — that was the least of your worries. Before you could even walk onto campus from the parking lot, the class president was yelling at everyone to get to class. You tried your best to avoid him before vanishing down the hallway.

When you thought you were in the clear, you felt a hand pull you around the corner into an empty room. You whipped around to face the culprit – the class president Mark Lee.

The day you met Mark was the first day of third grade. You both sat on opposite sides of the class so you didn't interact much outside of class, but he would always go out of his way to be nice to you. You two were not quite friends but he gave you tons of candy with a clumsy smile that you liked a little too much.

“Mark?! What the fuck!” you exclaimed as you pulled from his grasp, freeing your arm. He looked like he didn't know what to say as he took a moment to get his words out.

“I wanted to talk about this” Mark lifted up his hand to reveal a white envelope with a red heart on it.

A letter you knew far too well – It was one of the seven letters that you wrote when your crush was too intense that you had to confess your feelings in the form of a letter. It started in elementary school after Mark bought you a candy and you became head over heels. The letters let you organize your thoughts and feelings which is why you kept writing more as the years went by. The letters possibly getting out would be the end of the world – you had to get out of there to figure it out fast.

You originally tried to play dumb, since you knew he was awkward and hated confrontation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about”

“Are you sure? This came in the mail yesterday, it says it’s from you” Mark shuffled around, unsure how to go about this.

“Um..yeah.. I’m not sure what it is, maybe someone’s messing with us or something? But listen I really have to get to class and you shouldn’t be late either Mark” You awkwardly smiled and gestured to the door before turning and walking out. How did Mark Lee get his hands on his letter? You had to figure this out before the rest of them got their hands on their letters — unless they got it already?

You started desperately walking faster, speeding up to try and make it back to the parking lot. You couldn’t make it far before you became face first with someone’s back. This was starting to feel like a cliché — getting pulled into a classroom, bumping into someone’s back, what could happen next?

You couldn’t think for long as the boy you bumped into turned around revealing an annoyed Donghyuck. When his eyes shifted onto yours, his expression turned into a more amused one.

Donghyuck – more commonly known as Haechan, was a first class asshole. He was a bully, always making fun of people who he thought were under him. Always skipping class, never misses a party, he was one of the boys you were the most ashamed of liking.

“Well look who it is, I thought I had to search the whole school to find you. Who knew you would just come running to me, I guess I'm as irresistible as you think” His tone was smooth as he leaned against the wall. He seemed to have his letter as well, and playing dumb wouldn’t work as well as it did with Mark but you still had to try as getting out of there is your priority.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Donghyuck — and I definitely don’t have time for this, please move” The desperation was present in your voice. You waved your hands to signal him to move but to no avail – Donghyuck stayed planted in his spot. Amusement was more prominent on his face as his smile grew bigger when you tried to move around him but he pulled you back.

“Not so fast baby, you know what I’m talking about and it’s clear you do, but really? You had a crush on me? Now that is not what I expected to come home to” He pushed back against the wall as he pulled the smushed letter out of his pocket. “Dear Donghyuck, first of all I will never call you Haech–” “Don’t start!”

You quickly covered his mouth and looked around for any witnesses. “Look Donghyuck. I don’t know how you got that but I really can’t talk about this right now, okay? The letter is old anyway” you sighed. You heard his muffled protests from under your hands before you removed them, hoping he didn’t try to embarrass you.

“Y/n? Haechan?” A voice questioned behind you

You knew the owner of the voice and you knew it too well – Lee Jeno. Professional fuckboy and Donghyuck’s ex best friend. Of course he would be behind you right now, does anyone in this school even go to class?

“What do you want Jeno? Can’t you tell she’s busy?” Donghyuck glared at the boy.

“I wanted to ask if this letter was serious” He replied while holding up his infamous letter in his hand. Just great.

Before you could even speak, Donghyuck spoke up. “You’re telling me HE got one too?”

Donghyuck rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Out of everyone in this school, you chose Jeno to write to? Unbelievable”

“And what’s that supposed to mean, huh?” Jeno stepped forward, a questioning look on his face. The tension was rising and you were starting to feel awkward so you started to look for an escape.

“You know exactly what I mean” Dobghyuck crossed his arms. “Why would she want NEO’s number one fuckboy?”

Jeno’s jaw tightened. “Why do you always do this Haechan? You always have to start something” His voice was laced with frustration.

As the boys continued their argument, you escaped down the hall once you figured they wouldn't notice. Every step you took got faster until you were eventually running out the main door of the school. A little dramatic -- but this is your social life! Senior year cannot end with seven boys thinking you're head over heels for them, it could get messy.

Considering your odds of three out of seven, it was safe to say that all of them might have gotten their letters. After pushing back the feeling of humiliation you finally had made it to the parking lot. Before you could celebrate, you saw a note on your car that wrote – “We should talk, Renjun.”

Renjun was from your Chemistry class Freshman year – stereotypical top student who didn't do anything to jeopardize his grades. During Freshman year you were on top of your grades and went to a lot of study groups which is what got you somewhat familiar with Renjun but you were never really close. Your strive for good grades caused you to form a crush on the boy because with “both of your smarts your baby would be a mini Einstein.” Sucks you got lazy after sophomore year.

Considering the note came the day the letters got sent out – it's no coincidence that he wanted to talk. You picked up the note and rummaged your pockets for your car keys before unlocking and getting into your car. Once you were in, you turned the car on and let it sit before putting it into drive.

The first thing you could think about is how easy it was to sneak out of school – like seriously… all those days spent in your third period WASTED – but this wasn't the problem here. How did all your confession letters get leaked? You would notice if you sent them yourself, right? You think you’d have enough spacial awareness to notice you shipped the wrong box of letters. Potentially.

You spent the rest of the time driving home thinking about what the rest of the boys' reactions would have been. Renjun probably read through the letter and then stashed it somewhere unimportant. Chenle probably laughed, he’d find it hilarious that someone liked him enough to write out their feelings to him. It boosted his ego knowing that you liked him. He probably told his whole team by now, his big mouth running on and on about how you are obsessed with him. You grimaced at the realization but kept going. You knew Jisung didn't care, probably shrugged off the letter and threw it away before going back to whatever emo guitarists do. Jisung’s reaction would be your ideal reaction from all seven of the boys but at least he wouldn’t pester you like Donghyuck and Chenle.

You kept driving for a while, listening to whatever songs that would distract your mind. When you approached your neighborhood you noticed someone was sitting outside your front door. This was particularly odd since it was only about 10 am on a school day. When you got closer you realized it was Jaemin, the last one out of the seven boys you wrote to. Letting out a deep breath, you pulled the car into your driveway. You put the car in park then gathered all your things before turning off the car.

Jaemin is your neighbor from next door, he moved in last summer and you both hit it off fairly fast. He was the sweetest and it wasn’t that long before you developed a crush on him. You didn't want to ruin what you two had so you hid your feelings with a letter before he was able to catch on.

Once you were out of the car, Jaemin stood up and walked towards you. “Hi”

He gave you an awkward smile and a slight wave, it was obvious he was nervous.

“Hey Jaemin” You responded reluctantly, sending him a short wave.

“Can we talk about this?” He held up the letter addressed to him and gave you a questioning look before continuing. “I don’t want us to be awkward, I really cherish our friendship.” he held your hand, a genuine smile on his face.

You could tell he didn’t want this to mess anything up but you started to feel overwhelmed. You pulled your hand out of his grasp.

“Listen – I’ve had a long day and I just want to go to my room and take a nap or something, can we talk tomorrow?” You walked past him before pulling out your keys and unlocking the door,

“See you Jaemin” You gave him a small wave before closing the door, all Jaemin could do was stand there processing what just happened.

You didn’t mean to shove the door in his face, but after seeing Jaemin it all just started to feel so real. It was finally sinking in that you just confessed to seven boys in the span of one day, every letter confessing your feelings (some more detailed than others…) and now you possibly could lose your somewhat friendship with some of them, especially Jaemin. How are you going to face them now that they know your true feelings? You let out a deep sigh and walked towards your room feeling defeated.

Once you walked through the door you ran straight to your closet. Searching for the box was harder than you thought, but when you found the small brown box filled with your graduation invites it all clicked in your head.

Yesterday you decided to send out the graduation invitations to your family, but you left in a hurry since the post office closed early that day. You quickly ran to your closet and grabbed the first box you saw, confidently taking the letters and putting them in your bag. You didn’t think to double check the letters which in turn caused all seven of the white love letters to be sent to their respective recipients.

After you reflected on the day before, you found a form of peace knowing that you were the reason that your letters were sent instead of someone else. At least it was almost the end of the year and this situation wouldn’t dwell past two months.

You got up from your spot in front of your closet and climbed into bed. Today was humiliating to say the least, but at least you have a valid reason to skip school!

“I just hope this doesn’t last until graduation..” you muttered before shifting around. You stretched out your limbs and got comfortable before slowly drifting off, blissfully unaware of the message that popped up on your phone,

“Can we talk?”

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[gotnigs]

── ⋅☆⋅ ──

texts with boyfriend johnny !!

a/n: ive been on a crazy johnny kick recently NEED HIM

[gotnigs]

apartment complex

🌙 starring. Johnny Suh x afab!Reader I ft. Haechan & Jaehyun

🔮 preview. So… Johnny works on a rig for long periods of time, Jaehyun is a gym rat with dimples, and Hyuck is a… drug dealer who’s not afraid to be extremely direct and combative? And they’re all your neighbours and also into you? How did you get yourself into this mess? 

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, pent-up sexual tension, shower sex, masturbation, fingering, hand job, thigh riding, praise, dirty talk, breast worship/nipple play, big dick Johnny, pussy stretching, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple reader orgasms, multiple sex positions, size kink (Johnny is big and a slight manhandler), mentions of aftercare, etc… I pet names: (hers) 304, baby, princess. 

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 13.3k

🍭 aus. Love square, slice of life, neighbours to lovers, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. So when Johnny calls her the nickname ‘304,’ we’re not doing full numbers, it’s ‘three-oh-four’ which I actually think is kind of cute haha 

One:

You feel like an absolute mess. Your hair is all over the place, you’re in a full sweats ensemble that is - true to its name - making you perspire like nothing else as you lug boxes upon boxes of your stuff into your building and up to your new apartment.

To make matters worse, you’re exhausted. Moving days have this absolutely draining effect, and you can’t wait for the day to be over. You’re not even sure if you’ll unpack anything- maybe you’ll just fish out a towel and some body wash from one of the many crates you have, shower, then collapse onto your mattress- do you even have the energy to set up your bed frame?

You’re busy trying to plan out how you’re going to even accomplish the day, when the elevator doors open, and you find yourself staring up at one of the hottest men you’ve ever seen.

“Hi,” he grins, stepping next to you in the small space. “Moving in?”

You’re so distracted by the way his biceps look in his muscle shirt that it takes you a moment to speak. “Uh, yeah.”

“I’m Johnny,” he tells you.

“y/n.” The box in your hands is beginning to slip from the sweat on your palms, and you haphazardly readjust it on your hip.

“This might be a little forward,” Johnny chuckles, “but do you need any help?”

“Uh…” You turn once again to look up at this absolute tower of a man. “I’m almost done moving everything-”

“Let me guess, boxes done, just some furniture stuff left?”

You feel your skin flush with heat. “Is it that obvious that I’m struggling right now?” An awkward laugh escapes your lips, and you’re happy to find Johnny return the sound with a soft, understanding smile.

“Usually when cute girls move somewhere, they have a boyfriend, a brother, a dad, a friend- someone to help them do the tough stuff, and since you’re alone, I’m guessing you’re troopering this whole thing out all by yourself.”

“New city,” you explain. “I don’t uh- don’t know anyone here just yet, and my family didn’t want to take time off work to help with any of this.”

“Lucky you bumped into me then,” Johnny grins. “I just finished up at the gym, but I’ve got energy to help a new neighbour.”

The elevator dings to signal you’ve made it to your floor, and Johnny follows you out.

“You’re the new tenant for 304?” he asks.

“Uh huh,” you nod, stopping in front of the unit you now call home.

“We really are neighbours,” Johnny laughs. “I’m 306.”

“Look it was nice to meet you,” you say, “but you really don’t need to help, I’m sure I can manage my bed and a few other things-”

“y/n,” Johnny interrupts you, “I promise I’m not some creep, just a good neighbour offering help. You look tired, let me help you.”

Your pride makes it difficult to accept this sort of thing, but you swallow it, offering Johnny a nod. 

And that’s how you find yourself moving your bed and the last bit of furniture into your new apartment with one of the sexiest guys you’ve ever seen. He’s quite the charmer, and he’s reassuring too- calming you down when things are a little heavy, and slowing his own pace to match your exhaustion.

In no time at all, everything is out of the moving truck, and Johnny leans in your doorway as he watches you slump into a chair. 

“Do you want help making your bedframe or anything?” he enquires.

“Honestly? I think I’m going to call it a day,” you admit. “The drive here was long, I’ve been up since five AM, didn’t sleep well last night due to nerves-”

“Sounds like you should get some rest,” Johnny nods.

“I really appreciate your help though,” you offer. “I’ll uh, have to buy you beers or something.”

Johnny only laughs. “That’s not necessary. Besides, I work on a rig, so I’m only here a week or so every month, you caught me at a good time.”

“Oh.” You can’t help the disappointment that surges through you. Of course this man was too hot to be true- of course he has a job that requires him to be away for long periods or he’d probably have an equally hot girlfriend already.

“But… let me give you my number, and if you ever need anything while I am here, you can just give me a shout.” 

The two of you exchange digits, and with one final smile, Johnny leaves you be. 

You lay on your bed for a while, trying to calm down- from the moving, or from being around a ten out of ten, you’re not sure. 

Two:

It’s your first time doing laundry in the new building, and to your disappointment, you find the shared laundry room to have no available machines.

A sigh escapes you as you stand there momentarily, wondering if you should wait five minutes for a turn over, or just scratch this whole idea and hope there are empty machines tomorrow.

As you’re considering your options, the laundry room door opens, and a tall blonde enters.

“Hi,” he beams.

“Hello.” You watch him carefully, noticing that he heads to a machine to take out his clothes from the washer. “Uh- do you mind if I put my stuff in there once it’s empty?”

“Of course not,” he smiles. “With only six machines for the whole building, it can be a bit rough trying to nab one on busy days.”

“I’ve noticed,” you laugh. “I’m new here, my name is y/n.”

“I’m Jungwoo,” he tells you, moving his clothing into the only empty dryer. He turns on the machine and then steps back, looking over at you again. “So are you new to the building or new to the city?”

“The city,” you admit, beginning to move your stuff into the now empty washer.

“You have that look.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just- a lot of people here are boring, we’re not exactly known for fashion or anything like that-”

You look down at the Stitch onesie you’re wearing that you’d bought for Halloween a few years back but has since become a comfort outfit, then back up at the blonde.

“I just like your style!” he insists. “Not everyone can rock blue pajamas!”

You find yourself laughing at his sincerity, shaking your head as you grab your washer fluid to get the machine going.

“Anyways,” Jungwoo sighs. “Did you move here for work?”

“I actually work online,” you tell him. “I can work from anywhere, and I figured this would be a nice place to get out of the big city for a while- cheaper rent, more nature, that sort of thing.”

“Makes sense,” Jungwoo nods. “I’m a server at a bar just down the road.”

You take a moment, then laugh. “You seem like a server.”

“Because I’m so cute and social?” he grins.

“Definitely,” you nod, enjoying his energy.

“Anyways, I love making friends, and since you’re new to the city, I’m guessing you haven’t met a lot of people yet. If you want to be friends, I’d love to add you to my gossip roster.”

“Your gossip roster?”

“I’m a server, which means I love all things tea- except for when grandmas order actual tea in the middle of a rush, that’s the worst.”

“I’ll take your word on it,” you grin.

“So… friends?” Jungwoo asks.

You nod. “We can be friends.”

Three:

It’s been three weeks since you moved into your new apartment, and in that time, you’ve gotten settled, and even visited Jungwoo at his bar. He’s an interesting friend, and he seems to know everything about everyone.

At first, you’d been worried about any ulterior motives he might have, as you’ve experienced many men try to make a move on you under the guise of just wanting to be your friend. But now, you realize Jungwoo’s intentions towards you are pure- or, as pure as they can be given how much gossip he consumes.

You get the sense that you’re not his type, and that’s a hundred percent okay with you, in fact, it’s a dynamic that makes you finally feel comfortable accepting an invitation to visit his apartment.

It seems all the attractive men in your building live on your floor, and as you enter his unit, you find yet another cute man standing in the kitchen.

“This is Mark,” Jungwoo introduces you. “Mark, this is y/n. Don’t worry, Lee, I’ve told her everything about you.”

“Oh, great,” Mark sighs.

It’s true, Jungwoo has divulged way too deep into his roommate’s history. You know that he’s a content creator and chef, he used to work in a prestigious restaurant, went on one of those reality cooking shows, managed to be the runner up for the first place prize despite his awkward nature, and has now been commissioned to write a cookbook focused solely on burgers (which Jungwoo has assured you is actually a broad topic despite what you might think).

You also know that Mark has a limited dating history, with a high school sweetheart who left him right before his stint on live tv, and a new crush on some barista that he’s too shy to even talk to despite the fact that he goes to her coffee shop every day just to order frothed milk with vanilla since caffeine doesn’t agree with him.

“So what’s on the menu tonight, chef?” Jungwoo asks, coming to stand right behind Mark in the kitchen.

From the way Mark clears his throat and steps back, it’s obvious to you that he’s not as comfortable about being close to people as Jungwoo is, and you find yourself enjoying this roommate dynamic already.

“I’m actually testing some stupid protein burger for muscle heads,” Mark admits.

“Aren’t burgers already high in protein since they’re meat?” you ask.

“Yes, and no,” Mark groans, “it depends. I want to have a few vegetarian and even vegan options in the cookbook I’m writing on burgers- and lots of people want high protein even in their plant based meals.” 

“So… what are your options for this burger you’re trying to create?” you enquire. 

“I’ve tried some black bean patties, chickpea patties, that sort of thing- but I’m considering making an entire two page fold dedicated to dredges and batters that you could use on a variety of burgers, meat or vegetarian. I got everything to make a protein powder infused batter, but I’m just now realizing that the protein powder I have on hand is chocolate flavoured, which really won’t work if I put it on anything, let alone a tofu burger.”

“Call Jae,” Jungwoo says simply. “That man has a collection of protein powder that would make a man on steroids combust.”

“Maybe I should just run to the store,” Mark sighs.

“You only need a small scoop of powder, right?” Jungwoo counters. “Why would you go buy an entire plain jug of protein powder when a protein head lives next door?”

“I’d hate to bother him,” the chef groans again, and you find yourself starting to realize the true depth of his social anxiety. 

“I’ll call Jaehyun,” Jungwoo states, pulling out his phone.

You take a seat at the island counter while Jungwoo makes a deal for some powder with this ‘Jae’ person, and you watch Mark fuss over other ingredients that he adds to a dry mixing bowl.

There’s a knock at the door, and then a man peaks his head inside of the apartment.

Your eyes lock and the wind is knocked from your lungs- is every hot man in the city living in your building?

“Jae!” Jungwoo yells, “come in!”

The man steps into the apartment, offering a smile, and the dimples in his cheeks practically blind you. There’s no way around it, this man looks like a model. He’s handsome, but there’s a slightly feminine softness to the angles of his face, a warmth in his eyes, and it’s absolutely captivating.

“Am I interrupting?” Jae asks as he approaches the kitchen, his eyes continuously meeting your own.

“Not at all, Mark’s just floundering as usual, and I’m hanging out with my new friend. y/n, this is Jaehyun, Jaehyun, this is y/n.” 

“Nice to meet you,” you smile.

“You too.” Jaehyun sets a tub of protein powder onto the kitchen counter next to Mark, then he turns his full attention to you again. “So how did you meet Jungwoo?”

“In the laundry room,” Jungwoo is quick to explain, and you don’t miss the exchange of glances between Jaehyun and your friend. “She’s new to the building.” Jungwoo practically winks at Jaehyun, and you get the suspicion that he’s trying to set you up with this model looking protein man.

“I love meeting new neighbours,” Jaehyun says smoothly. “What floor are you on?”

“This one, room 304.”

“No way.” Jaehyun’s eyes widen. “That’s right across from mine!”

“You’re 305?” you ask, heart beating faster in your chest.

“In the flesh,” Jaehyun grins.

“Can we move the talking somewhere else?” Mark asks quietly. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

The energy fizzles immediately, and Jaehyun nods. “I was actually just heading to the gym.”

“Of course you were,” Jungwoo rolls his eyes.

“But uh, I’ll see you around,” Jaehyun says, looking at you directly. “Welcome to the building.” 

Four:

You suppose you shouldn’t be shocked when meeting cute men in your apartment building anymore, but you still find your breath leaving your body when you’re bringing groceries up from the parking garage only for a very cute man to enter the elevator.

He steps in and flashes you a smirk, then looks at the floor buttons. “You’re headed to three?” he asks.

“Uh huh.”

“Are you new?”

“Been here about a month.”

“Huh,” the man looks stumped for a moment. “I feel like I would have seen you. I’m Hyuck by the way.”

“y/n.”

Hyuck nods. “Are you liking the building?”

“It’s nice,” you muse, too tired from your day at the grocery store to make much smalltalk. 

“You must be… unit 304? I’m a couple of doors down, near the corner. I know someone moved out, and I heard from the building manager that someone was moving in, but fuck, I can’t believe I haven’t met you yet.”

“I can be kind of reclusive,” you joke. “I mean, I work from home.”

“Ahhh, you’re one of those girls.” Hyuck grins at you knowingly and your heart leaps into your throat.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” he shrugs. “Just, you know, sometimes the cutest girls are the ones that stay in their house all day.”

“Oh.” You’re really not sure how to respond to his statement, and your eyes shift down to the floor as the elevator comes to a stop.

The two of you both turn to the left, and Hyuck walks in step with you to your door, where he stops. “What’s that?”

You’re confused for a moment, too busy fumbling with your keys, but when you look up, you realize there’s a sticky note on your door. 

“Looks like you already have an admirer,” Hyuck grins. “Was nice to meet you, we should hang sometime,” he reads. “Who do you think left this?”

You’re pretty sure it was Jaehyun who left the note- after all, the only other people you know are Jungwoo and Johnny, who both have your number, and you doubt Mark Lee of all people would be this forward. 

“I uh-” you stutter a little, swallowing thickly. “I’m not sure.”

“So are you single, or…?”

“Definitely single,” you blurt out, pushing your key into the door and clicking it unlocked.

“Definitely single,” Hyuck repeats as you push into your apartment, “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Five:

You’re finishing up after dinner when your phone makes a beeping sound, and you quickly pick it up, surprised to see a message from Johnny.

‘Looks like you’ve got some secret admirers, 304.’

Your stomach drops, and you realize that in your haste to enter your apartment after finding Jaehyun’s note with Hyuck earlier, you hadn’t actually removed it from your door- but wait, admirers? As in… plural? 

Tripping over yourself to get to the door, you throw it open to find not one sticky note, but two.

While Jaehyun’s initial ‘Was nice to meet you, we should hang sometime’ is still there, someone has taken the liberty to put a second note on top of it, and this one reads; ‘I’m more fun, let’s have drinks.’

It’s clear who the second note is from, and you’re quick to rip both off of your door. 

Jaehyun and Hyuck are both quite forward, and your heart is racing as you go sit on your couch, feeling conflicted.

You pull out your phone again, releasing a deep sigh as you write up a text to Johnny. ‘This apartment building is so weird.’

‘Boys will be boys,’ comes his quick response. 

Taking another breath to calm yourself, you look at the texts, and that’s when you realize, ‘I didn’t know you were back from the rigs.’ 

‘Got back a couple of days ago :)’ 

Tapping your fingers against your couch, you try to figure out how you should play this.

You’re most attracted to Johnny, but now that Jaehyun and Hyuck are so clearly demonstrating their blooming affection for you - out in the open where everyone on your floor can see - you wonder if that might throw a wrench at Johnny’s own feelings for you…

Does Johnny like you?

When he’d helped you move your things, was that just him genuinely being nice? 

You feel absolutely twisted, especially since you’ve never considered yourself the type of girl to entertain a long distance relationship…

‘So… you’re in town for a few more days?’

‘three!’ 

You definitely need to sort out your priorities. 

Six:

You’re in need of a drink as you walk into Jungwoo’s work, taking a seat at the bar and releasing a deep sigh.

“For a girl who came to happy hour, you don’t look too happy,” Jungwoo muses as he moves to stand in front of you.

“Is it that obvious?” you laugh.

“I mean… you’re the hot new girl in 304 who has two guys fighting over you in sticky notes, I’d expect you to be a little more up beat.” 

“You saw that?” you ask in shock.

“Everyone saw it. Whoever left those notes weren’t exactly subtle… who did leave those notes, by the way?”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head at your friend’s need for gossip. “You know one of them at least.”

“Jae, I’m guessing,” Jungwoo nods. “He asked me for your number but since I’m your friend I’m not just out here handing around your personal information.”

“I appreciate that.”

“And guy number two?” he enquires.

“Some dude named Hyuck.”

An interesting expression immediately appears on Jungwoo’s face. It’s something between an ‘oooooh!’ and an ‘ooop!’ and you can’t quite place the emotion.

“What?” you ask, leaning forward. “You know him?”

“Everyone knows Hyuck.”

“They do?”

“Let’s just say…” Jungwoo’s voice lowers as he leans over the bar, “he’s a provider of things that a lot of people like to get their hands on.”

“Huh?” 

“A plug, there, you tortured it out of me, Hyuck is a plug,” Jungwoo throws his hands up as if you just twisted his arm for the information, and you stare at him blankly.

“A plug,” you repeat.

“You can’t be that innocent, babes, you know what I mean.”

You sit back in your chair, thinking it through.

So… Johnny works on a rig for long periods of time, Jaehyun is a gym rat with dimples, and Hyuck is a… drug dealer who’s not afraid to be extremely direct and combative? And they’re all your neighbours and also into you? How did you get yourself into this mess? 

“Where did you even meet Hyuck?” Jungwoo asks.

“In the elevator?”

“Why did that sound like a question?” your friend laughs.

“I don’t know! God, I’m just… overwhelmed.”

“There are worse things to be overwhelmed about, I mean… tax season is coming soon, and I don’t know how much fraud I should commit with my tips.” 

You can’t help but laugh at Jungwoo, and he’s succeeded in using humour to calm you down. 

He’s grinning at you, and he taps his hand onto the bar top. “Let me make you a drink, on me, but you’ll be paying me with gossip, deal?” 

“Deal.”

You trust Jungwoo to make you drinks by now, and he doesn’t ask what you want, he simply begins to mix a fruity concoction together. Soon, he’s setting it down in front of you and you’re taking a large gulp.

“So…” he grins. “Hyuck or Jae?”

“Are those my only options?”

Jungwoo’s eyes widen. “Spill the tea.”

“I just… I met this guy Johnny when I moved in-”

“Johnny as in super tall, blue collar, muscle man, Johnny?”

“Sounds like him,” you laugh.

“And you met him the first day you moved in?”

“He actually helped me with boxes and furniture.”

Jungwoo lets out a whistle. “Now I see why you’re overwhelmed.”

“I guess, I just don’t really know any of these guys too well. I’ve only met all of them once-”

“But you have a favourite,” Jungwoo interjects. “Johnny’s your favourite, despite his fucked up job.”

You sigh. “How could you tell?”

“I watch a lot of reality tv, in shows like Love is Blind or Singles Inferno sometimes a girl has multiple guys going for her, but the first one leaves a mark… it’s not always the case though, but it’s about that initial impact.” 

“Impact,” you repeat. “Johnny definitely made an impact… and he saw the notes from Hyuck and Jae.”

“Oooooh,” Jungwoo grins, “scandalous.” 

“But he works away for weeks at a time!”

“He’s here now,” Jungwoo points out. “So… go on a date with him, and sort out Hyuck and Jae after.”

“You think so?”

“What could be wrong about it?” Jungwoo shrugs. “Go on a date with Johnny, see how you feel- maybe he does something gross that turns you off and it makes life easier.”

“Or maybe he’s perfect and it makes things even worse,” you sigh.

“You never know until you try. Another thing from my dating shows is that no one wants to live with regrets, and I don’t think you do either.” 

Seven:

You’d taken Jungwoo’s advice, and after two drinks at the bar, you’re home, waiting for a knock that sounds on your door.

Taking a deep breath, you fix your outfit, approaching your entry way to find Johnny standing in the hall. He looks all tall and gorgeous, in a similar laid back muscle shirt and sweats combo to the one you’d first seen him in. His hair is a little messy and damp as if he’d just come out of a shower, and the smell of his piney bodywash has you going weak. 

“Hi,” he grins. 

“Hi,” you smile back. “Uh, come in.”

Johnny nods, stepping past the threshold. “Are you a shoes off in the house kind of girl?”

“Yes, please.”

You watch him kick off his runners before turning to you. “I’m a little confused.”

“You are?”

“I got your text that you wanted me to come over, and I half expected you needed help building some cabinet or something, but then I remembered you’ve been here a month already, so now I don’t really know what I’m doing here.”

“I told you I’d buy you a beer for helping me move my stuff, remember?” You let out an awkward chuckle. “I don’t have beer, but I did open a bottle of wine.”

“That works,” Johnny grins.

“Come, sit.” You move to your living area, taking a seat on the couch. Johnny joins you, and you note the way he immediately shifts his body to be facing you. He watches you pour him a glass, and you both notice your shaky hand as you pass it to him.

“How much have you been drinking, 304?”

“A bit.”

“Rough day?” he enquires with a smile.

“Just…” you let out a deep breath. “Not used to all the attention I’m getting here.”

“Yeah, your entourage.” Johnny sips his drink, still grinning as if this is the funniest thing in the world.

“Would you believe me if I told you I’m not the kind of person who loves getting a lot of attention?”

Johnny cocks his head to the side. “I think it’s hard for a girl who looks like you to avoid that sort of thing.”

God, he is into you, you can taste it- or maybe that’s the sweet notes of your wine. 

You don’t know what to say, but you feel a grin appear on your face, your eyes shifting down to your glass. “I don’t know about that.”

“Just an observation,” Johnny laughs. “So… what are you going to do about all of this?”

“I think…” you swallow thickly. “I think I’m doing something right now.”

“Yeah?”

You look up at him, smiling. “Yeah.”

Now it’s Johnny’s turn to be at a loss for words, and you get the sense that this isn’t something that happens very often to him.

“I’m sure you know what it’s like to get a lot of attention,” you offer.

Johnny shrugs. “I’m only in town a week every month, and when I’m here I spend most of my time at the gym or at home. I’ve never been a big party guy, I prefer cheap beer to bars, and I guess I’ve just accepted that a guy like me has to be single.”

“You have to be?” you enquire, cocking your head to the side in a bid to understand him better. 

“Most girls aren’t interested in starting anything with a man who works on a rig. I understand the guys who have girls before the job, and they stay after building a foundation, but it’s hard to work on the start of a relationship when you’re not around.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” you nod- in fact, it’s something you’ve considered to great length already. “If… if the right girl came along, would that be something you’re interested in exploring?”

Johnny lets out a deep breath. “That’s a good question.” 

You watch him sip his wine, giving him the space to consider it.

“I just… I wouldn’t want a girl to feel like she’s an afterthought, or a fuck buddy- and doing the work I do, I have to be focused. It’s day rate, it’s dangerous, sometimes the rigs are a couple hours away from camp, and that’s on top of a twelve hour shift-” He lets out another deep sigh. “I think it would take a very special, very loyal kind of girl to give me a chance.”

“And what would you say your type is?”

His eyes meet yours. “I love a cute girl next door.”

Your heart thumps in your chest. “Funny, I like a boy next door.”

“Then it’s a good thing we’re neighbours.”

Johnny lifts his glass and you clink yours together, giggling.

It’s crazy how things can feel so comfortable with him already- but in the background of your mind there’s a sense of dread looming, after all, he’s leaving in just two or so days.

“Can I be honest with you?” you ask.

“Of course.”

“I’m sad you’re leaving soon.”

“I’m not leaving yet,” he points out.

“You know what I mean.”

Johnny shifts, resting his arm on the back of your couch. “I have a proposition for you, 304.”

“God, stop calling me 304,” you laugh.

“It feels like we’re interested in each other, but I get the sense you’re unsure about the long distance aspect. What if we hang out tonight, tomorrow I take you on an actual date, and if things go well, we could talk about what communication would look like when I’m away.”

“You know what?” you take a deep breath. “I would like that.”

“But… I have on condition.”

“Hit me.”

Johnny is quiet for a moment. “I’m aware that, no matter how good our dates tonight and tomorrow are, me being away might be too much for you. You have two other guys who are interested and they live here, so… even though I’m a cuddly person, I think it’s better for both of us if we keep things PG before I leave, that way… I mean, if you chose one of them because distance is too much, at least things won’t be awkward for us, and we can still be friends.” 

“I think…” - as much as you hate the idea and want to climb him like a tree - “I think that might be the most mature way to handle this.” 

Johnny nods. “So… what are your thoughts on aliens?”

“Huh?”

“UFO’s, UAP’s, USP’s-”

“What even are all of those?” you laugh.

“Unidentified flying objects, unidentified aerial phenomenon, which is pretty much another term for UFO’s, unidentified submersible phenomenon-”

You shake your head at him in affectionate shock. “Where did you learn all of this?” 

“History network,” Johnny grins. “Listen, why would I ask you surface level questions when we can dive into conspiracy theory? UFO’s are a good way to bounce into all sorts of topics, religion, politics, current and historical events-”

He’s a little odd, but you suppose you understand where he’s coming from now. You decide to give up control, and you lean into his question, loving the twists and turns that the conversation takes. You talk about everything, from the moon landing, to ancient monolithic structures and tv shows about space, a discussion about recent alien films leads to an analysis on favourite actors-

Before you even know it, hours have passed, the wine bottle is empty, and you feel as if you know him a lot better than when he’d first entered your apartment. 

“Do you work tomorrow?” he asks.

You sigh, looking at the time. “At nine.”

“I should probably get out of your hair then. When are you off?”

“Fiveish.”

Johnny stands up, stretching, and you can’t help the way your eyes move to the exposed strip of V-line when his shirt rises. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow at fiveish, 304.”

You rise to your feet, pleasantly surprised when the gentle giant pulls you in for a hug. God, the feeling of his chest against your cheek- the soft cotton of his muscle shirt and the scent of his cologne- you release a deep breath, fully melting into what must be one of the best hugs of your life.

“I’ll text you,” Johnny says, and as he does so, his lips brush the crown of your head.

He’d said PG, and you suppose this is PG, but fuck, you want more.  

Eight:

Out of all the possible date venues, you hadn’t expected bowling. Johnny had told you to dress casually, he’d picked you up, and taken you down to a massive black truck- he’d driven you around town, pointing things out to you, and you’d ended up at a small, underground bowling bar.

He’s a bit of a goof ball, but you can tell he’s got experience playing this game. To compensate for your lack of skills, he does all sorts of trick shots that make him miss points, and you appreciate his effort to not decimate you. 

You drink beer and chat and play, and again, it feels so natural with him. 

When the game is over, the two of you get in the truck, and Johnny says he wants to show you something. A fifteen minute drive leads you to the edge of town, on a lookout that’s perfect now that it’s dark and the small city’s lights are sparkling.

“Do you take all your dates here?” you tease.

Johnny chuckles. “Would you believe me if I told you I haven’t been on a date in a while?”

“I guess with your job, I would,” you pause, looking over at him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

The large man releases a sigh. “I had a highschool sweetheart,” he starts. “But as time went by, she couldn’t deal with me being a blue collar man. She was very corporate, and our life styles weren’t exactly a match. When she broke up with me, I switched from construction to the rig jobs, figured it would be easier to just put my head down and work. Been doing that for about six years now.”

“So you haven’t dated since highschool?” you ask in shock.

“There’ve been a couple of things here and there. Took a few summers off, had flings, but shit always hit the fan when I went back to work.” 

“That makes sense,” you nod. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m a family man at heart,” he assures you. “As a supervisor, I definitely make enough money to take care of the people in my life, but it’s always been a time issue.” Johnny takes a breath, and then he meets your gaze. “What about you? Any skeletons in your closet?”

“Had a couple of failed relationships, the last one inspired me to move away from my home city and come here so I guess there’s a silver lining to it. Ended things with my ex about a year ago and nothing really felt the same after that, figured a change of scenery would do me good.”

“And has it? Done you good?”

You look over at the gorgeous man sitting next to you. “Definitely.” 

It feels like the perfect moment to kiss him, and you note the way his gaze dips to your lips, but then he pulls back, letting out a sigh. “You’re dangerous.”

“Me!?” You act scandalized.

“Yes, you, little miss 304.”

You can only laugh, doing your best to enjoy the rest of your date with him while the knowledge that he’s leaving tomorrow haunts in your periphery. 

Nine:

Johnny’s been gone for three days, and he’s been true to his word when you’d discussed communication while he’s on the rig. He’s kept contact with you, sending good morning messages for you to wake up to, and texting or calling in the late evening when he’s off work.

However, other things have progressed as well. You’d come out of your apartment this morning to find not one, but two bouquets waiting for you, and you feel as if this thing with Jaehyun and Hyuck is getting out of hand.

You find yourself at Jungwoo’s bar again, giving him the rundown on everything that has happened.

“So you’re like, set on Johnny then, huh?” your friend asks.

“I’m not sure, it’s only been three days that he’s been gone but I miss him already, and I can’t even imagine what it will be like to wait another nineteen days-”

“You always knew distance would be a struggle,” Jungwoo nods.

You groan, taking a sip of your fruity cocktail. “I just can’t believe Jaehyun and Hyuck left flowers at my door.”

“You’re going to have to do something about them.”

“Like what?”

“Reject or accept, babes,” Jungwoo says simply. 

“Accept?”

“You’re not technically dating Johnny yet. It sounds like he understands you might go on a date or two while he’s gone, I mean, you had that whole conversation about keeping things PG so it’s not awkward if he comes back and you’ve chosen someone else- it feels like he’s giving you breathing room to explore.”

You can only sigh, resting your head in your hands.

“Do you want to explore?” Jungwoo enquires. 

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you’re going to bump into Jaehyun or Hyuck sometime, so you better figure it out fast.”

Ten:

As you’re returning from happy hour with Jungwoo, you run into your building manager. He’s a young man named Doyoung. He has a very regal look to him, and he’s as attractive as most of the men on the third floor.

He’s in the small building office, and as you walk past, he stops you.

“y/n!” he calls, waving you inside, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you!”

Your heart sinks- your payment wasn’t late, was it? Did you get a noise complaint? Your mind begins to race-

“I heard that people have been leaving notes and flowers at your door,” Doyoung tells you. “As you’re a young woman who is new to the building, I wanted to check in with you and make sure you’re not being harassed.”

Your brain short circuits- it’s one thing for Jungwoo and other people on the third floor to know about your ‘secret admirers’ but another for your building manager to be broaching the topic with you. 

“I uh,” you swallow thickly. “I’m not being harassed.”

Doyoung gives you a pointed look. “You’d tell me if you were, right?”

“Of course,” you assure him. “It’s all just playful, nothing… nefarious.”

God, you hate how proper you’re trying to sound, but how else are you supposed to explain this situation to Doyoung? 

This is so awkward, who knew moving into a new apartment would be this fucking complex? 

Eleven:

You’re in the lobby checking your mailbox when the front door opens and Jaehyun walks in. His hair is windswept, and he looks like he’s getting back from the gym. He immediately flashes you that dimpled smile and your heart begins to thunder in your rib cage.

“Hey, you,” he grins. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah, I’ve uh… been busy,” you offer, quickly closing your mail box.

“Seems that way,” Jaehyun muses, and you realize he’s waiting to go to the elevator with you.

Taking a deep breath, you pull up your big girl panties, walking with him to the lift.

He hits the button, turning to you. “So-”

The elevator opens and you find Hyuck standing there, having just come up from the underground parkade, and suddenly you feel like a deer caught in headlights.

“Hiya, hot stuff,” Hyuck grins. “Going up?”

Part of you wants to turn and run away, but you’re in too deep now to go back, so you enter the elevator with the two men who’ve been fighting for space on your door, and maybe also in your heart.

“How’ve you been?” Hyuck asks.

“I’ve been good, just busy,” you mutter quickly, hitting the ‘close door’ button in the hope that it saves you even one second in this awkward elevator ride.

“You coming from the gym?” Hyuck’s line of questioning has taken a turn, and you realize he’s addressing Jaehyun next to you. 

“Yup, you?”

“Was just out,” Hyuck responds vaguely.

You get the sense that these two might know each other in passing, after all, you all live on the same floor, but at the same time, it’s somewhat clear from their muted interaction that they’re not particularly close.

It’s an awkward, silent minute in the elevator, but it’s even more awkward when you all get off on the third floor, with both men letting you exit first, only to struggle in a pissing match over who follows you.

They end up tracing your steps to your door, and when you get there, they both stop.

“Wait,” Hyuck breathes, and you watch him look from you to Jaehyun then back again. “You must be sticky note dude.”

“And you’re flowers guy,” Jaehyun sighs.

Both of them turn to you and it’s Hyuck who asks, “You’re still single right?”

It must be obvious to them both that if they’re warring at your doorstep, neither of them actually have your number just yet, and while it’s awkward to be put on the spot like this, you understand their confusion.

“Still single,” you assure them, fumbling with your keys. “I uh, actually have only lived here a month, and I’m still getting settled-” you search for the right words while trying not to drop your phone. “I appreciate the interest from you both, but this has gotten a little out of hand- Doyoung asked me about all of this yesterday-”

“Doyoung?” Hyuck scoffs. “What does he care if we leave notes and flowers at your door?”

“I guess he’s just concerned about my safety?” you offer.

While you can tell that Jaehyun understands, Hyuck still seems a little slow to the pick up, rolling his eyes. “As if we’d ever do anything bad.”

Which is funny, coming from a guy who’s supposedly a drug dealer.

“I think I just need some space,” you say finally, shocked by the conviction in your own voice as you slip your key into the lock. “To… you know, settle.”

“I’m sure we can give you some space,” Jaehyun offers, and you can tell from his tone that it’s a warning to Hyuck not to argue.

The plug sighs. “Yeah, we can give some space.”

They’re both very handsome, and upon different circumstances, one of them doing the sticky note and flowers trick might have swayed you, but the fact that it’s become something of a war between them has turned you off. The seriousness in Doyoung’s discussion with you yesterday had made you realize as much, and you’d be lying if you said your growing connection with Johnny didn’t have anything to do with it either.

Twelve:

After the debacle with Jaehyun and Hyuck, you’d anxiously awaited a call with Johnny when he was done work and back at the camp. But now, as you talk to him on the phone, you hesitate about divulging in the events that took place today.

Johnny’s making an effort with you, but you can hear in his voice that he’s exhausted, and you don’t want to add pressure to his shoulders-

“Are you okay, 304?” Johnny asks.

“Hmm?”

“You’re just a bit quiet.”

“I’m thinking,” you admit with a sigh.

“Sounds intense, what’s up?”

Another deep breath escapes you. “So… remember the whole secret admirer thing?”

“Uh huh.”

“They left flowers on my doorstep a few days ago too, and Doyoung actually pulled me aside to ask me about it- he was worried I’m being harassed, and it just makes me think about, you know, being a young woman in a new city and my safety…”

You trail off and Johnny takes the opportunity to empathize, softly telling you, “Being anxious about this sort of thing is reasonable given the circumstances.” 

“It’s not that I think Jaehyun or Hyuck would ever overstep-”

“Well, they left notes, and you didn’t respond, so they left flowers, it’s not exactly a sign that they’re going to back off.”

“I guess that’s true,” you admit.

“Anyways, you were saying, about Doyoung?” 

You love how Johnny can get you back on track, and you take another deep breath to steady yourself. “I saw Jaehyun and Hyuck in the elevator today, and they both walked me to my door which was super awkward, and I guess I pretty much ended up telling them both that I needed space. Part of me wasn’t sure if I should tell you any of this, I know you’re tired after work a long day, but I guess I want to be transparent with you about everything.”

The line is quiet for a moment, and when Johnny speaks, you can tell he’s choosing his words carefully. “I appreciate you bringing it up,” he starts. “If I’m being honest, I’m a little shocked you didn’t accept either of their offers to get drinks.”

Your heart lurches in your chest. “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, I thought I’d made it clear that I’d understand if you did-”

“Just because you’d understand it doesn’t mean I was going to do it,” you tell him.

Johnny chuckles. “I suppose that’s true. I just, I don’t know, you don’t owe me anything- and maybe you’re just not interested in either of them, but I hope you didn’t say no to them to… spare my feelings or something?”

“Well… are your feelings spared?” 

Another laugh escapes him. “I just mean to say, this wouldn’t be the first time a girl thought she could do long distance, only to get a better option in town and jump ship.”

“Maybe I’m not like the other girls you’ve dated,” you tell him.

“It’s starting to feel like you’re not.” You can hear the fondness in his voice, and it makes your heart race faster in your chest. 

“When I get one man in my head, I can’t think about another. I’m not the type to jump ship,” you explain. “You’ve given me no reason to.”

“Except the distance,” he muses.

“Even with the distance, you’ve been attentive every day, and I’ve really appreciated that. You know, some guys will live in the same city as you, take you on one date, then not talk to you for five days- you and I did two dates back to back, and we’ve been talking consistently ever since.”

“Like I said, I didn’t want you to feel like an afterthought.”

“And I don’t want you to feel like just an option.” 

The line is quiet for a moment, then Johnny laughs. “There you go, being dangerous again.”

“If being genuine is dangerous, then I’m the most dangerous woman you’ll ever meet, Johnny.”

“I work on a rig, 304, I happen to like danger.” 

Thirteen:

You’re drinking wine with Jungwoo in your livingroom when your phone dings, and a smile spreads across your face when you see it’s a text from Johnny.

“One second,” you tell him, putting down your wine to respond to your blue collar man.

“Johnny?” Jungwoo grins knowingly.

“Yup, he’s just telling me he’s off work, but now it’s a two hour drive back to the camp.”

“So our girls’ night is over in two hours, got it,” Jungwoo jokes, except, is it really a joke if it’s true?

You can only laugh, shaking your head and setting your phone down again.

“You like him,” Jungwoo notes. “You like him a lot.” 

“I do,” you confess.

“You told Jaehyun and Hyuck off because of him,” your friend continues.

“Uh huh.” You take a sip of your wine, trying to ignore the knowing expression on Jungwoo’s face.

“So… has it gotten sexual yet? You know, asking for snaps of your tits-”

“Jungwoo!” you squeal, nearly spilling your wine as you go to gently smack his arm.

“What!? It’s a valid question!”

“No! It’s not sexual yet! I mean… I think we both have those feelings, but right now… we’re just, getting to know each other.”

“And when he’s home?” Jungwoo cocks a brow and you giggle even more.

“When he’s home…” you lower your voice, “I’m going to climb that man like a tree.”

“I knew it!” Jungwoo cheers. “Team Johnny!”

You clink your glasses in agreement, waiting for Jungwoo to settle down a little. He’s way too invested in your love life, but you kind of adore it. 

“You know…” Jungwoo trails off, “some rig guys do mostly winters, then come back for the summer and will take a couple of months off. I remember seeing Johnny more frequently last August.”

“He mentioned that,” you admit. 

“Did he say if he plans to do that this year? It’s almost March, so that’s April, May, maybe June… three or four more stints up there until a possible summer of love?”

You laugh at his choice of words, but your heart races at the notion of getting to spend your whole summer with Johnny, of a relationship of normalcy. 

“I’ll have to talk to him about it,” you decide.

“Maybe send some sexy snaps to tempt him, or talk about it once he’s home and you’ve sucked that dick, you know, incentives.”

“You’re so bad,” you giggle.

“I’m a hit of realism, which is what you need after living a fantasy for a month with three men fighting over you.”

You let out a sigh. “I suppose you might be right about that.”

Fourteen:

“How was your day?” you ask, practically kicking your feet now that you get to talk to Johnny.

“Long,” he laughs. “You?”

“It was good, hung out with Jungwoo for a bit, had some wine.”

“I can hear it in your voice, 304, you always get extra cute when you’ve been drinking your wine.”

“Do I?” 

“See? I can just imagine you kicking your feet right now.”

God, he knows you so well already- but you suppose that’s what happens when you talk to someone for hours every day. 

“And now you probably stopped kicking your feet because you’re embarrassed,” he continues.

“You’re a psychic,” you declare.

“Sure I am.”

You take a breath. “There was actually something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“So… you mentioned that sometimes you have the summer off, and I guess, since it’s almost March, I was just wondering if you’d be around in June or July.”

“I mean, I wasn’t necessarily planning on it, but if that’s something you wanted, I could see what I could make happen.”

You pause, considering your words carefully. “I don’t want to tell you what to do… and, I don’t want you to lose out on money for me, especially since we just started dating, if you even call this dating- but, at the same time, I think, long term, it would be easier to manage you going away for six or more months if I knew you’d be back for at least part of the summer.”

“I do call this dating,” Johnny tells you. “So I’ll see what I can do about it.”

“I also wanted to know when you’re flight back is, I was thinking I could come grab you from the airport.” 

Johnny chuckles. “I’ll send you the information, 304.” 

Fifteen:

You’re waiting outside your car when you see Johnny coming out of the airport, and you simply can’t help yourself anymore. You run to him, throwing yourself into his arms.

Johnny chuckles, dropping his duffle to pull you closer, even going so far as to lift you off the ground, releasing a groan as he does so.

Fuck, he feels so good, and big, and warm-

When he sets you down, you throw inhibition out the window, grabbing the back of his neck to pull his lips down to your own.

He smiles into the kiss, his palm flattening against the small of your back, his mouth moving in harmony with your own. You kiss him deeply, pouring in all the emotion of having missed him for weeks- 

It’s you who breaks the kiss, panting and looking up at him. “Let’s get you home,” you state. 

“Whatever you say, 304.”

The drive back to the apartment complex is a blur, you’re so distracted by Johnny that you’re surprised you even make it back in one piece. The elevator ride is quiet, filled with tension, and you can practically feel happiness radiating off of both of you.

“Wanna come to mine?” Johnny suggests. “I need to have a quick shower, unpack a little.”

“Okay,” you nod, excited as you follow Johnny to his place.

He lets you in first, and you eagerly eat up what’s in front of you, looking for details of the decor that might help you know this man even better.

However, you find that his apartment is sparsely decorated, with bare necessities, a minimalist look, which you suppose makes sense given the fact that he’s hardly here.

“Your place is nicer,” Johnny muses as he kicks off his shoes. 

“It’s just more furnished,” you laugh, not minding the lack of items.

“My bedroom is this way,” Johnny explains, heading into it while you follow slowly. He throws his bag on the floor next to his bed before turning to you. “I’m going to wash up a bit, then we can do whatever you want… or, I mean, you could always join me in the shower if that works better.”

He winks at you, and it’s very playful. You can only laugh, shaking your head and feeling your skin flush with heat as you look at the ground.

“I’ll be here,” you tell him, but when he disappears into the bathroom, you find your heart is still racing.

Should you go in the shower with him? 

He had offered for you to join…

Can you be a bit more patient?

No. You can’t. As you stand in his bedroom, you begin to undress, hyping yourself up for the moment that you’ve been waiting for.

After a deep breath, you knock gently on the door to his bathroom.

“Come in!” he calls over the sound of water spray, and you peek your head into the enclosed space. 

The room is full of steam, and the glassy walls of the shower are fogged up, but you can see the outline of Johnny’s body and it has you drooling.

You slip inside, closing the door behind you before making your way to the shower.

“Can I join you?” you ask, giving him one last opportunity to decide if this was a bad idea-

“Get in here.” Johnny opens the shower door, grabs your arm and tugs you inside with him. You blink against the mist, looking up at the large man who’s currently blocking the spray of water from hitting you. “Didn’t think you’d actually join,” he muses with a grin.

“Me neither,” you admit.

Johnny strokes your arm, fingers trailing up so he can cup your face. His thumb brushes by your cheekbone and you lean into his warm touch, releasing a moan. 

“Do you want to do this here, or would you rather we wait till I can get you onto my bed?” he asks.

“Here,” you tell him. “I’m tired of waiting.”

“Didn’t take you as the impatient type,” Johnny chuckles.

“I’ve been patient, for weeks,” you laugh.

“I guess that’s true, let’s fix that.” The tall man leans down, pressing his lips to your own. You immediately wrap your arms around his strong, wet shoulders, pressing your chests together as the kiss deepens. 

You can feel your nipples hardening against him, and his hands move to grab at your hips, pulling you even tighter to his body.

Something is beginning to press against your abdomen, and you love that you’re getting him hard already, that he’s as into you as you are into him. 

His palm slips down, and he grabs a handful of your ass, squeezing deliciously. You break the kiss to throw your head back, eyes closed as you enjoy the sensation of him.

“You know the only bad thing about shower sex?” Johnny asks, lips hot against your throat now. “Water isn’t lube, so I guess you’re going to have to be a good girl for me and wait just a little longer while I get you nice and wet for me.”

“I’m already wet,” you insist.

Johnny only chuckles, squeezing your ass harder as he licks at the sweet spot on your throat. “Let me enjoy this, I’ve been thinking about it for weeks.”

“Really?” you groan. “I never would have noticed, you’re always so PG.”

“I’m not going to be PG anymore.”

“Thank god!” A shiver runs through your body at the idea of what ‘rated R Johnny’ is going to look like- and as he pushes his thigh up between your own, you’re so grateful that you no longer have to wonder, you’re about to find out exactly how dirty this blue collar man can get.

Johnny laughs again, but as he laughs, he pushes his thigh up even higher, making contact with your clit.

“Fuck, I haven’t been touched in so long,” you whimper, immediately grinding down against him.

“Well, you deserve this, you’ve been a very patient, very good girl for me.” 

“I have been,” you nod, rubbing your clit harder against his large, muscled thigh.

“Had options, but you stayed loyal, even when you didn’t have to.” Johnny’s still kissing your throat, and he nuzzles up against your ear, biting your lobe gently. “I feel like those choices have earned you many rewards.”

His words are something like praise- appreciation almost, and you’re thankful that he’s taken into account the fact that you’ve made important decisions to put this blooming relationship first, even when - as Jungwoo said - you had no actual defined loyalty keeping you tied to this tall man.

“I just like you a lot,” you moan, feeling overwhelmed with the possibilities of a relationship with this man- a man who has communicated that he’s interested in something long term, which is such a stark contrast to most of the men you deal with these days.

God, to have hope for a man again- it’s such a foreign feeling.

“I like you too, 304.”

“Johnny,” you groan, “call me something else.”

“I think 304 is cute,” he grins against your throat.

“Please?”

“Okay, baby, I’ll call you anything you want,” Johnny promises, adjusting his grip on you so he can trail his hand up your torso, putting a slight distance between your bodies now so he can cup your breast. His thumb rubs over your hard nipple and you whimper, grinding harder against his thigh. “You are a baby, aren’t you, pretty girl?”

“Yes,” you whimper.

“I could also see you as a bit of a princess,” he muses, pinching your nipple and making you gasp loudly. “Adorable little pretty princess baby.”

He might be overdoing it with the pet names, but you can’t even bring yourself to care- in fact, this overt cheesiness is doing something to you, making your pussy throb as you grind against his wet skin.

“That’s it,” Johnny groans, “I kind of want to watch you get off on my thigh.”

“Yeah?” You swallow thickly, reaching for his hard cock. You’re a little taken aback by how large he is, but you guess you shouldn’t be all that surprised. You’ve been shy so far, not even taking so much as a peek at what you’re going to be working with- and maybe that had been a mistake. You’d been so sure of yourself earlier when you’d told Johnny you could take him without prep, and now you’re realizing how wrong you had been.

A deep moan escapes Johnny as you begin to stroke him, and he rolls your nipple between his fingers, making you cry out- only for his hand to move away, along with his thigh.

You want to protest- only for two digits to press between your pussy lips, teasing your entrance but not pushing in- just playing, toying, moving up to your clit then back down.

“Fuck,” you whimper.

“You definitely feel wet,” Johnny muses.

“So finger fuck me?” you suggest, applying more pressure to his cock as you stroke him off.

“Hmm?” He circles your clit teasingly, being so gentle that your body is already practically begging for more.

“Please finger fuck me?” you ask, your free hand now clutching his forearm in desperation.

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

Johnny cups the back of your head, pulling your lips to his as his fingers enter your hot core for the first time.

Fuck, his fingers alone are enough to stretch you out and it feels absolutely delightful. 

He starts slow, testing the waters as his digits explore your inner walls gently, but as the kiss deepens so do his motions.

You’re absolutely lost in him, whimpering and moaning- your hips even begin to move, eagerly seeking out stimulus that he grants when his palm presses flat to your clit.

“Fuck,” you gasp, holding his strong, veiny forearm even tighter.

“Feels good?” he asks, looking down at you with lust filled eyes.

“Feels so good,” you nod, fighting the urge to just close your eyes and enjoy it, while also wanting to stare up at this gorgeous man who is watching you with clear interest.

You take a shuddery breath, trying to focus on stroking his cock, but he makes it more difficult when he crooks his fingers up, hitting that sweet spongy spot inside of you that has your legs shaking.

“Are you going to be able to stand through all of this?” Johnny chuckles. “That’s the other bad thing about shower sex, it’s a slipping risk.”

“I think I can do it,” you insist, not wanting him to stop his motions for even one moment.

“Just hold onto me tightly okay, but if you start to fall, uh… don’t pull my dick off.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, and Johnny joins you with a chuckle of his own.

This feels so natural, so safe- the fact that you’re both giggling during your first sexual experience together is a great sign, and it makes you relax a little more, which only adds to the pleasure that’s starting to throb out from your core.

“You close?” Johnny asks, sensing the shift in your attention.

“Too close,” you nod, swallowing thickly in an effort to control yourself.

“Want you to cum on my fingers,” he tells you. “You can do that for me, right princess?”

“Uh huh.” Your mind is becoming clouded by lust, and it’s making it harder for you to respond to him-

His fingers are moving fast now, pistoning in and out of you with just the right amount of pressure, his palm stimulating your clit in a way that’s just enough-

You’re getting closer and closer to the edge and you don’t feel like slowing down. 

Your eyes close, your breathing becoming haggard as your muscles tighten with anticipation-

“Cum on my fingers, baby,” Johnny groans. “Wanna feel it.” 

With that, you explode, unable to contain yourself anymore as his filthy words vibrate through your entire being like a mantra. The pleasure is intense, your core clamping down on his digits, body throbbing deliciously as you give yourself over to the feeling of it.

Your legs are weak, and you grab Johnny’s forearm tighter, digging your nails against his skin.

It’s the kind of ecstasy that you never want to end, and it’s clear that Johnny’s not going to be the one to pull the rug out from under you. He keeps you steady, working you through your high until your legs are physically shaking.

Only once he’s sure you’re finished does Johnny pull his hand away.

You open your eyes to watch him slip his fingers into his mouth, groaning at the taste of you, and an echo of pleasure throbs through your pussy again.

“You’re so pretty when you cum,” Johnny tells you.

“Want you inside of me, now,” you respond.

“Hmmm… not yet.”

“What?” 

“You almost just fell over, I don’t think this is the safest place to do this,” Johnny laughs. “Come on, let's get out of the shower, dry off, and I’ll take you to my bed, like I’d planned.”

“Is it really that bad to fuck me here?” you whine.

“One, I don’t want you to slip, and two, I don’t want our first time to be here, you deserve a proper bed, so I can cuddle you after.” 

“You’re such a romantic,” you tease, but your heart swells at the notion of a man actually taking care of you.

“You love it,” Johnny insists.

He reaches behind himself, turning off the spray of water, then, he helps you out of the enclosed space. “Here,” Johnny passes you a towel, quickly patting himself down with his own before wrapping it around his waist, then he begins to help dry you off.

“I can do this part,” you assure him.

“I want to take care of you,” Johnny muses as his palms massage your breasts through the towel, making sure they’re extra dry.

“I think you just want to touch my tits again,” you grin.

“That too,” Johnny laughs.

“Predictable,” you toy.

“You think so?”

“Uh huh.”

In one quick motion, Johnny grabs you by the hips and lifts you onto the washroom countertop, tearing the towel away and discarding it haphazardly as he sinks to his knees.

“I think I’m going to make you cum on my tongue before I fuck you, you know, to prove how predictable I am.”

You don’t even have a moment to argue, Johnny pushes your thighs open, pulls you to the edge of the counter, and dives into your core with his tongue. 

You immediately latch onto his damp hair, throwing your head back as his mouth begins to work your pussy. You’re still sensitive from having just cum, and the sensation of his lips now wrapping around your clit has your muscles clenching with pleasure already. 

“Fuck-” you whimper, loving the way Johnny’s fingers are digging into your thighs, holding you open for a tongue that has a mind of its own.

You especially adore how messy he’s being. There are no kitten licks, no hesitancies, just a full-on lust fuelled ravaging of your core- nothing in your life has ever felt this fucking good.

You tug on Johnny’s hair roughly, but he’s unrelenting, in fact, you think he kind of likes the inkling of pain because he groans against your clit, licking at you sloppily while his nose bumps your sensitive bud over and over.

For a man who doesn’t do one night stands very often, he definitely knows his way around a pussy.

“Shit,” you moan, louder this time, your muscles tightening more and more-

You’re not used to men behaving this way with you, worshiping your body and putting your pleasure first. To have two back to back orgasms before he’s even taken anything for himself? Unheard of.

You can tell he wants you to cum, can tell that he’s eager for it, and the wet licks of his tongue against your sensitive pussy are ensuring that his preferred outcome happens sooner rather than later.

You give in to the feeling, deciding to relinquish control. If he wants to make you cum fast, then you can cum fast, and all of your attention moves to the feeling of pleasure that’s radiating out from your core.

Your abdominal muscles are tightening deliciously, and you begin to buck your hips a little, trying to ride his tongue while you hold him tight to your pussy by his hair.

Johnny groans again and the vibration of it sends a shiver of delight through your entire body.

“Fuck, I’m gonna-” You swallow thickly, brows furrowing with effort as you latch onto that feeling of euphoria, unwilling to let it drift away- “just like that, just like that-”

He sucks lewdly on your clit, flicking it with his tongue, and that’s all you need to explode, your pussy clamping down hard on nothing, squeezing and squelching sinfully. 

You’re gasping loudly, moaning like a whore as your orgasm washes over you in waves- and like your first high, Johnny is just as unrelenting with this one.

He doesn’t pull away, and with so much attention focused on your throbbing clit, it’s almost too much for you to handle.

You begin to push at Johnny’s head, but he’s like a brick wall, unmoving and diligent in his task.

“Oh my god-” your voice is raising with effort, raising with the euphoria that’s threatening to overwhelm you completely. “Johnny- too much-”

This time, he allows you to push him away, and you sink back down against the countertop, chest heaving with effort. Your legs twitch with aftershocks from your orgasm, and you can’t even bring yourself to open your eyes yet, still lost in the ecstasy he’d just provided.

“You okay, princess?” Johnny asks, and you can sense him rising to his feet, his eyes inspecting you.

“Overstimulated,” you admit, another shock washing through you and making you jolt.

“I got side tracked,” Johnny admits, and you peer out at him from under hooded lids to see him sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s okay, it was just a lot,” you assure him, reaching out to gently stroke his forearm. 

“Come on,” Johnny coaxes, lifting you off the sink so he can carry you to his room, “let’s give you a breather.”

He lays you gently onto his mattress, moving the blankets so you can get under the warm duvet.

The sheets smell like him, a manly pine scent, and it makes you groan, burying your face against the pillows while your brain tries to reaclimatize after a mind shattering orgasm.

Johnny joins you, and you instinctively cuddle close to his chest, delighted by the way his large arms wrap around you to hold you close.

“Just give me a sec,” you whisper, but even as the words leave your lips, your hand snakes down to his cock, and you gently wrap your fingers around the thick length.

Johnny chuckles. “Part of me thought you’d be too tired to actually fuck now.”

“Never,” you tell him, although you’re so exhausted from two extreme orgasms that there’s little conviction in the tone of your voice. 

“Take your time,” Johnny assures you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head while you languidly stroke his large cock. Unlike in the shower, however, there’s no lubrication of any kind, and soon, you tire of it.

“Okay,” you tell him, sitting up, “I can ride you.”

“Are you sure you want to be on top?” he blinks in shock. 

“Just to start, just to get used to your size,” you assure him.

“Whatever you want, princess.”

You swing your leg over Johnny’s hips, straddling him, and his hands find your waist. 

“Actually, let me grab some lube,” he says, sitting up abruptly. The muscles in his abdomen ripple under the skin, and you’re taken aback by just how beautiful this man is even as he’s reaching for his bedside table.

He pulls out a green bottle, squirting some of the gell into his palm before he grabs his cock.

You kind of love the view of his large hand on his massive cock, stroking up and down-

“Like what you see?” he laughs.

“You’re just so perfect,” you muse.

“That makes two of us I guess,” Johnny grins. “Okay, whenever you’re ready.”

He’s all lathered up now, and you grab the base of his cock, guiding yourself down on the tip. 

As you sink down even an inch, you groan at the stretch.

He’s covered in lube, and you’re definitely more than lubricated from two orgasms, but fuck- having not had sex in ages only to take the biggest cock of your life is definitely an adjustment for your tight pussy.

“Take it slow,” he assures you, tightening his grip on your hips to keep you steady as you gently sink down further on his cock.

“I’m good, you’re just so big,” you whimper.

Johnny only chuckles at your words, his eyes fixed on the meeting of your bodies.

“Not sure I can take it all like this,” you admit.

“I’ve heard that when a girl is on top, things feel deeper,” Johnny muses. “Don’t feel like you have to take it all right now, we can work up to that.”

“Okay,” you nod, “I’m going to bounce a bit.”

“Works for me, princess.”

You close your eyes, leaning over him and placing your hands firmly on his chest as an anchor as you begin to move up and down. The feeling of his massive cock against your inner walls has your body singing with pleasure already, and you begin to moan.

“Fuck,” Johnny groans, his fingers digging into your hips. “Feels good.”

“So good,” you agree with another whimper.

One of Johnny’s hands moves from your hip to your breast, and he begins to massage the sensitive flesh as you ride him gently. The sensation of him tweaking your nipple has you groaning, your pussy clenching incredibly tight around him, which makes both of you cry out desperately.

“Fuck, let me know when you want me to take over,” Johnny tells you, and you get the sense that you might be killing him a little with the slowness of your pace. His hips twitch, and you suspect that he’s doing everything in his power not to madly thrust up into you, which is something you appreciate greatly.

You ride him for a little while longer, and then you give up, legs burning with effort already. “Okay, okay, you can top now.”

You pull off of his cock, and Johnny helps you roll down onto the bed, your back hitting the mattress.

Instead of just getting on top of you, however, he stays on his side and leans over you, pressing his lips to yours while his hand continues to massage your breast.

You groan against his lips, threading your fingers through his hair desperately as his tongue invades your mouth.

He kisses you until you’re breathless, until your pussy is pulsing with desire, only then does he get between your legs, bringing the head of his cock to your awaiting hole.

“If you ever need me to slow down, or be less rough, or anything, just let me know,” he tells you, swallowing thickly as he gazes at your body.

“Just do it, Johnny,” you assure him, stroking his forearm. “Please.”

You watch his adam’s apple bob with effort again, and he slowly pushes the head of his cock into your wet hole, making you cry out. You grip his arm tighter, closing your eyes to enjoy the stretching sensation.

He sinks into you, inch by inch, gently thrusting to get you used to the intrusion.

When he’s almost fully inside of you, Johnny leans over your body, his elbows making contact with the bed on either side of your head so he can be in something of a plank position overtop of you.

You can feel his breath on your face, and you open your eyes to look up at him, your hand moving to cup his cheek while your legs wrap loosely around his waist.

“You can fuck me now,” you tease, grinning at how slow and gentle he’s been up until this point. “Please.” 

Johnny presses his lips to yours, and just like that, he begins to move.

Each thrust is unbound pleasure, his hips moving fluidly as he gradually increases his pace. His long cock hits deep spots inside of you that have you crying out, wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulders while your tongues battle for dominance in the most heated kiss of your life.

He’s moaning too, and it sounds so good- making your pussy even wetter as he decimates it perfectly.

You love the feeling of his large body pressing down against your own, his hard muscles are delightful under your touch when you skim your hand along his shoulders.

He’s steadily increasing the power behind each thrust, and now, the bed is beginning to rock with his movements, delighting you even more.

How can this man have so much raw power, but still be so gentle and careful when it matters most?

You might be a little obsessed with him, but as his massive cock hits your g-spot, you suppose it’s no wonder your feelings are growing at a rapid pace.

He has you cock drunk, in a way that you’ve never experienced in the entirety of your life, and you kind of love it.

“Shit,” Johnny cusses, breaking your kiss so he can press his mouth to your throat. “I never- never asked about protection.”

“I’m covered,” you assure him.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing thickly. “You can cum inside me.”

A deep groan escapes Johnny, and it vibrates through where your chests are pressed together.

“Don’t want to cum like this,” Johnny tells you, “it’s too soon.”

He pulls away, and you whimper when his cock leaves your wet hole. But then Johnny is manhandling you into doggy position, and you let out a moan of pleasure, arching your back and resting your head against the bed.

“You look good like this too,” Johnny muses as he pushes his cock back into you, his hands grabbing your hips roughly. “Always look so good.”

His praise is doing something to you, encouraging you enough to make you begin to move as well, doing your best to match his pace and push back against him with each thrust.

The sound of skin on skin fills the room, and your moans mingle in the air together.

“Fuck,” Johnny groans, railing into you even harder. “So fucking tight-”

“I’m close,” you assure him, “just let me-” you slip your hand between your thighs, fingers seeking out your sensitive clit. The moment you make contact, you feel your pussy contract around Johnny’s cock, and it makes you both moan loudly.

“Yeah, want you to cum with me,” Johnny tells you. “Want us to cum together.”

You don’t respond, too focused on your task as you begin to draw small circles around the sensitive bud.

God, nothing has ever felt this good, to be so completely full, while your clit is receiving attention at the same time-

The tension is quickly building in the pit of your stomach, and it’s clear to both of you that you’re rapidly approaching the edge-

“Here,” Johnny’s voice distracts you, and all of the sudden he’s hauling you onto your knees, pinning your back to his chest with an arm braced across your breasts, one hand cupping your boob like a seatbelt. You can feel his breath on your throat, and you quickly turn your head, seeking out his lips with your own.

His free hand pushes yours aside from your clit, applying even more pressure to your sensitive bud as he fucks into you erratically.

God, you feel him absolutely everywhere. You feel like a doll, suspended in time and space while this absolute unit of a man gives you all of the pleasure you could ever ask for, pulling at your strings like an expert.

He’s groaning more deeply- and with one more rough circle of your clit, you feel yourself come undone. You gasp against his lips, core clamping down on his cock-

A strangled sound escapes Johnny, his thrusts becoming even more erratic as he cums with you, coating your throbbing insides with his cum as you both fall off the edge together.

He’s clinging to you in a way a man has never clung to you, and you’re kissing him as if he’s the air you need to breathe. In this moment, it’s only you and him and this feeling of euphoria that you never want to give up.

He fucks you through your high until you’re both a panting mess, and then, he helps you back onto the bed, taking a deep breath.

“I’m going to go get some tissues,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You can only moan happily, inhaling the scent of pine as you cuddle against his pillow.

Johnny returns shortly, and he hands you some tissues to wipe his cum from your core.

“Should we take another shower or something?” Johnny asks, laughing a little at how messy you both are.

“Cuddles first,” you tell him.

Johnny grins, joining you on his bed, his strong arms immediately wrapping around you. “Cuddles first,” he agrees.

You both take deep breaths, and as your body begins to calm down while pressed against his, you know you made the right choice of man in this fucked up, love island-esque apartment complex that you now call home.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! This was way longer than I intended, which is why it took a minute to be posted, but I hope it was worth the wait!

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🔮 preview.  In the summer, Johnny’s not just a blue collar rig man, he’s a dude with friends, tanned skin from his obsession with the sun, and a taste for margaritas while sitting on boats between water skiing stints.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, use of toys, vibrator, nipple clamps, overstimulation, breast worship, use of lube, inklings of pain kink, hand job, fingering, multiple reader orgasms, etc…   I petnames. (hers) princess

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.8k I teaser wc. 100

🌙 starring. Johnny x afab!Reader

bonus

People sometimes talk about a specific summer in their life being ‘the summer of dreams,’ and you never quite understood what could make one stretch of months so significant- but now, living life with Johnny by your side every day, it makes total sense.

In the few months you’ve been dating, he’s done his best to introduce you to friends, but with such a short time in town, it was always difficult to juggle friends, family, and your growing relationship.

Now that it’s summer, you get to see how Johnny is when he’s just being himself.

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[gotnigs]

sleepy sex with johnny

it’s 4 a.m. johnny is restless, horny, and making it your problem.

he slides his hand on your hip and lightly shakes you in an attempt to wake you up. you groan in response and try to wiggle out of his grasp— you were so tired from working and just wanted one night of adequate rest.

“cmon’.. need you so bad.. mm?” he whines in his still half asleep state while trailing his hand down to your thighs, grabbing at anything he can just to keep his hands on you.

“you’re so needy..” you groggily reply.

“please?” he asks before grabbing you tighter and pushing his hips against yours, letting you feel how much he needs you. letting his aching cock press againt your ass. how can you deny your needy boyfriend? especially when he’s so persistent.

you arch your back to signal him to keep going, feeling him start to grind against you as his soft breaths hit the back of your neck.

maybe you can try getting a good nights sleep tomorrow instead..

[gotnigs]

get him back!

summary: years after your messy breakup that broke up the band, you and mingyu are forced back together for a reunion tour—and the public can’t get enough of your chemistry. on stage, you’re electric, but backstage it’s all snide comments, heated arguments, and mingyu slipping in petty lyric changes just to piss you off. you’re not sure what’s worse: how much you still hate him or how much you don’t.

⇢ pairing: lead guitarist!kim mingyu x lead singer!fem!reader ⇢ contains: romance, angst, smut (oral sex, hate sex, angry sex, unprotected sex, wall sex, overstimulation, slight dirty talk), exes to lovers au, band au, profanity, alcohol consumption, slight toxicity from both parties, smoking—please let me know if i’ve missed anything! ⇢ word count: 16.7k ⇢ note: inspired by olivia rodrigo’s get him back! & daisy jones and the six by taylor jenkins reid. happy mingyu day!

i). wait, is this the song with the drums?

Your first instinct, when Minghao drops the news about the reunion tour, is to shake your head and vehemently say no.

“Absolutely not,” you say, holding up a hand like that might somehow physically block the idea from reaching you. Minghao simply raises an eyebrow and adjusts his glasses.

“It’s not a request,” he replies, flipping through the stack of papers he brought with him. “It’s happening whether you’re on board or not. Your contract’s airtight.” 

“That’s impossible,” you scoff, folding your arms defensively. “I specifically remember agreeing to no future projects involving him.”

“Yeah, well, when you’re in a band that makes millions, the label doesn’t exactly care about your personal vendettas. Fans have been begging for this for years. You know how much money this is going to make?”

“I can’t do this, Minghao. You know what he’s like. He’s gonna make this a living hell for me.”

Your manager’s eyes soften just enough to make you look away. “Look, I know it’s not ideal. But it’s just a tour. A few months, and then you never have to see his face again if you don’t want to.”

You hesitate, teeth worrying your bottom lip. Anxiety coils inside your stomach like a live wire. You’d thought you’d buried that part of your life—left it to rot somewhere in the wreckage of what used to be your band and your relationship. Mingyu’s name still leaves a bitter aftertaste whenever it slips out of someone’s mouth.

But the label wants it. The fans want it. 

“So, what—you just expect me to pretend we didn’t break up in front of the entire world?” you snap, though there’s less fire behind it this time.

Minghao shrugs and sets the contract on your coffee table. “Pretend, don’t pretend. Hell, make it part of the show for all I care. As long as you’re both on that stage together, the crowd’s going to eat it up.”

You hate how practical he sounds. How it almost makes sense. You glance at the contract, at the neat, tidy letters spelling out your own name and Mingyu’s right next to each other, and feel something bitter curl up in your chest.

“I’m gonna kill him,” you mutter.

Minghao pats your shoulder as he heads for the door. “Try not to do it on stage. Though that might actually sell more tickets.”

You flip him off without looking, and Minghao just laughs on his way out. The contract sits there on the coffee table, and no matter what you do, you can’t seem to look away. Your eyes blur over the words, and all you can think about is him.

Mingyu.

You’ve spent months forcing yourself not to say his name out loud, not to think about his legs tangled with yours in bed or the rasp of his voice in your ear when he couldn’t keep his hands to himself before a show. You don’t let yourself think about the songs you wrote together. You definitely don’t think about the way it all fell apart. It was easier when you could pretend that part of your life was over—when you didn’t have to picture his face or hear his voice in your head, mocking you with every love song you swore you’d never sing again.

With a resigned sigh, you grab the pen Minghao had placed next to the contract papers and flip to the last page. Your signature comes out a little shaky, but it’s done. You let the pen drop onto the table and lean back against the cushions. 

The rehearsal studio feels too small. It’s ironic, really—after spending years crammed into dingy vans and shitty motel rooms together, you’d think it wouldn’t bother you. You’re the first person there (Minghao had threatened to personally drag you out of your apartment if you didn’t show up on time), and because you don’t know what else to do, you set about adjusting your mic stand.

It’s stupid. You know it’s already set to your height, but it gives your hands something to do. The room is way too quiet, the walls lined with soundproofing and a few faded posters from when your band—the Chrysos Heirs—was at its peak. There’s a familiar, musty smell—stale air and old fabric—and it makes your chest ache just a little.

Without really thinking about it, you start humming one of the old songs—one that never made it to an album, just something you and Mingyu had messed around with one night in the back of a bus. The melody flows out of you like muscle memory, soft and a little shaky at first, but gaining strength as you let the lyrics slip past your lips.

“Kiss me once and call me baby, Lie to me and say I’m crazy— Can’t believe I let you take me—”

The door swings open mid-verse, and you stop singing so fast it almost gives you whiplash.

Mingyu steps inside, and for a second, you can’t move. It’s like being punched in the gut—seeing him again after all this time. He looks almost the same, and that’s what pisses you off the most. The same messy hair, the same worn leather jacket hanging off his shoulders, that same stupid, self-assured expression. The only real difference is the hint of stubble lining his jaw, like he didn’t bother shaving before showing up. Typical.

He stops just inside the door, guitar case slung over his shoulder, and his eyes lock onto yours. His expression doesn’t give away much—just a calm, uninterested look, like he couldn’t give a shit about being here. Your stomach twists, anger simmering just under your skin. You’d spent months convincing yourself that you’d moved on, that he didn’t matter anymore, but seeing him here, right in front of you, makes all that effort feel pointless. You hate that he still looks good. 

He doesn’t say anything, just drags his gaze over you like he’s sizing you up. You force yourself not to react, keeping your expression as neutral as possible, even though your hands are shaking where they grip the mic stand. You can’t let him know how much this is messing with you. You refuse to give him the satisfaction.

Mingyu glances at the mic stand, then back at you, and there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—annoyance, maybe, or just plain indifference. You don’t know which is worse. You half expect him to make some smartass comment about your singing earlier, but he doesn’t say a word. Just sets his guitar case down on one of the couches and starts unzipping it, still not acknowledging you.

The way he’s ignoring you grates on your nerves. You’re tempted to snap at him just to get some kind of reaction. But you know how that game goes—how he’s always been good at pushing your buttons and making you the one who loses their cool first. You’re not giving him the satisfaction today.

You busy yourself with the mic stand again, even though there’s nothing to fix. It’s something to do with your hands, at least. The air feels thick, and your chest feels tight, and you can’t stop your mind from wandering back to late-night songwriting sessions and whispered promises that ended up meaning nothing. You wonder if he thinks about those nights too—or if he’s just moved on completely while you’re still stuck in the aftermath.

The door swings open again, and Jihyo and Eunha walk in, chatting and laughing about something. They both pause when they see you and Mingyu, exchanging a quick look before stepping inside.

“Hi,” Jihyo greets, adjusting the hem of her faded purple band t-shirt. “Everything okay here?”

You force a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. “Yeah. All good.”

Eunha gives you a small smile, her pigtails swinging, and starts setting up her bass. Jihyo nudges Mingyu with her elbow as she passes by, but he just shrugs her off and keeps tuning his guitar. She rolls her eyes and grabs her drumsticks.

You can’t help but glare at him, half-hoping he’ll look up so you can throw something snarky his way. Maybe if he’d just stop pretending like you’re invisible, you wouldn’t feel like your chest is caving in. You’re caught between wanting to scream at him and wanting to leave before your hands start shaking too hard to hide.

Younghoon slips in a few minutes later, his hair wind-ruffled and his jeans ripped at the knees. “Already at each other’s throats, huh?” he mutters, mostly to himself, but you hear it.

“Nah,” you bite out. “No one’s dead yet.”

Younghoon chuckles and unslings his guitar case. It’s forced, yes, and you know he’s just trying to lighten the mood. It doesn’t help much. Mingyu doesn’t even acknowledge the comment; he just keeps strumming a few notes like he’s deliberately tuning you out. You look away.

[CUT TO BLACK SCREEN] Text appears on screen: “Chrysos Heirs: The Reunion Tour – Behind the Music. Episode One.”

[INT. STUDIO – DOCUMENTARY INTERVIEW SETUP]Soft lighting. Jihyo sits on a stool, tapping her drumsticks against her knee absentmindedly. She grins when she notices the camera.

Jihyo: The first practice? Oh, man. That was a nightmare. I mean, I know it was gonna be awkward, but—wow. I half expected the room to just spontaneously combust. (Laughs) They didn’t even look at each other for the first half hour. I thought I’d have to throw a cymbal at someone just to break the ice.

[CUT TO: Eunha, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her bass leaning against her shoulder.]

Eunha: Honestly, I wasn’t sure if they’d even show up. _____ got there first, and Mingyu came just before me and Jihyo showed up. When we walked in… (Sighs) It was like stepping into a freezer. I kept looking at Jihyo like, Are we really doing this?

[CUT TO: Younghoon, leaning against the wall with his guitar propped up next to him.]

Younghoon: You could cut the tension with a knife. I was just waiting for one of them to snap, honestly. ____ was messing with the mic stand like it owed her money, and Mingyu—(snorts) he just acted like he didn’t give a shit. Everyone knows he does, though. I could see his hands shaking a little while he was tuning his guitar.

[CUT TO: Mingyu, slouched on the couch, arms crossed.]

Mingyu: First practice? Whatever. I showed up, didn’t I? (Shrugs) _____ was already there, singing something I wrote. I didn’t say anything. Didn’t feel like arguing. Didn’t feel like… dealing with that. (Pauses) We got through it. That’s what matters.

[CUT TO: YOU, sitting on a folding chair, arms crossed, eyes fixed somewhere off camera.]

YOU: I didn’t think he’d actually come. And when he did… (shakes head) I was just angry. At him, at myself. At the fact that he didn’t even look at me. We used to be… I don’t know. Better than that. He didn’t say anything to me, and I wasn’t gonna be the one to break first. We both have too much pride.

[CUT TO: Jihyo AGAIN, twirling a drumstick between her fingers.]

Jihyo: Eventually, I just started playing something random to break the silence. That usually worked back then—get the rhythm going, and the rest will follow. I guess some things never change, because once I started up, Younghoon joined in, and Eunha just kinda jumped in too. ____ and Mingyu just stared at each other like it was some kind of weird staring contest.

[CUT TO: Eunha AGAIN, laughing softly.]

Eunha: I thought one of them was gonna strangle the other before we even got to the chorus. But after a few minutes of us just messing around with the intro, _____ gave in and started singing. Mingyu followed—stubborn asshole—but it actually sounded good. Like, almost better than I remembered.

[CUT TO: Younghoon AGAIN, smiling with his eyes crinkled at the corners.]

Younghoon: It was a mess. A beautiful mess. That’s just how it is with us. Always on the edge of imploding but somehow making it work. They didn’t say a word to each other the whole practice, but the music spoke for them. It’s weird how that works, huh?

[CUT TO: Mingyu, still looking annoyed, but his jaw clenches a little.]

Mingyu: We got through the set. It wasn’t… terrible. (Pauses) She still sings like she’s got something to prove. Never really lost that passion. I guess that’s one thing that hasn’t changed.

[CUT TO: YOU, looking almost hesitant.]

YOU: The music was the only thing that didn’t feel different. That’s the worst part. We still fit together on stage. I don’t know how to feel about that.

ii). he had an ego and a temper and a wandering eye.

The venue is packed, lights flashing in time with the beats of the opening song. Jihyo is good. That hasn’t changed, not even a little. The heat of the stage lights is already making sweat prickle at the back of your neck, but you force yourself to ignore it, keeping your eyes fixed on the dark mass of people in front of you. You can barely make out individual faces past the glare, but it doesn’t matter—they’re all screaming, hands in the air, chanting your band’s name like a war cry.

To your left, Eunha’s fingers fly over the bass strings, head bobbing in time with the rhythm. Her eyes are focused and sharp, lips curved into a smile. Next to her, Younghoon strums his guitar, sweat dripping down his temples. He’s got that manic grin on his face, the one that always surfaces when he’s deep in the music.

You’re trying to focus—keep your voice steady, keep your hands from shaking—but it’s hard when you know he’s right behind you, adjusting his guitar strap and dragging his pick over the strings just loud enough to be a distraction. You swear he’s doing it on purpose, plucking random notes like he’s got nothing better to do, just to see if he can make you crack.

You refuse to look back at him. Instead, you take a slow breath and lean into the mic, eyes half-lidded and voice low as you speak to the crowd.

“Hey, everyone,” you drawl, and the noise swells, cheers and screams merging into a single deafening roar. You give them a crooked smile. “Feels good to be back. Did you guys miss us?”

The crowd roars. You can feel it—the way they’ve been waiting for this, for you. You ignore the way it makes your throat close up a little, focusing instead on the setlist displayed on the prompter. The opening song is one of your older hits, the kind of thing that used to play on the radio at least once a day back when it was first released. You’ve sung it a thousand times before, but tonight, it feels different. He’s right there, and you hate how you can feel his presence without even looking.

The drums kick in, pounding through your ribs, and you throw yourself into the first verse.

“Bite your tongue ‘til it bleeds, Hide the bruises on your knees, Say you never cared— I know you’re lying through your teeth.”

Your voice is steady, loud enough to carry over the instruments as the crowd sings with you. You almost lose yourself in it. The light pulses red and white, casting shadows across the stage, and you grip the mic stand tighter, putting every ounce of frustration into your performance.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Mingyu move closer to his mic, his guitar slung low and his fingers dancing over the strings. You force yourself not to look at him, focusing on the rhythm instead, on keeping your breathing even as the verse transitions into the chorus.

“Bittersweet vendetta, Carved your name into my skin, Kiss me like a secret. Make me wish I’d never let you in.”

You push your voice harder, practically shouting the last line, and the crowd’s response is instantaneous—voices rising to meet yours, some of them screaming loud enough to rival the speakers. You finally risk a glance to your right, just in time to see Mingyu’s lips curve into a smirk, his head tilted like he’s daring you to acknowledge him.

He leans into the mic, and his voice slices through the air.

“She lies like she means it, Fake love on her lips—”

You clench your jaw so hard it aches, but you don’t miss your next cue, even though your mind is reeling. That’s not the original line. He’s never changed it before—not in all the years you performed this song together. You shove down the surge of anger, forcing yourself to keep going as if nothing happened.

The audience reacts immediately—some laughing, some whooping. You know they heard it. You know he did it just to get a rise out of you. You hate that it’s working, that your pulse is thrumming in your ears and your hands are shaking even as you keep your expression blank.

You don’t look at him. Instead, you pour every ounce of your irritation into the next verse, voice dropping low and venomous.

“Cut me down with your clever words, Always knew how to make it hurt, Fake your way to heaven, But I’d follow you through hell first.”

You swear you hear Mingyu laugh under his breath, but he keeps playing like nothing’s wrong, his fingers moving over the strings like second nature. Your stomach twists, and you can’t tell if it’s fury or something uglier—something that feels like regret buried under years of resentment.

The bridge comes crashing in, and you give it everything you’ve got. Your voice is raw and unrestrained.

“Swore I’d never write about you, Guess I lied again somehow, Made my bed on broken promises, Tell me—are you happy now?”

The crowd’s roar almost drowns you out, but you don’t let up, spitting out the words like they’re poison on your tongue. You’re breathless by the time the final chorus hits, and the last line comes out almost like a snarl.

When the song ends, the audience erupts, and you finally allow yourself a moment to breathe, wiping sweat from your forehead with your palm. Your ears are ringing, but you catch a glimpse of Mingyu as he steps back from his mic, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He doesn’t look at you. Nor does he seem to particularly care that he just tore through one of your most iconic songs with a cheap, unnecessary jab.

You force a smile and wave to the crowd.

The moment the stage lights cut out and the cheers of the crowd fade behind the heavy backstage door, you’re off. You don’t bother thanking the crew or even stopping to catch your breath—you just march straight to the green room, hands still trembling from the adrenaline and the anger. Your heart’s pounding so loud in your ears that you barely hear the door swing open behind you.

You whirl around just as Mingyu walks in, still wiping sweat off his face with the hem of his shirt. The sight of him—smirking like he didn’t just pull that shit on stage—makes your stomach twist with rage.

“What the fuck was that?” Your voice comes out harsher than you intended, but you don’t care.

Mingyu just raises an eyebrow, like he’s confused about why you’re yelling. “What was what?”

“Don’t play fucking dumb,” you snap. “You changed the fucking lyrics. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

He just shrugs and tosses his towel onto one of the chairs. “Oh, that. Yeah, I thought it sounded better. More honest.”

You take a step closer, jabbing a finger at him. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to just rewrite shit on stage without telling anyone. We practiced that song a hundred times, Mingyu. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You’re really gonna get this worked up over one line?” He scoffs, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “Come on, it’s not that deep.”

“Not that deep?” You laugh, but it’s humourless and cold. “You made it sound like I’m some kind of manipulative bitch in front of thousands of people! How the hell am I supposed to not get worked up about that?”

“Maybe if it wasn’t true, it wouldn’t bother you so much,” he says, leaning back against the wall.

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

Mingyu shrugs again, his voice low and taunting. “You always were good at faking it—feelings, sincerity, the whole tragic frontwoman act. Sorry if I just cut through the bullshit.”

Something snaps inside you, and before you even realise it, you shove him backwards with both hands. Mingyu doesn’t stumble, but his smirk falls for just a second—just enough to make you feel a flicker of satisfaction.

“Fuck you,” you spit out. “You don’t know a single thing about me.”

His face hardens, and he pushes off the wall to get right back into your space. “Don’t I? I know you lie like it’s second nature. You get off on being the victim, pretending like you’re the one who got hurt. But we both know you’re just as guilty as I am.”

“You’re a fucking asshole.” You’re breathing hard now, fists clenched at your sides to keep from swinging at him. “You’re the one who decided to leave the band first. I’m not the one who bailed.”

“Yeah, because sticking around and watching you sabotage everything we built together sounded like a blast. You’re impossible to deal with. Always have been.”

“You think I’m impossible? You’re the one who picks a fight every chance you get. It’s like you can’t stand if I’m not miserable,” you shoot back. “Newsflash, Mingyu—not everything’s about you and your bruised ego.”

“Says the girl who can’t stand it when someone calls her out,” he says, lips curling into a mocking grin. “Maybe I hit a nerve because you know I’m right. You’re so used to being adored that the second someone questions you, you lose your shit.”

You shove him again, harder this time, and he doesn’t move—just stays rooted to the spot, glaring down at you. “God, I hate you,” you seethe, voice cracking despite yourself.

“Funny. Didn’t sound like hate the last time you were screaming my name.”

You freeze, heat rushing to your face, and the anger bubbles into something darker—something desperate and bitter. “You think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you? Always gotta have the last word, always gotta prove something. You’re pathetic.”

“You’re one to talk,” he grits out. “Still hung up on shit that happened years ago. I’m pathetic? You’re the one still singing about heartbreak like it’s gonna make people feel sorry for you.”

You want to hit him. You want to scream at him until your voice breaks. Instead, you shove him again, and this time he catches your wrists, yanking you forward until your chest brushes his. His face is inches from yours, breath hot against your cheek.

“Admit it,” Mingyu murmurs, low. “You’re pissed because I called you out, and now you can’t hide behind your lyrics like a coward.”

You wrench your hands free, but you don’t move back. You’re too close, breathing hard. “You’re such a fucking asshole,” you whisper, voice tight.

His eyes bore into yours. “And you’re a goddamn liar.”

Before either of you can say anything else, Eunha pushes the door open with a scowl. She takes one look at the two of you and shakes her head. “Seriously? Already? I knew this tour would be a shitshow, but I didn’t think you’d try to kill each other on night one.”

You finally rip yourself away from him, swiping at your face like you’re trying to scrub the confrontation off your skin. Mingyu doesn’t look at you. He just picks up his towel and wipes his hands.

Jihyo slips in behind Eunha, still buzzing from the performance. “Jesus, you two are like feral cats. Can’t we just chill for five seconds?”

“We’ve got interviews in ten minutes,” Younghoon pipes up from behind her. “You guys need to get your shit together.”

Eunha levels both of you with a glare. “I don’t care what personal shit you’ve got going on, but don’t pull that crap on stage again. Mingyu, you don’t change the lyrics without telling us. _____, stop feeding into his bullshit. You’re both being idiots.”

Neither of you says anything, but you’re still seething, trying to force down the bitter ache in your chest. Mingyu rolls his shoulders and turns away, his shaggy hair falling down the nape of his neck. When you finally turn and leave the room, you can still feel his eyes on your back, and it makes your skin crawl. You tell yourself you’re just glad to be away from him, but the knot in your stomach says otherwise.

[CUT TO BLACK SCREEN] Text appears on screen: “Opening Night – Sold Out.”

[INT. STUDIO – DOCUMENTARY INTERVIEW SETUP]

[CUT TO: Jihyo, her expression thoughtful.]

Jihyo: Okay, look, I’m not gonna go around pinning the blame on anyone. That doesn’t do anyone any good. (Shifts slightly) I just think that we’re all adults here, and what Mingyu and _____ were doing didn’t do us any favours.

[CUT TO: Eunha, scowling at the camera.]

Eunha: They’re pretty f***ing immature, if you ask me. Sometimes I think Mingyu and _____ forget that they’re not the only people in the band. They founded it, sure, but what about me, Jihyo, and Younghoon? This isn’t just some petty high school-level battle of the bands shit. This is our f***ing careers we’re talking about.

[CUT TO: Younghoon, leaning back with a cigarette rolling between his fingers.]

Younghoon: Yeah, it’s real inspiring when your frontmen are trying to rip each other’s heads off backstage. Real rock and roll. (Scoffs) Look, they’re both stubborn as hell, and it’s not like we didn’t see it coming. You put two people with that much history on the same stage, and it’s like throwing a match into gasoline.

[CUT TO: Mingyu, arms spread out on the back of the couch.]

Mingyu: It’s not my fault she can’t handle the truth. We’re supposed to be putting on a show, aren’t we? Guess what—drama’s a part of it. If she wants to get pissed because I added a little honesty to the setlist, that’s on her. (Shrugs) I’m not gonna apologise for making it real.

[CUT TO: YOU, visibly tense, gripping the edge of your seat.]

YOU: He didn’t change the lyrics because it was real. He did it to hurt me. There’s a difference. It’s not about the fans, or the show, or whatever bullshit excuse he’s telling himself. It’s about control. He just couldn’t stand the fact that I was getting through it without him, that I was… fine. (Pauses) Or at least trying to be.

[CUT TO: Jihyo AGAIN, rubbing the back of her neck.]

Jihyo: (Sighs) You’d think that after all these years, they’d have learned how to work together without turning it into a battlefield. We’re not in high school anymore. We’re on tour. If one of them messes up, it’s not just their mess to clean up—it’s all of ours.

[CUT TO: Eunha AGAIN, looking more annoyed than before.]

Eunha: It’s exhausting. We’re just trying to make music, not mediate whatever unresolved shit they’ve got going on. Half the time, I feel like I’m babysitting. They either need to figure it out or shut the hell up and be professional for once.

[CUT TO: Younghoon AGAIN, giving a resigned laugh.]

Younghoon: Honestly, if they’d just screw and get it over with, we might finally get some peace around here.

[CUT TO: Mingyu, AGAIN]

Mingyu: Younghoon said that? Not a chance. I’d rather set my guitar on fire.

[CUT TO: YOU AGAIN, rolling your eyes.]

YOU: Yeah, well, might be the most impressive thing Mingyu’s done in a while.

iii). do i love him? do i hate him? i guess it’s up and down.

[CUT TO BLACK SCREEN] Text appears on screen: “The Founders’ Cut.”

[INT. STUDIO – DOCUMENTARY INTERVIEW SETUP]

[CUT TO: YOU, sitting upright with your arms crossed.]

INTERVIEWER (off-camera): Can you tell us about the band’s early days? How did the Chrysos Heirs come together?

YOU: God, that feels like forever ago. (Pauses) It was just me and Mingyu at first. We were… just kids, really. We’d meet up after school in my dad’s garage—him on guitar, me scribbling down lyrics on whatever scraps of paper we could find. It wasn’t anything serious back then. We just wanted to make noise and piss off the neighbours.

INTERVIEWER: Did you always know it was going to be a band?

YOU: (Shakes head) Not at all. We didn’t plan for it to be anything more than a way to kill time. We’d play until our fingers ached or Dad came out yelling at us to cut it out. (Smiles a little) It was messy and loud and—fun. We didn’t think much past that.

INTERVIEWER: When did it start to feel like more than just noise?

YOU: When Jihyo came into the picture. She was incredible. She had this way of making everything tighter, more precise. Like she just knew what needed to happen to make the sound click. Mingyu knew her from some music workshop thing—said she was the only drummer he’d met who wasn’t full of shit. (Laughs softly) One day, she just showed up with this beat-up drum set and told us our timing was crap. And she was right.

INTERVIEWER: What was your reaction to her criticism?

YOU: Oh, I was pissed. I didn’t want some stranger telling us we were doing it wrong. But she wasn’t mean about it—just honest, I suppose. And once she started playing, we couldn’t really argue with her. She made us sound like an actual band.

INTERVIEWER: And Eunha and Younghoon? How did they join?

YOU: They came later. We’d been playing these tiny, shitty bar shows—barely getting paid, just trying to scrape together enough for gas and food. It was clear we needed a bassist. Jihyo was the one who pushed for it. She said we sounded hollow without that low end. She knew Eunha from some other band that had just imploded—some drama I never got the full story on. Eunha came in and just took over. She was relentless, always pushing for perfection. It drove me and Mingyu crazy at first, but she made us sound good. Really good.

INTERVIEWER: And Younghoon?

YOU: (Smiles fondly) Younghoon was a surprise. Mingyu found him at some underground gig—he was up there shredding like it was the easiest thing in the world. Mingyu practically dragged him to rehearsal the next day, and Younghoon barely said a word. He just picked up his guitar and played like he’d been with us the whole time. We didn’t even have to teach him the songs—he just… knew. It was weird, but it worked.

INTERVIEWER: What was it like performing together back then?

YOU: Incredible. We weren’t perfect by any means—we’d f**k up chord changes and stumble over lyrics, but people didn’t care. There was this energy that made up for it. The crowd felt it too. We’d get off stage, drenched in sweat, hearts pounding, and just laugh about how much we almost screwed up. Those shows were something else.

INTERVIEWER: And what about you and Mingyu? You two were already together by then?

YOU: (Pauses, glancing away) Yeah. It just happened. It wasn’t really something we talked about—it just made sense at the time. We were always around each other anyway.

INTERVIEWER: What changed?

YOU: (Exhales slowly) Success changed things. Suddenly we were everywhere—touring, interviews, non-stop shows. We didn’t have time to breathe, let alone talk about anything that mattered. It was just… go, go, go. And when things got tough, we didn’t know how to handle it. We didn’t talk. We just fought. About stupid shit—lyrics, setlists, tempos. It wasn’t about the band anymore. It was about us, trying to hurt each other without admitting that’s what we were doing.

[CUT TO: Mingyu, leaning back in his chair with one arm thrown across the back of it.]

INTERVIEWER (off-camera): Can you talk about why you left the band?

Mingyu: (Exhales, looks away for a moment) It wasn’t… one thing, you know? People always want it to be simple, like there’s one big reason I just up and left. But it wasn’t. There was just—too much shit piling up. Tension between all of us, pressure from the label, and I wasn’t in the right headspace to deal with it.

INTERVIEWER: Do you regret it?

Mingyu: Sometimes. Maybe. I didn’t really think about what it would do to the others at the time. I needed to figure out who I was without the band. It was selfish, I know, but I couldn’t keep pretending I was okay with how things were going.

INTERVIEWER: Were you unhappy with the band itself, or just the dynamics between the members?

Mingyu: Both, I guess. The band was everything to me at one point. It was the one thing I thought I could count on. But then it just got… complicated. We went from just being a bunch of idiots messing around to something huge, and I wasn’t ready for that kind of pressure. The music stopped feeling like ours—like mine. It was just what everyone else wanted from us.

INTERVIEWER: How did the others react when you told them you were leaving?

Mingyu: (Chuckles bitterly) Not well. Jihyo tried to talk me out of it—said I was being impulsive and throwing away something we’d built from the ground up. Eunha was pissed. She didn’t say much, but I could tell she was angry. Younghoon didn’t say anything at all. Just kind of… stared at me like I’d betrayed him or something.

INTERVIEWER: And _____?

Mingyu: (Stiffens) She didn’t take it well. She said I was running away—like I always did. We fought about it for hours. Nothing we said made sense by the end of it. Just yelling for the sake of yelling. I think we both knew it wasn’t just about the band at that point.

INTERVIEWER: After you left, the Chrysos Heirs seemed to almost dissolve overnight. Can you talk about that?

Mingyu: (Breathes out slowly) Yeah, I heard about it a few months later. It wasn’t something I expected. I thought they’d keep going without me, honestly. I didn’t think I was that important. (Pauses) Turns out, though, that me leaving kind of pulled the rug out from under everything. 

INTERVIEWER: Did the others ever talk to you about it?

Mingyu: Jihyo called me once. She didn’t say much, just that they’d decided to take a break, and that without me there, it wasn’t working. She didn’t blame me, exactly, but I could hear it in her voice. Like she was trying not to say that I’d screwed everything up. (Shakes his head) Younghoon never reached out. I don’t know if he was angry or just—disappointed. Eunha texted me some stuff, mostly updates, but nothing about how they felt about it.

INTERVIEWER: What about _____?

Mingyu: (Tenses visibly) We never spoke to each other after I left.

INTERVIEWER: Do you think that the band dissolving hurt her the most?

Mingyu: Yeah. I know it did. The band was everything to her—more than it was to any of us, I think. She was always the one pushing us to go further, to make better music, to keep going even when it was hard. So when it all fell apart… I know she took it personally. Like she failed or something. Especially when I saw her trying to do solo stuff after that. 

INTERVIEWER: Did you listen to her solo work?

Mingyu: (Nods) Every track. It was good—different, but good.

The studio lights beat down on you like a relentless sun, and you resist the urge to wipe at the thin sheen of sweat forming at your hairline. You force yourself to smile through it, shoulders squared and posture just right, even as your muscles ache from holding the same position for too long. Jihyo mutters under her breath about how awkward it feels to act casual when there’s a giant lens pointed right at your face; you can’t help but agree. It’s been ages since the last group photoshoot, and the discomfort is hard to ignore.

Mingyu stands at the far end, stiff and distant, hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket. He’s staring at some fixed point behind the photographer’s head, looking like he’s seconds away from bolting. It drives you insane how obvious he’s being about not wanting to be here. You catch his eye once, and the look he gives you is so blank, it’s almost insulting.

Jihyo throws an arm across Younghoon’s shoulders, and the two lean into each other. Eunha sits cross-legged in front of you, holding up two peace signs and grinning widely.

“All right, good! That’s enough for the group shots,” Mina, the director of photography, calls out, clapping her hands together. “Everyone but Mingyu and _____, take five. I want a few duo shots.”

You stiffen. Jihyo glances between the two of you with something close to worry, but when you shoot her a tight smile, she just shrugs and heads off with Eunha and Younghoon in tow.

Mingyu hasn’t moved an inch, his hands still stuffed into his pockets, jaw tight. You take a slow breath and will yourself not to let him get under your skin. Not again.

Mina gestures you both forward, clearly sensing the awkwardness but too professional to comment on it. “All right, you two. Let’s lean into the chemistry a bit. I want intimate and raw—like the world’s finally looking at you both behind the professional masks.”

Your lips press into a thin line. Mingyu doesn’t react at all.

“Face each other,” Mina instructs, waving a hand to adjust the lighting. It catches on the bright gold of her blouse, and you blink a little. “Mingyu, hands on her waist. _____, put your hands on his shoulders. Closer. I need to feel the tension. Like you’re caught between fighting and kissing.”

You almost laugh at the irony. That’s practically all you’ve done since he showed up again—hovering somewhere between wanting to scream at him and wanting to grab his face and never let go. The thought burns. You squash it as you step forward.

Mingyu’s hands settle on your waist, and it’s as if electricity crackles through you, setting every nerve alight. His touch is hesitant, like he’s not sure he has the right to be this close anymore. Your hands come up to his shoulders, fingers brushing over familiar leather and muscle, and you force yourself to look up at him.

His eyes catch yours. Neither of you moves. He looks at you like he’s seeing something he thought he’d lost, and it makes your heart twist painfully.

“Closer,” Mina calls out, voice clipped. “Mingyu, lean in like you’re about to say something you’ve been holding back for years. _____, tilt your chin up—give him that look, like you’re angry but imploring.”

You do as she says, your breath hitching when his forehead dips to rest against yours. Your fingers tighten against his shoulders, and his hands shift on your waist, thumbs brushing over the fabric of your shirt like he’s trying to memorise the feel of it. You can feel his breath fan across your face, warm and familiar, and it hurts how natural it feels.

When you look to the side, Mina is frowning. “Closer,” she says again. “I need to see that longing.”

You don’t bother hiding your scoff, muttering under your breath, “Maybe it’d be easier if he didn’t look like he’d rather be doing literally anything else.”

His eyes snap to yours, defensive. “Sorry I’m not putting on enough of a show for you,” he mutters back, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Maybe if you actually gave a damn, it wouldn’t feel like pulling teeth,” you hiss.

He narrows his eyes, tightening his grip just a fraction, enough to make your pulse jump. “There you fucking go again. Acting like you’re the only one who cares about this.”

You force yourself to keep the smile plastered on your face for the camera, teeth clenched. “Oh, forgive me for thinking you don’t give a shit. It’s not like you haven’t disappeared for months without a word.”

“You think I wanted to leave?”

“You didn’t exactly try to stay,” you snap, fingers digging into his shoulders. “You left me to deal with the fallout while you got to play the tortured artist somewhere else. And now you’re back, and you’re acting like none of it mattered.”

“You didn’t want me to stay,” he says, barely more than a whisper. “You didn’t even ask.”

The accusation slices through you, and your grip on his shoulders loosens. “How was I supposed to ask when you made up your mind without me?” you fire back. “You made it clear that I wasn’t worth staying for.”

His expression hardens, like he’s trying to cover the hurt bleeding through his anger. “That’s not fair. You never once asked how I felt about it. You just decided I didn’t care.”

You want to scream at him for being so oblivious—for acting like you didn’t spend weeks waiting for a call that never came. Instead, you force your lips into a tight, brittle smile. “Guess you made it pretty damn convincing when you left even though I asked you to stay.”

Something in his eyes cracks, just for a moment, but then Mina’s voice cuts through.

“Yes! That’s it!” she crows. “Keep it up. Mingyu, cup her face.”

He doesn’t move at first, just stares down at you, his breath coming out in uneven bursts. Then his hand lifts, cupping your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek like it’s muscle memory. The way he looks at you, then, makes your throat close up.

You want to push him away, but your hands stay where they are, like they’re glued to him. Mina calls out more instructions, but her voice is distant—just noise behind the thunder in your chest.

When she finally calls for a wrap, you step back, your hands falling limply to your sides. Mingyu’s arms drop away from you, his face shuttered and closed off again. You don’t look at him as you turn on your heel and walk off to the break room, every muscle in your body screaming with the urge to just get away from him before you say something even worse.

[CUT TO BLACK SCREEN] Text appears on screen: “The Members’ Cut.”

The screen fades out into grainy footage from an old concert: Mingyu and _____ on stage, harmonising, Mingyu strumming his guitar while _____ sways with the mic. The audience sways as one, flashlights held up as they move in time with the song. The video fades out.

[INT. STUDIO – DOCUMENTARY INTERVIEW SETUP]

[CUT TO: Younghoon, sitting cross-legged on a couch, an easy smile on his face.]

Younghoon: Back then? Man, they were something else. You’d think they were fused at the hip with how much time they spent together. Writing songs at three in the morning, huddled over some crumpled notebook, arguing about chord progressions one second and laughing the next. I don’t think I’ve ever seen two people make something so good while simultaneously wanting to strangle each other. It was weirdly sweet.

[CUT TO: Jihyo, sitting in a green room with her legs swung over the arm of a chair.]

Jihyo: _____ used to steal Mingyu’s hoodies every time we hit a new city. Didn’t matter how hot it was—she’d be drowning in that thing, sleeves halfway covering her hands. Mingyu’d just roll his eyes and mumble something about it smelling weird when he got it back, but he never complained. They’d go on these stupid little coffee dates whenever we had downtime—just the two of them, sneaking off like no one would notice. We noticed. Everyone noticed.

[CUT TO: Eunha, sitting on the floor of the green room.]

Eunha: Honestly? Their songs were the best ones we ever wrote. Together, they just… clicked. It was effortless. I think the first time I heard “After Midnight”, I kinda wanted to throw up from how sweet it was. But you could tell—every word, every note—they put their whole hearts into it. It was like they were making something for just the two of them, and the rest of us were lucky to get a piece of it.

[CUT TO: Younghoon AGAIN, still sporting that easy smile.]

Younghoon: But, y’know, things got complicated. Like they always do. They’re both stubborn as hell, and neither of them knows how to sit down and talk without throwing metaphorical knives at each other. Still… (Laughs softly) I stand by what I said. If they screw each other and get it over with, everyone’s gonna be okay.

iv). wanna kiss his face with an uppercut.

You’re sprawled across the hotel bed, face buried in the pillow, when your phone rings. You groan, tempted to ignore it, but the screen flashes Minghao’s name, and you know better than to let it go to voicemail.

You pick up and press the phone to your ear. “Yeah?”

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” Minghao deadpans. His voice is brisk, no-nonsense as always. “I’m just checking in.”

“Fantastic,” you say dryly, sitting up and running a hand through your hair. “Photoshoot went great. Almost fought Mingyu. Twice.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, and you can imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose. “Are you two still at each other’s throats?”

“It’s kind of hard not to be when he acts like breathing the same air as me is a personal insult,” you snap. “Mina made us take those stupid couple shots, and he looked like he wanted to die the whole time. It’s—” You break off, clenching your jaw. “It’s annoying.”

Minghao grunts, unimpressed. “You’re letting him get to you.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Then stop it,” he says, as if it’s that easy. “You don’t have to like him, but you do have to get through this. It’s one shoot and a few public appearances. You’ve handled worse.”

“That’s the problem. It’s not supposed to be worse. We’re supposed to be professionals, but he’s—he’s making it impossible.”

Minghao doesn’t answer right away, but when he does, his tone is firm. “Look, if he wants to act like a child, let him. You don’t have to stoop to his level. Smile for the camera, grit your teeth if you have to, and don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s pissing you off.”

You hate that he’s right. “Yeah. I know.”

“You want me to handle anything?”

“No,” you say quickly, shaking your head even though he can’t see it. “I’ll deal with it.”

He doesn’t bother with goodbyes, just hangs up like always. You let your phone drop onto the bed and slump back down, staring up at the ceiling. You hate that it’s still gnawing at you—the frustration, the hurt, the way Mingyu’s indifference feels like a punch to the gut every single time.

You tell yourself it’s fine. You can handle it. You’ve been through worse.

A knock at the door startles you out of your thoughts. You blink, wondering if you imagined it, but then it comes again—more impatient, this time. You groan and push yourself up, dragging your feet as you cross the room. Your muscles still ache from the photoshoot, and your mood hasn’t improved because of Minghao’s call.

You pull the door open, expecting maybe Jihyo or one of the others, but it’s Mingyu. He leans against the doorframe, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his jaw set in that familiar way that makes you want to slam the door right in his face.

“What do you want?” you snap, not even attempting to sound polite.

He glances away, gaze fixed on some spot above your shoulder. “I— Just wanted to—”

“Oh, please,” you interrupt. “Like you fucking care.”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m starting,” you snap back, “because you spent the whole fucking day making it perfectly clear that breathing the same air as me is unbearable, and now you’re playing concerned? Do you even look at yourself?”

“Maybe I do care,” he tells you, and you cut in again.

“You’re the one who looked like he’d rather die than put his hands on me. Trust me, I noticed.”

“It’s not that—” He cuts himself off, jaw clenched, and steps closer. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me!” you shoot back, shoving his shoulder. “You can’t just act like a dick and expect me to read your mind. Or are you still too much of a coward to admit anything out loud?”

That hits a nerve. His eyes flash, and he steps into your space, so close you can feel the heat coming off him. “Maybe if you didn’t act so fucking righteous all the time, I wouldn’t feel like I’m losing my mind around you,” he spits out.

“Yeah?” you challenge, shoving him again just to get him to react. “Maybe if you didn’t keep running away every time something actually matters, we wouldn’t be stuck in this stupid cycle!”

He grabs your wrist, yanking you even closer, and you can feel his breath on your face, warm and ragged. “I’m not running.”

“Yes, you are,” you hiss, your voice cracking despite yourself. “You always do. You think if you act like nothing happened, it’ll just go away. Well, fuck you, Mingyu, because it doesn’t.”

He looks at you like he wants to argue, but his jaw works soundlessly, and you’re so sick of it—so tired of dancing around whatever’s been festering between you since the band split. Before you know it, your hands are gripping the front of his jacket, yanking him forward just as he crushes his mouth against yours.

It’s not soft or careful—nothing about it is gentle. It’s teeth and heat and frustration, like trying to punish each other for every stupid fight, every missed chance. He makes a low, frustrated noise, backing you into the room and kicking the door shut behind him.

Your hands are tangled in his hair now, and his grip on your waist is bruising, like he’s terrified you’ll pull away. You bite down on his lower lip, and he groans against your mouth, pressing you back until your spine meets the wall.

“You’re an asshole,” you mutter against his lips, barely catching your breath.

He just smirks, dragging his mouth down to your jaw, his voice rough and breathless. “Yeah? You’re not much better.”

Your fingers tighten in his hair, and he doesn’t even try to hide the shiver that rolls through him. You hate him—you hate him so much for making you feel like this, for pushing and pulling and never letting you breathe. But right now, with his mouth on yours and his hands on your body and heat pooling inside your stomach, the only thing you can think of is him taking you against the wall.

You barely register the way Mingyu lifts you off the ground, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he pins you to the wall. His mouth is hot and unrelenting against yours, like he’s trying to erase every insult you’ve ever thrown at him. You’re just as ruthless, biting at his lips and tugging his hair hard enough to make him growl.

He eases you down when you moan—embarrassingly loudly, but you don’t give a fuck. His hand slides under the waistband of your jeans, and you don’t stop him. You let him tug them down, the denim sliding down your legs and pooling at your ankles. Mingyu lifts you up, just so you stand on your tiptoes long enough for him to kick them aside. Every brush of his skin against yours feels like an assault—every touch a reminder of all the hurt, all the anger—but you don’t pull away. 

You hate him. You love him. You need him.

His hands slide down to your thighs, gripping tight enough to leave marks, and then he pulls back, panting, his eyes dark and wild. You’re wet by now, enough that your underwear feels cool from where a damp spot has formed already.

“You always have to have the last fucking word, don’t you?” he grits out.

You scoff. “Someone’s gotta knock you off your high horse.”

He huffs a laugh, but it’s rough. Without warning, he drops to his knees, his hands slipping under your thighs to keep you steady as he buries his face between your legs.

You gasp, one hand flying to the wall to brace yourself, the other still tangled in his hair. Mingyu doesn’t waste any time—he’s ruthless, licking you through the fabric of your panties. It makes your head spin. You choke on a moan, trying to squirm, but he just tightens his grip, keeping you firmly in place.

“Mingyu—” you start, but his teeth graze your inner thigh, and your words dissolve into a shuddering gasp.

“Shut up,” he mutters, yanking your underwear to the side and pressing his mouth against your folds with a fierce sort of hunger. His tongue flicks over your clit, and your head falls back against the wall, a keening sound leaving your throat.

“God, you’re such an asshole,” you manage to choke out, even as your thighs tremble around his head.

He laughs against you, the vibrations making you bite down on your lip to stifle a whimper. “You’re still running your mouth,” he taunts, giving your thigh a squeeze. “Wonder if I can make you shut up.”

He doubles down, sucking your clit between his lips and flicking his tongue in a manner that has you seeing stars. Your nails scrape against his scalp, and he just groans in response, the vibrations sending another shockwave through you. Your hips jerk forward. He grips you harder, dragging his mouth down to lick at your folds like he’s starved for it.

Your fingers tighten in his hair. You can’t help the way you tug him closer, grinding against his face despite yourself. Mingyu merely hums approvingly, his hands sliding under your ass to lift you higher, pressing you harder against the wall.

When his tongue dips inside your clenching hole, your knees almost give out, but he holds you steady, refusing to let you escape the overwhelming, maddening pleasure. You’re barely breathing, trying to swallow down the sounds threatening to spill out, but when he curls his tongue just right, you can’t stop the loud, desperate moan that breaks free.

He pulls back just enough to smirk up at you, his lips slick and his eyes burning. “You done being a brat now?”

You glare down at him, panting and still shaking. “Fuck you.”

His smirk only widens, and before you can blink, he’s pressing his mouth against you again—rough, merciless, relentless. It doesn’t take long before your vision blurs and your head tips back, his name tearing from your lips as you come against his mouth.

He doesn’t stop until your thighs are trembling and your grip on his hair has gone slack, and even then, he licks you through the aftershocks like he’s addicted to the taste of you. When he finally pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he stands, and says, “You’ll give me one more, won’t you?”

Your breath comes out in shallow pants. You can barely muster the energy to glare at him, but his smirk only grows as he straightens up, dragging his hands up your sides and pushing your shirt higher until it’s bunched under your arms. You’re still too dazed to protest when he lifts it over your head, tossing it to the floor before his hands find your waist again, pulling you flush against him.

He dips down to kiss you, and you taste yourself on his lips—sweet and dizzying all at once. You’re still recovering from your climax, but it doesn’t matter—he kisses you like he’s making up for every second he hasn’t touched you, rough and a little desperate, his hands squeezing your hips.

His hands slide up your back, finding the clasp of your bra. You don’t even have time to catch your breath before he unhooks it and slides and straps down your arms, tossing it aside without a second thought. His mouth is back on yours in an instant, but his hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples in a way that makes your back arch off the wall.

You don’t even think before your fingers find the hem of his shirt, pushing it up and over his head, and he helps you get it off before crashing his mouth against yours again. Your hands roam over his bare chest, feeling the hard lines of muscle and the rapid beat of his heart under your fingertips. His skin is warm and slightly slick with sweat, and you can’t resist scraping your nails lightly down his abdomen just to feel him shiver.

He bites down on your lower lip in retaliation, and you gasp into his mouth. It earns you a low chuckle. You’re about to shoot back with something sarJihyotic when his hands slide up to cup your breasts again, rolling your nipples between his fingers, and your retort dies in your throat.

“Thought you were gonna give me attitude,” he murmurs against your mouth, lips curving into a cocky grin. “Guess you can be good when you want to.”

“Shut up,” you breathe out, but your voice comes out shaky. He laughs softly, bending down to take one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking and flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. Your hands fly back to his hair, fingers twisting in the strands, and he groans the tug.

Your hips buck against his, and he grinds back without hesitation, the hard line of his cock rubbing against your thigh through his jeans. You can feel just how badly he wants you; the thought sends another wave of heat flooding through your veins. You tug at his hair hard enough to make him look up at you, his lips red and swollen.

“Quit teasing,” you pant. Mingyu’s eyes flash with something dark and hungry.

He doesn’t bother replying—just scoops you up effortlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist. His mouth is back on yours, demanding, and you feel him fumbling with his belt between your bodies. You don’t have the patience to wait, so you reach down to help him, your hands brushing against his as you yank the buckle open and shove his jeans and briefs down just enough to free his cock.

He groans in relief when your hand wraps around his cock, stroking it slowly and spreading his pre-cum across the length. He bites back a curse. His hands tighten on your thighs, and you don’t miss the way his muscles tense under your touch. You give him a little smirk, but it falters when he presses his tip against your entrance, not quite pushing in yet.

“Are you sure?” he asks, eyes roaming over your face.

You roll your eyes, grabbing his face and pulling him down into a bruising kiss. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I swear—”

You don’t get to finish because he thrusts into you all at once, knocking the breath out of your lungs. Your head tips back against the wall, and Mingyu buries his face in the crook of your neck, groaning against your skin as he adjusts to the tight warmth of your cunt. His breath is hot and ragged, each exhale brushing against your collarbone. His fingers dig into your thighs.

“Fuck,” he rasps, voice rough and strained. His hips pull back just enough to drag his length almost completely out before he slams back in, his pace brutal from the start. The force of it makes your back scrape against the wall, and you can feel every inch of him—thick and girthy, splitting you open in a way that has your body straining towards him.

Your hands scrabble for purchase, nails leaving crescents on his shoulders as he sets a relentless rhythm, each thrust hitting deep and perfect. You’re clinging to him, your legs tightening around his waist as he drives into you. The wet, obscene sounds of your skin against skin echo through the room, mingling with your breathless mons and his low groans.

“Fuck—so tight,” he mutters against your skin, his mouth dragging along your throat, teeth scraping and biting hard enough to leave a slight stinging in their wake. “You feel so fucking good. S’like you were made for me.”

You whimper, your hips rocking against his instinctively, desperate for more. You can’t stop yourself from moaning his name shakily. It spurs him on. He grins against your neck, pressing a sloppy kiss to your pulse point before sucking a bruise into your skin.

“Yeah? That good, huh?” he taunts, his tone mocking but laced with genuine awe. One of his hands slides from your waist to cup your breast, squeezing just enough to make you gasp. His thumb grazes over your nipple, and the sensation has your back arching off the wall, pushing your chest further into his hand.

Your head is spinning, pleasure coiling tight and hot in your belly as he fucks into you hard. You can feel every ride and vein dragging against your walls, every thrust forcing sounds out of you that you didn’t even know you could make.

His mouth finds yours again; his teeth nip at your bottom lip before he slips his tongue inside. You’re so lost in him, so overwhelmed, that it takes you a second to realise his other hand has slipped between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and circling it with almost punishing pressure.

“Fuck—” Your hands are back in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him hiss, but he doesn’t let up, the rough pads of his fingers rubbing insistently as his cock drives into you again and again. “I can’t—fuck, I’m—”

“Gonna come again?” he growls against your mouth, his pace never faltering. “You’re gonna come all over my cock, aren’t you? That’s it. Good girl.”

His words make your thighs clench. Your climax comes over you without warning, tearing a strangled cry from your throat. Your walls clench around him, pulsing and fluttering as pleasure blazes through every nerve ending. You feel your thighs trembling where they’re locked around his waist.

Mingyu doesn’t slow down; he just keeps fucking you through it, each thrust coaxing another wave of sensation that leaves you gasping and boneless in his grip. Your mind is a haze, barely able to process how good it feels to be taken like this. You’re dimly aware of his breathing getting rougher, his hips stuttering as your body milks him.

You drag his face back to yours, capturing his lips in a desperate, messy kiss, biting until you taste copper. He groans into you. You feel him shudder just before his rhythm falters. With one last, deep snap of his hips, he buries his cock inside you, spilling hot and thick as his body shakes with the force of his release.

His forehead presses against yours as he catches his breath, both of you panting and trembling. He stays inside you, like he’s not quite ready to let you go, his hands sliding up your sides to hold you close. You’re still reeling, your pulse racing, but you manage a small, satisfied smile, brushing your lips over his with a gentleness that almost feels out of place after what just happened.

For a long moment, neither of you move—you just breathe each other in, letting the remnants of pleasure tangle in the space between you. Finally, he pulls back enough to meet your gaze, his thumb brushing over your swollen lower lip.

“Still think I’m running my mouth?” you whisper, still trying to muster some semblance of defiance.

Mingyu simply nudges his nose against yours. “Maybe,” he says, a little bit hoarse, “but at least I finally shut you up.”

[CUT TO BLACK SCREEN] Text appears on screen: “Chrysos Heirs: The Reunion Tour – Behind the Music. Episode Two.”

[INT. STUDIO – DOCUMENTARY INTERVIEW SETUP]

[CUT TO: Jihyo, sitting on a stool.]

Jihyo: You want to know about the relationships? (Grins) Oh, man. It’s like a dysfunctional family reunion. Some of us slipped right back into old habits, and some of us… well, it’s complicated. Mingyu and _____? (Snorts) Don’t even get me started. You can feel the tension from three rooms away.

[CUT TO: Eunha, sitting cross-legged on the floor.]

Eunha: There’s definitely still some… uh, unresolved stuff. We used to be so tight. All of us. I mean, we fought, sure, but we’d always make up eventually. Now? I don’t know. It’s like everyone’s got their guard up. Younghoon’s doing his best to keep things light, Jihyo just barrels through any tension like she doesn’t notice, but Mingyu and _____… (Pauses) It’s like walking on eggshells around them.

[CUT TO: Younghoon, leaning back against the wall with his guitar across his lap.]

Younghoon: I think everyone kind of forgot how to be around each other. We spent years being everything to one another—friends, family, bandmates, rivals. When the band split, it wasn’t just the music that fell apart. It was us. Now it’s like… we’re all trying to figure out where we stand again. The way Jihyo and Eunha laugh like nothing’s changed, while Mingyu and _____ act like they’re on opposite sides of a war zone. It’s exhausting.

[CUT TO: Mingyu, still slouched on a couch with his arms crossed.]

Mingyu: I’m not gonna sit here and pretend everything’s fine. It’s not. The band breaking up after I left? I’m sure that wasn’t just some decision they made over drinks. Jihyo acts like we’re one big happy family again, but she knows it’s not that simple. Younghoon’s always the peacemaker, trying to smooth everything over, but that just makes it worse sometimes. I don’t know.

[CUT TO: YOU, sitting on a folding chair.]

YOU: It’s frustrating. We used to be so close. All of us. And now it feels like every word has teeth. Jihyo is trying so hard to keep us from falling apart again, and Eunha’s just… tired. Younghoon’s stuck playing mediator, and Mingyu—(shakes head)—he still looks at me like it’s probably my fault. Maybe it is. But it wasn’t just me who made it boil down to this.

[CUT TO: Jihyo AGAIN, balancing her drumsticks on her finger.]

Jihyo: We’ve always been a mess. That’s kind of our thing. But it used to be that we were messy together. Now it feels like we’re just trying not to accidentally set each other off. I miss how easy it used to be. Back when Mingyu and _____ could actually talk without biting each other’s heads off. Back when Eunha would just crack a joke instead of staying quiet.

[CUT TO: Eunha AGAIN, resting her chin on her hand.]

Eunha: Sometimes it feels like we’re playing pretend. Like we’re trying to convince ourselves that we’re still friends when we’re really just… people who used to know each other. Jihyo keeps pushing for us to hang out after shows, but it never feels right. Everyone’s just waiting for someone to break the silence. I don’t know. Maybe it’ll get better once we’ve been on the road for longer.

[CUT TO: Younghoon AGAIN, eyes thoughtful as he fiddles with his guitar strap.]

Younghoon: I think everyone’s just afraid to be the one who cares the most. Back in the day, we knew each other better than anyone else did. Now, it’s like we’re scared of stepping on each other’s wounds. Mingyu’s carrying too much pride to apologise, and _____ is too stubborn to forgive. Jihyo and Eunha just want everyone to get alone, but no one’s talking about the elephant in the room. We’re good at pretending on stage, though. Real good.

[CUT TO: Mingyu, his jaw clenched, his eyes hard.]

Mingyu: You don’t just come back from something like that. You don’t go from being everything to each other to nothing without it leaving a scar. I’m not saying it’s all her fault. (Hesitates) I’m just saying that it’s easier to be mad than to admit I might’ve messed up, too. That’s why I keep my distance. It’s just… easier that way.

[CUT TO: YOU, looking almost weary.]

YOU: I never thought it would feel this hollow. I don’t know what I expected—a clean slate, maybe? But it doesn’t work like that. We’re still carrying the past with us, and it’s dragging us down. I guess… I just wish he’d talk to me. Even if it’s to say he hates me. At least that would be something.

[CUT TO: Jihyo, shrugging with a half-smile.]

Jihyo: Whatever happens, I’m not giving up. We’re stuck with each other. That’s just how it is. Even if we have to scream it out or throw things at each other, we’re gonna make it work. Because the way they look at each other sometimes? There’s still something there. They just gotta get over themselves long enough to see it.

[CUT TO: Younghoon, adjusting his guitar.]

Younghoon: They’ll figure it out. We’re not just a band—we’re more than that. And sometimes, being more means we break and put ourselves back together. We’ll get there.

[CUT TO: Eunha, giving a faint smile.]

Eunha: If we can just stop letting the past dictate everything, maybe we can start being friends again. Maybe more. I don’t know. But I do know this—on stage, we’re still the same. Maybe the music will help us remember how to be us again.

v). so i write him all these letters and i throw them in the trash.

When you stir in your sleep, the mattress beside you is cold. 

It’s late—past midnight, probably. Your stomach grumbles; you sit up and shuffle tiredly over to the mini-bar and grab a bag of salted Jihyohew nuts, tearing it open. There’s no trace of Mingyu. It’s as if he was never here, didn’t fuck you against the wall like it was all he could think of, didn’t lay down on the bed next to you and curl a strong arm around your waist.

You wish you could say you were just disappointed. The truth is, you had expected nothing else, but disappointment still curls around your ribs.

It’s stupid. You walk over to the glass table placed in front of the plush armchair towards the side of your bed. There’s a notepad and a slightly blunt pencil placed on top of it. You sink into the armchair, popping a handful of cashew nuts into your mouth and chewing. 

The words should be flowing by now—anger and frustration always make for good material—but tonight, they’re stuck somewhere between your ribs, buried under the feeling of his mouth on your skin.

It shouldn’t feel like this. You knew what you were getting into. You knew better than to expect anything else from him. But the way he kissed you, like he was trying to make you forget every fight—made your chest ache. You’re not surprised that he’s gone. You’re not even hurt, really. Just angry. Angry at him for leaving without a word, angry at yourself for caring that he did. You shove a few more cashews into your mouth and wipe your fingers on your sweatpants before picking up the pencil.

Your hand moves almost without thinking, words scrawling across the page faster than you can catch up with them.

You look at me like I’m your only song, And I play the part even when it feels wrong. We’re always dancing on the edge of a goodbye, But I’d risk the fall just to feel you by my side.

You pause, glaring at the lyrics. You should throw the notepad across the room, rip the page out, crush it in your fist. Instead, you just sit there, tapping the pencil against your knee. You can still feel the way his mouth moved against yours, the bruising grip of his hands on your hips. You take a shaky breath and force yourself to keep writing. It’s better than sitting here drowning in the memory of him.

We’re tangled and twisted and never the same, We love like it hurts and kiss through the pain. You’re poison and honey and everything wrong, And I hate that you’re still the one I want.

The pencil scrapes harshly against the paper as you press harder than you mean to. The words taste bitter in your mouth, but at least they’re honest. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to write them down—because admitting that you want more than just his hands on you feels like exposing a wound you’ve been pretending doesn’t exist.

You swallow down the knot in your throat and lean back, squeezing your eyes shut. It would almost be easier if you hated him. If you could just shove him out of your head and pretend he was nothing more than a bad decision. But it’s not that simple. You don’t just want him; you want the old him, the one who used to light up when you walked into the room, who teased you until you were laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe. You want the Mingyu who didn’t always look at you like you’re a problem he can’t fix.

You know you’re being unfair. He’s not the only one who’s changed. You’re not the same either—too guarded, too tired. Sometimes you wonder if you’re just setting yourself up for disappointment because it’s easier than admitting you still love him.

Your chest aches, and the next words come almost like a confession.

You look at me like I’m the one you’ve been missing, Kiss me like I’m the dream you keep wishing Would come true when the lights fade away— But you never stay.

You finish the verse and set the pencil down, pressing your fingertips to your lips like you can still taste him there.

You told yourself you wouldn’t do this again. But he looked at you tonight like he was starving—like you were something he couldn’t resist. And you let him have you because a part of you needed it, too. Needed to feel wanted, even if it was just for a few hours. Even if he was gone before you woke up.

You shove the notepad away, letting it fall to the floor as you curl up in the armchair, knees pulled to your chest. The song lingers in your head, the lyrics clawing at your heart. You feel ridiculous for letting him get under your skin like this, like a bruise that won’t heal.

The truth is, you’d let him hurt you a thousand times if it meant he’d look at you like that again. Like you’re the only thing keeping him alive. Maybe that makes you a fool, but you don’t know how to be anything else when it comes to him.

Shaking your head as though to dissolve it of its thoughts, you tear out the sheet of paper with your lyrics on it, fold it into a square hastily, and shove it inside the pocket of your sweatpants. You stand up and grab your lighter from your bag. You need a smoke.

[CUT TO BLACK SCREEN] Text appears on screen: “The Founders’ Cut.”

[INT. STUDIO – DOCUMENTARY INTERVIEW SETUP]

[CUT TO: YOU, sitting on a simple black stool, hands loosely clasped in your lap.]

YOU: Writing with Mingyu… God, it used to be so easy. We didn’t have to think about it. (Smiles softly) We’d just be sitting on the floor of his shitty apartment—barely any furniture, just the couch his neighbour was gonna throw out and that one rug we stole from Eunha’s place. One of us would pick up the guitar, start playing something, and it was like everything else just faded out.

INTERVIEWER (off-screen): Was it always that natural?

YOU: (Nods) Yeah. It just worked. Sometimes we didn’t even talk before starting a song. I’d be on the floor, writing down whatever came to mind, and he’d be next to me, leaning against the wall with his guitar. Sometimes I’d hum something, and he’d just—pick it up. It was like we were reading each other’s minds.

[CUT TO: Mingyu, sitting with his back slightly hunched, elbows on his knees.]

Mingyu: We wrote some of our best songs at 3 A.M, dead tired, arguing about lyrics while eating instant ramen. She’d always overthink the words—had to make sure they said exactly what she wanted. I didn’t care as much. I guess I figured the feeling mattered more than getting every word right.

INTERVIEWER: Do you have an example for the same?

Mingyu: There was this one song (pauses, shakes his head). We wrote it after this stupid fight. I’d stormed out, pissed as hell, but when I came back, she was sitting on the floor, scribbling lyrics like her life depended on it. I didn’t say anything. Just sat down and played along with whatever she was humming. Neither of us apologised, but… I guess that was our way of making up.

[CUT TO: YOU]

YOU: We never talked about it, you know? We’d write all these songs that were practically confessions—about each other, about how much it hurt when we fought, or how we couldn’t stand being apart—and then we’d just… move on. Never acknowledged it.

INTERVIEWER: Do you regret that?

YOU: (Hesitates) Sometimes. But the songs made it pretty obvious. We were practically begging each other to figure it out without actually saying it.

[CUT TO: Mingyu]

Mingyu: She always wrote like it was her way of… bleeding out whatever she couldn’t say. We made something good out of it, though. Even if we never said it out loud. And… yeah. Sometimes I miss that. The simplicity of it. Just us and a guitar and whatever shit we were working through. I didn’t need anything else back then.

[CUT TO: YOU]

YOU: It’s funny. We used to write about heartbreak like it was this distant concept—something that happened to other people. Never thought we’d end up writing about each other.

vi). i want to get him back (and then?)

The rooftop is quiet at this hour—too early for most and too late for the rest. The sky is more navy than blue, more shadow than light. You push the heavy metal door open with your shoulder, and it clicks shut behind you with a soft thud. You tug your hoodie tighter around you, retreating into the warmth, and dig around in your pocket for your cigarettes.

The lighter sparks on the second try. You inhale. Smoke fills your lungs, and something in you loosens. You hate how easy it still is to find comfort in bad habits.

That’s when you notice him.

At first, it’s just the faint glow of a cigarette at the far corner of the rooftop. But you know it’s him—know it in the shape of his silhouette, the way he leans forward with one elbow braced on the ledge, hoodie pulled low over his face. Mingyu. Of course.

You hesitate for a beat, frozen halfway between the door and where he stands. It would be easier to leave—pretend you didn’t see him, pretend you didn’t spend the night tangled up in him and then wake up to cold sheets and silence.

But you don’t.

Your steps are quiet as you cross the rooftop, stopping a few feet away from him. He doesn’t look at you, just exhales slowly, eyes on the horizon. You take a drag from your cigarette, watching the tip burn orange, watching the smoke curl upwards and vanish into the sky.

“Why’d you leave?” you ask. You mean the hotel room, but not only that.

He’s quiet for a long time. You wonder if he’s even going to answer.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he says eventually, still not looking at you.

You huff a breath. It’s not quite a laugh. “You didn’t want to be there.”

He doesn’t argue. The silence stretches again, but it’s not uncomfortable. Just tired. He glances at you. The wind picks up a little, brushing your hair across your cheek. He notices—always notices—and shifts just slightly so he’s blocking the breeze. Neither of you says anything about it.

“You looked peaceful,” Mingyu says. “I didn’t want to mess it up.”

“You think not being there was better?”

“I didn’t know what to say.”

You nod. You don’t push. You’ve learned not to with him. “It’s not just about tonight,” you say quietly.

He nods, eyes dark and shadowed. “I know.”

The sun starts to edge over the horizon, painting faint streaks of pink and orange across the navy sky. It’s beautiful in that fragile, fleeting way, like something you’re scared to touch because you know it’s too delicate to last. You both watch in silence for a while, letting the smoke and the light fill the air between you. There’s a comfort in it, strangely enough. The way the world keeps turning even when your heart feels like it’s stuck. The way mornings come anyway.

You look at Mingyu again.

He’s tired. You can see it in the curve of his mouth, in the slump of his shoulders. But he’s here. Part of you wants to ask him why. Why he came up here. Why he didn’t leave the hotel entirely. Why he lets himself touch you but won’t let himself stay. Instead, you say nothing.

He offers you his lighter when yours gives out, and your fingers brush when you take it. It’s a brief touch, barely there, but it’s enough to make your chest ache in that too-familiar way.

You smoke the rest of your cigarettes side by side, not speaking, not needing to. It’s the kind of silence that used to exist between songs in the studio. When you stub the last bit out on the ledge, you take one last look at the sunrise. The light catches on his face now, gold and soft, and you want to say something. You don’t even know what.

So instead, you pull your hoodie tighter and nod. “I should go.”

He nods too, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t stop you either.

You turn back towards the door, and as you do, a folded piece of paper slips from your pocket. You don’t notice it fall, fluttering once before landing gently near his feet. You don’t notice it, because you’re too busy disappearing back into the stairwell, too wrapped up in keeping your shoulders straight and your breathing steady.

He doesn’t move for a while after you’re gone.

Then, slowly, Mingyu leans down and picks up the paper. The handwriting is unmistakable—your quick, slanted script, a few smudges where the pencil dragged.

He reads it once. Twice.

Then he folds it back up, holds it in his hand like it might crumble, and watches the sun break over the city, alone.

The lights shift from the vibrant spotlights of the previous set into something softer, slower—dimmed gold and dusky purple spreading like ink over the stage. Your mic is cold under your fingers. You roll the cord absently through your hand. You can’t see much beyond the footlights; only the sea of shadows, the faint outlines of swaying arms and cell phone lights blinking like stars.

But Mingyu’s there, across from you. This next song is just you and him, after all.

He’s adjusting the strap of his guitar, head bowed, eyes hidden beneath the fall of his hair.

It’s the same stage. The same lights. The same song. Why does it feel so different?

The crowd doesn’t know what they’re about to hear. Most of them don’t even know the song, you’re pretty sure. It’s some B-side from one of your earlier albums. You remember when you wrote it. The quiet of three in the morning, the late-night arguments that bled into music, the unraveling of two people who couldn’t speak to each other unless it was in chords and half-rhymed lines.

Here you are again. Older. Worse at pretending.

The intro begins with gentle chords, the kind that hurt more than they soothe. Your mic is already at your lips. You inhale like it’s your first breath of the night.

“I told myself I wouldn’t care this time, Said your name like it didn’t still taste like goodbye. But you look at me like you never learned how to let go…”

Your voice holds, though it feels like walking a tightrope. Every word comes out measured, like if you let it slip, your heart will come out tumbling too. You don’t look at him, not yet. You can feel his presence—like gravity—but you don’t turn your head.

Not until he sings. Then, you do. He meets your gaze.

“I said we were fire meant to burn out fast, But I keep finding you in every song I’ve written last. You don’t ask me to stay, and I don’t ask you to try… But we’re still standing here, pretending we’re fine.”

His voice—God, his voice. It’s rougher than it used to be, edges carved by years and distance, but it still wraps around your lyrics like it was always meant to. He’s not just singing. He’s looking at you like he’s saying every word for the first time. It knocks the air from your lungs.

Your heart’s pounding now, and you hate that it still reacts to him like this. Like your body remembers the way he used to hold you when no one else was watching. 

The chorus crashes over both of you.

“So lie to me, baby, say it’s still love, Say the ending never mattered, that this beginning’s enough. We were smoke, we were stars, we were doomed from the start, But tonight, just tonight, sing like you still mean every part.”

Mingyu steps closer. You do, too. It’s instinct, not plan. You don’t even realise it until you’re nearly toe-to-toe, voices tangling into harmony, eyes locked.

You wonder if the crowd can feel it. If they can hear the way your throat tightens, how the vowels tremble when he looks at you like that. Like he’s trying to remember the shape of you—not just your face, but your soul. The bridge comes. You always dreaded it.

“Maybe we’ll break like we always do, Maybe we’ll forget this in the morning too. But for now—God, for now— You still feel like a home I never knew.”

The line lands like a punch to the chest. Yours, and maybe his too.

You let it ring out, raw and full. For a second, it feels like the two of you are back in that tiny studio years ago—barefoot, angry, tired, in love. Writing a song you were both too scared to mean. But you meant it. You always did, and you do now.

The last chorus is quieter, a lullaby instead of a plea.

“And I’d sing this with you a thousand times… if you’d let me.”

You drop your hand from the mic, breath catching in your throat, and for a moment—just a moment—there’s silence. Just you and Mingyu.

He doesn’t move. He’s staring at you with something unspoken lodged in his eyes, something that looks too close to regret.

You turn away first. Your heart’s already too full. One more second and it might burst.

The crowd roars behind you, applause crashing in waves.

[CUT TO BLACK SCREEN] Text appears on screen: “The Members’ Cut.”

[INT. STUDIO – DOCUMENTARY INTERVIEW SETUP]

[CUT TO: Jihyo, lounging back on the couch.]

Jihyo: It was just a fact. Mingyu and _____. You didn’t say one name without the other. (Shakes her head) And the way they used to look at each other on stage? Insane. Like, we’d be in the middle of a song, and I’d be watching them instead of playing because damn. The rest of us could’ve vanished into thin air, and they wouldn’t have noticed.

(Laughs lightly, rolling her eyes.)

Jihyo (CONT’D): It was kinda funny, actually. Like, okay, we get it, you’re in love. Can we get through the set without you two making heart eyes at each other? (Pause) But, y’know… it was also kinda nice. Seeing people that in sync. That kind of connection isn’t something you fake.

[CUT TO: Eunha, sitting cross-legged on the floor, bass resting on her lap.]

Eunha: They were disgusting. I mean that in the nicest way possible. (Grinning) Like, you’d be tuning your guitar, and they’d just be standing off to the side, whispering to each other like they weren’t literally about to perform in front of thousands of people. And yeah, sure, couples sing duets all the time, but with them? It was different. Like they were letting us in on something private, something meant just for them. Even if it was a song they’d performed a hundred times before, it always felt like they were saying something new.

(Chuckles, eyes soft with nostalgia.)

Eunha (CONT’D): They made you believe in that kind of love, y’know? The all-consuming, this-song-is-about-you kind of love. You couldn’t want them and not feel it.

[CUT TO: Younghoon, sitting with his arms draped over the back of the chair, smirking lightly.]

Younghoon: Yeah, they were that couple. The ones who made you roll your eyes but also kind of wish you had what they had. Like, I remember this one show—Mingyu had just finished this crazy guitar solo, and instead of, I don’t know, reveling in the applause like a normal person, he immediately turned to _____ like she was the only one whose reaction mattered. And she just grinned at him, and I swear to God, he looked like he won the lottery.

(Shakes his head and scoffs.)

Younghoon (CONT’D): They were reckless with it. Loud about it. No hesitation, no holding back. They didn’t just love each other, they showed it. And that’s rare. You don’t get that kind of honesty on stage very often.

(His smirk fades just slightly.)

Younghoon (CONT’D):  …That’s why it was so hard when it ended.

vii). ‘cause i miss the way he kisses and the way he made me laugh.

The crowd is louder tonight. Not louder in volume, necessarily, but just… like they’re expecting something. Like they know something you don’t.

You glance at the setlist as someone does your in-ear check. Your duet with Mingyu is coming up next—the same one you’ve done every night for years. It’s not your most popular song, but it’s yours. It always has been. Something about it felt safe even now, when everything else between you and him was held together with duct tape and willpower.

You take a sip of water and step towards the side of the stage, waiting for the intro cues.

But when you hear the first notes, they’re not yours.

Your stomach drops. The chord progression is soft, a little unfamiliar. It’s not one of your tracks, or a part of the agreed setlist.

Your gaze snapes to the center of the stage where Mingyu stands—guitar in hand, face calm. He’s adjusted his mic, and he’s… smiling? Not a grin. Nothing cocky. Just this small, quiet thing, like he’s doing something that matters to him more than he’s ready to admit.

“This one’s not on the list,” he says into the mic, Jihyoual, like this doesn’t upend everything. “I wanted to try something new tonight.”

Your brow furrows. You step a little closer, careful not to draw a scene. Jihyo gives you a sharp look from behind her kit, like, Did you know about this? You shake your head once. 

Mingyu starts to sing.

“You look at me like I’m your only song, And I play the part even when it feels wrong.”

It hits you like a punch to the ribs.

That lyric. That exact line. You know it because you wrote it, alone. In that hotel room weeks ago, scrawled in a burst of emotion you weren’t proud of, folded up and shoved into the pocket of your sweatpants. You’d thought it got tossed in the wash or lost somewhere in the shuffle between cities.

Apparently not. Apparently he found it. And instead of asking you—like a normal person would—he set it to music. He built a melody around your bleeding heart and decided to sing it to a crowd of thousands.

“We’re tangled and twisted and never the same, We love like it hurts and kiss through the pain. You’re poison and honey and everything wrong, And I hate that you’re still the one I want.”

It’s a beautiful melody, and you feel something inside your chest twist, hard. He sings softly but unsteadily, like he wasn’t sure that you’d hear it—or worse, that you would.

He doesn’t look at you while he sings. He scans the crowd, eyes on the horizon. But the meaning is clear. You can feel it in the tightness in your chest, in the hush that’s fallen over the audience, like they know this isn’t just a love song.

You fold your arms over your chest, more for grounding than anything. Jihyo doesn’t play a beat. Eunha and Younghoon watch silently, hands loose on their instruments like they’re ready to jump in if needed, but they don’t. Neither of you do.

This is his moment, and your words.

“You look at me like I’m the one you’ve been missing, Kiss me like I’m the dream you keep wishing Would come true when the lights fade away— But you never stay.”

You exhale shakily. You feel exposed, as if you’re standing naked in front of an entire arena. The words weren’t just lyrics—they were confessions. Grudges. Regrets. Things you never had the guts to say out loud. And here Mingyu is, saying them for you.

No. Singing them.

Your fingers curl into your palms. You don’t know whether to be furious or deeply, deeply moved. 

He finishes the song in a whisper, almost. The last chord rings out like an unanswered question. The audience is silent for a beat too long. Then they erupt—whistling, cheering, screaming. It’s a standing ovation for something they didn’t even know was a story.

And still, Mingyu hasn’t looked at you—until now.

He turns, finally, just a little, and meets your eyes across the stage. You don’t smile. You don’t clap. You just stare at him, speechless and conflicted.

Then, Mingyu steps back from the mic and gives the signal to move on with the set. You turn your face away before the next lights come up, blinking hard. Your heart’s racing. You don’t know what happens after this; what this means; what you’re supposed to say.

You only know one thing: That song was yours, and now, it’s his, too.

The hallway outside the dressing rooms is buzzing—crew rushing around, the muffled roar of the crowd still seeping through the walls, someone shouting about cords and lights and encores. But all you can hear is the blood in your ears and your name echoing in Mingyu’s voice as he sang your lyrics.

His voice, but your words. Your heart on a scrap of paper you never meant for anyone else to see.

Your footsteps are harsh against the floor as you turn the corner and push the door open. The dressing room is too bright, too sterile compared to the intimacy of the stage. Mingyu stands with his back to you, shirt clinging to his skin with sweat, hair pushed off his forehead like he ran his fingers through it too many times.

You close the door behind you with a click. Quiet, but final. He hears it.

“Hey,” he says, not turning around yet.

You stare at the back of his head. “Don’t do that to me.”

Mingyu pauses. Slowly, he turns to face you. “I figured you’d be mad.”

“Mad?” You laugh, breath catching somewhere in your throat. “You think I’m mad?”

“You look mad.”

“I am mad,” you snap, taking a step closer, heart pounding. “You sang a song you weren’t supposed to have. You didn’t even ask me, Mingyu. You just—just stood there and threw it at me in front of ten thousand people like it meant nothing.”

“It didn’t mean nothing,” he says. “That’s why I sang it.”

You’re both quiet. The silence stretches and tightens until it’s almost unbearable.

“You could’ve told me,” you say finally, voice hoarse. “You could’ve talked to me. About the song. About anything. But you don’t. You never do.”

Mingyu exhales slowly, resting his hands on his hips like he’s bracing himself. “I didn’t know how.”

You tilt your head, lips parting in disbelief. “That’s such bullshit, Mingyu. We wrote songs together. We told each other everything through music. And now you’re just—standing there, acting like it’s some impossible thing.”

He looks at you, then. Really looks. And for a moment, he’s not the cold, distant version of himself he’s been for months. He’s just him. The boy who used to fall asleep beside you in the tour van. The one who hummed half-finished melodies in your ear at midnight in whatever motel you were crashing in. The one who used to kiss you like the world might end before morning.

“I didn’t know how to say I missed you,” he admits. “So I used your words instead. Because mine never come out right.”

You don’t want to forgive him. You really don’t.

But the hurt in his voice is real. So is the way he’s looking at you—like you’ve always been the only person in the room, and he’s just been waiting to see you again for real.

You take one shaky step forward. Then another.

When your lips crash into his, it isn’t careful or slow. It’s everything you’ve been holding back: Rage, longing, grief, hope. His hands find your face, yours grip his shirt, and everything around you blurs until it’s just him, just the warmth of his mouth and the softness of his sighs and the undeniable truth that this still feels like home.

You part, breathless.

Neither of you speaks at first. You’re still close enough to feel his breath on your cheek, the heat of his skin under your fingertips. 

Your voice comes out quieter than you intend when you tell him, “I want to get you back.”

Mingyu doesn’t hesitate. “You already have.”

It hits you harder than the kiss did. Something cracks inside you—something small and soft and long-buried. You almost don’t realise you’re crying until he wipes your cheek with the back of his hand.

You let out a breath, something between a laugh and a sob. “I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.” His thumb traces the edge of your jaw. “You’re allowed to be.”

You step back first, gently. He lets you go, but his eyes follow you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks.

As you adjust your jacket and run a hand through your hair, something slips from your pocket—folded paper, creased from being handled too many times. You don’t notice, but Mingyu does.

He kneels to pick it up after you’re gone, quietly unfolding it to find another unfinished song. Lyrics in your handwriting. His name, half-crossed out and rewritten three times.

He reads the first line. Smiles.

He doesn’t hand it back to you. He tucks it into his jacket, like he already knows how it ends.

[CUT TO BLACK] Text appears on screen: “Chrysos Heirs: Reunion Tour. THE END.”

[gotnigs]

one thing about @csprint she gon sprinkle some crack in her posts and then disappear for some weeks until she does her next line

[gotnigs]

rock, paper, scissors

jay b x female reader content warning: smut, oral, sexual language, ruined orgasm

you’re playing a dangerous game you aren’t so sure you can win. because jaebeom’s not usually needy. and on very rare occasions does he show a particular need for affection and attention. but when he does, you take advantage of those moments as much as you can.

you’re usually the clingy one; the first to grab his hand. the one that initiates cuddles, and you’re usually the first one to show how much you want him with desperate, breathy whines.

he has his moments, and since they don’t happen often, they usually kick in hard. if jay b suddenly got the urge to grab your hand and hold it tight, he would. if he stared at your face at night when he couldn’t sleep and traced over each of your features, he just had to press a kiss to your pouty lips, even though you were sleeping soundly. and if he felt a pang of heat in his stomach, his pants feeling slightly tighter than usual, and lips stinging from biting too hard, he just had to tell you that he needed you. badly.

for weeks, both of your schedules had not been exactly the best. barely seeing each other. touching. and the one time you finally have a short window of opportunity to see each other, you’re hit with one of the worst aching arousals and jay b was also feeling like a bull in rut.

frustratingly, there was only time for one of you to get off, so it all came down to this. a game of rock, paper, scissors. it was your idea.

mistake.

that was a mistake.

there was nothing he took more seriously than this game. his eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and determination. you can tell he’s really invested in winning. you on the other hand, are trying to play it cool, but your mind is racing. if you win, he eats you out. if he wins, you have to give him oral.

precious seconds was being wasted as you sit across from jay b, curling your scissors into a fist.

“this is what our relationship has come to? betting a children's hand game for a quickie.” you took a few seconds of deep breathing and serious internal contemplation of what choices you must have made in life to have led up to this moment.

his rare moments of neediness.

“i’ve got a meeting to get to, y/n. just lose so i can make it there.” jay b challenged.

best two out of three, you both count down and throw out your chosen hand signals. your heart skips a beat as you see jay b’s choice - rock. you’ve chosen paper, and you can’t help but let out a triumphant smile as you realize you’ve won.

jay b’s face falls, and he looks at you with a pout.

“i won!” you laugh. he rolls his eyes, not amused at being teased. who knew when he’d get another chance like this, another opening in your schedules to see each other. “we’ve got 7 minutes left. make it count.”

he mockingly scorns you before pushing you back on your couch, hovering above you. he starts with open mouthed kisses against your collarbones and trails very, very slowly up your neck until he reaches your lips. nips specially at your top lip, softly, and rubs circles in your sides. you know that jay b loves to take his time throughout most tasks in life, and this includes kissing you. he doesn’t kiss you too often, but when he finally does it’s worth the wait. you doubt there would be a place on your body he doesn’t want to kiss. he’ll continue until you’re a squirming mess.

“you’ve kissed me enough. stop prolonging and get down there, already.” you detach him from your jaw.

he pulled back and sucked his teeth, hiking up your skirt, “so impatient,” he mumbled under his breath.

feeling the contact of his lips against your skin again made you shiver with anticipation, peppering small pecks up the flesh of your thigh. you brought one hand up cupping your breast. your other hand moved to his hair, sliding your fingers through it. jay b lowered his head and places small kisses on your panties. his kisses were teasing and challenging. just the perfect blend of playfulness and intensity, coming close to your cunt but stopping just a few inches away simply just to tease you.

“jay b.” you whined, pushing up your hips to get closer to his face.

he held your waist down and used his index and middle finger to slide the fabric aside and closed the gap between you. his tongue slid through your folds, making you gasp. he circled his tongue around your clit, not adding too much pressure. his fingers gripped your thighs that were unconsciously wrapping around his head. jay b worked his tongue, slurping and licking around your clit. your moans got louder as he removed his hand from your waist and slowly pushed his index finger inside of you, continuing sucking. you moaned lowly as his finger reached your sweet spot.

your grip around his hair tightened as he pumped his finger in and out of your aching hole. with the next push, jay b added his middle finger. he curled them inside of you, his tongue swirling circles now with more pressure. you cried out as your walls clenched, legs shaking, pulling closer to his head.

jay b’s eyes are deep, a very dark and intense brown, and they stared and watched with great concentration as you revel in the knot building up in your stomach. you were close. something which brings a smirk to his face. you felt shivers run down your spine as you felt that familiar feeling inside usually before you come undone.

just as you’re about to reach your peak, jay b suddenly stops, his tongue and fingers ceasing their movements. you’re taken aback by his sudden withdrawal and sat up, confusedly watching him gather himself.

“times up. can’t be late,” he says, his voice casual. you try to reach out for him, but he’s already turning away, grabbing his jacket and heading for the door.

“lim jaebeom!” you glared. he gives you a brief, teasing smile, and then he’s out the door.

you’re left feeling frustrated and teased, your body aching for release.

[gotnigs]

YOUNGJAE 💭

🌙 ahgases, are you doing well? i don’t know how you’re doing or if you’re eating well. guess what, coco said at dawn today that she was going on a outing! so i sent her off well! thank you for loving coco as much as i do! well, i’m sure there are some who don’t, but coco is still the happiest pup in the world! i’ll believe that and try to pull myself together a bit, okay? i’m always grateful and love you, ahgases!! 💚

🌙 it just seemed like you were really worried! so i wanted to tell you!! coco isn’t in pain anymore and will be happy! thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!

Please have a safe and happy trip Coco. Thank you for the long time of making Ahgase and Youngjae happy and lovely~ Our pretty girl will not be hurt anymore. Coco will always be in everyone's good memories 🤍🐶🕊

[gotnigs]

how long do you think it would take before having sex with svt??

seungcheol

only a month

jeonghan

girl yesterday

joshua

a good two months. and it was on your accord. gentleman shua.

jun

almost. you only ever almost do it. for some reason you keep getting interrupted. once got so close just by his tip just barely grazing your entrance.

hoshi

man was trying to hit on the first night 💀 you made him wait three months.

wonwoo

four months. overthinking the perfect way to initiate.

woozi

six months. he’s just so distracted with working. but trust, fucking you is always on his mind.

dokyeom

soon. he need that right now. could bust in his pants just looking at you.

mingyu

two weeks. he’s not patient.

minghao

also a month. he doesn’t like to keep you waiting.

seungkwan

you’re wondering how long, yourself. he’ll talk a lot about when, where, and how but doesn’t follow through.

vernon

not that long. maybe like a couple of days into dating because it already took ages before he finally admitted to liking you.

dino

in about an hour. hope your schedule is cleared.

[gotnigs]

BIIIIITCHH DO I GOT SOMETHING FOR YOUR GOOFY ASS!!!!!

There’s a tweet going around about who in ateez can fight fr. A lot of the answers are really playing on my man Wooyoung tho like he wouldn’t fuck shit up. He’s def throwing the first punch 🤷🏾‍♀️

csprint: honestly think all of them can but some won’t

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

hongjoong:

lil mf is scrappy. and WILL throw the first punch. probably brings a weapon if they’re taller than him. most likely a bat. he’d win the fight and feel guilty. but he won’t apologize, though. nope. whatever his opponent did definitely deserved it. fuck that ho! looks like he has a mean head-butt, too.

seonghwa:

i think he can fight but he don’t want no smoke. not gonna lie, he probably would be the one to pull hair. but don’t get it twisted. he’s doing the miss trunchbull’s pigtail hammer throw. puts them in a headlock and bunny stomping their sorry ass. and he don’t throw punches cause his backhands go crazy. i know one slap would feel like thors hammer.

yunho:

he can get down if he needed to. but omg i pray for whoever tries to go toe to toe with him. because he will knock them tf out. he’d wrestle them to the ground and just lay on them??? look, they just don’t stand a chance against him. but he don’t even need to fight for real. he could just hold them at arms length with his hand on their head. omg, so embarrassing.

yeosang:

a silent but deadly type. he absolutely hates fighting but will fight back. reluctantly. and there’s a reason for that. if he’s showing that he’s not trying to scrap but they still coming for him? he is going to fuck shit up once he gets his hands on a very specific body part. they’d better hope it’s not their finger. he studied kung fu panda. could wuxi finger hold that mf and SKADOOSH their dumbass to the spirit realm. he warned them!!

san:

he’s a black belt. do i really need to elaborate further? he’ll kick their ass to the pearly gates.

mingi:

it would be an accident. how? i don’t know. it’s mingi we’re talking about. this baby probably doesn’t really know the extent of his own strength fr but just know someone’s somehow gonna be hospitalized with a collapsed lung.

wooyoung:

i saw those comments saying he’s an ankle biter or he’d pull hair. but they must not know. this bitch is crazy. he CAN fight and WILL fight. he’s definitely throwing the first punch. and he don’t get angry like a normal person. he laughs when he’s angry. mops the floor with whoever he’s fighting. would probably throw a band-aid at them after it all. just for dramatics.

jongho:

do i also have to explain this one?! one punch and the bitch is done. there was no fight to begin with.

[gotnigs]

Play Pretend | c.hs

Pairing: dad Vernon! X reader

Genre: Dad au!

Type: fluff

Words Count: 1.8k

Summary: The daughter's play pretend is getting too real and stressing her. As her dad, who plays with her—he's stressing too.

Choi Anne, Vernon’s daughter, had inherited something that he immediately recognized as coming from you—the way she loved to talk to herself or have conversations with her toys. It was a sign of her boundless imagination, something Vernon had noticed from the moment you’d started asking those playful what if questions.

Anne loved her own company. Vernon often found himself on the couch, remote in hand, watching her with the dopiest smile on his face. Every time Anne asked Mr. Monkey if the tea was to his liking or if Sister Unicorn was having a hard time with her bowel movement, he couldn’t help but laugh. It was definitely something she picked up from you, your daily habit of turning simple moments into little adventures with your words.

"How’s the breakfast, baby? Is it to your liking?" Anne asked seriously, as if it were the most important question of the day.

Vernon chuckled quietly to himself, feeling a rush of warmth.

"Oh no, my baby’s having a hard time pooping... We’ll eat more fruit later, okay?"Anne continued, as though solving a great crisis, her face a mix of concern and concentration.

It was clear where she got it from—those moments when you, too, would talk out loud, running through all the little things that kept your world turning.

And then, Anne took it to a new level. Sitting on the carpet, just a meter away from where Vernon was sitting—remote still in hand, TV playing his favorite show—he found himself more entertained by the scene unfolding before him than the program on screen. Mr. Monkey, apparently, had eaten too much sugar and was now having a heart attack.

"Oh no, Mr. Monkey... Hang in there, we’re calling an ambulance!" Anne exclaimed, her voice filled with dramatic urgency.

Vernon nodded in acknowledgment, trying not to laugh out loud as he watched her grab her "phone"—a block phone she’d fashioned herself—and pretend to dial emergency services.

“We have a patient here, Mr. Monkey, he’s having a heart attack!” Anne declared with all the seriousness of a seasoned professional.

Vernon chuckled, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "Address first, baby," he said, glancing over at Anne.

His daughter tilted her head in confusion, her brow furrowing as she processed his request. "Address?" she repeated, as if trying to decode a new puzzle. After a brief pause, she confidently declared, "Mmm... Address is... at home?"

Vernon couldn’t help but laugh, nodding approvingly. "Yes! You’re right. We’re heading there now, Ms. Choi," he added, his tone suddenly taking on the role of an emergency dispatcher.

A thought crossed his mind, and Vernon got up to head toward Anne’s bedroom. He returned moments later, holding the a car toy ambulance Seungkwan had gifted Anne for her third birthday the previous year.

"Be careful, daddy," Anne warned, her voice filled with concern as she eyed the toy. "One of the wheels is off."

Vernon glanced down at the ambulance and found that she was right—only three wheels remained. "Hmm, there were only three. Where’s the other one, Anne?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Anne simply shrugged, holding Mr. Monkey close to her chest. "I don’t know... It’s been like that for a long time, daddy."

A lightbulb of an idea flickered to life in Vernon’s head. He glanced down at the toy ambulance, then back at his daughter, who was still cradling Mr. Monkey as if he were a real patient.

“I don’t know if we can bring Mr. Monkey to the hospital with an ambulance like this, baby,” he mused, tapping the toy with a thoughtful expression.

Anne’s eyes darted to the ambulance, then back to Mr. Monkey, a clear conflict playing out in her little face. She tightened her hold on the stuffed toy, rocking him gently. “What should we do?” she mumbled, though it was more to herself than to her father.

Then, as if struck by inspiration, she gasped. "I’ll find it!"

Her head shot up with determination, her tiny fingers clenching into fists like she was about to embark on a great adventure. Carefully, she laid Mr. Monkey down on the carpet, as if ensuring his comfort, then bolted toward her room in search of the missing wheel.

Vernon blinked, not having expected this turn of events. He inhaled sharply, about to call her name, but before he could get a word out, her bedroom door slammed shut with an emphatic bang.

He exhaled slowly, pressing his fingers to his temple. “That’s... not what I expected,” he muttered under his breath.

This play pretend was starting to feel a little too real.

Five minutes passed. Then ten.

Vernon was starting to worry that his daughter might be building an entirely new house in her bedroom at this rate. She had been in there far too long, completely immersed in her search for the missing ambulance wheel.

Curious—and slightly concerned—he walked over and peeked inside, only to find Anne surrounded by a small mountain of dolls and stuffed animals, each one pulled from its usual place as if the wheel might have been hiding among them all along.

"Baby... Anne," Vernon called gently, stepping closer. "We can keep playing even without that one wheel, you know."

Anne spun around to face him, her little face scrunched in frustration, her hair now a wild mess from constantly brushing it away in her frantic search.

"But what if something bad happens on the way to the hospital?" she argued, clutching the hem of her dress tighter. "What if—what if something bad happens to Mr. Monkey?"

Vernon let out a slow breath, offering his daughter a reassuring smile. "Trust me, baby, nothing bad is going to happen," he said, his voice soft and steady.

Though, in his head, all he really wanted to say was, Because this is just play pretend, so maybe don’t take it this seriously?

But Anne wasn’t having it.

"No, let me find it first, Daddy. I promise I’ll find it."

Seeing her so determined, Vernon sighed and leaned against the doorframe, watching as his daughter stressed over something so small. And somehow, watching her stress out… was starting to stress him out too.

"You find it yet, baby?" he asked after a few moments.

"Not yet," she huffed, still rummaging through her toys.

Minutes passed.

"Found it?"

"Nope."

Vernon sighed again, rubbing his face. Just as Vernon was about to ask again, the sound of the front door opening caught his attention. You were home.

He glanced at Anne, who was still deep in her search mission, completely unaware of anything else. Letting out a small sigh, he pushed himself up from the doorframe and walked out of the room to greet you.

As you set your bag down, you looked up to see Vernon approaching—alone.

Your brow furrowed. "Where’s Anne?"

Vernon exhaled dramatically, shaking his head. "She’s been in her room for the past ten minutes looking for a missing wheel on her toy ambulance. She refuses to come out until she finds it."

You blinked. "…What?"

Vernon ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Mr. Monkey had a heart attack, and apparently, the ambulance isn’t safe to use unless it has all four wheels. So now, instead of actually playing, she’s turned it into a full-scale search and rescue operation."

You tried to hold back a laugh, but the sheer seriousness on his face made it impossible. "She really is your daughter," you teased, slipping off your shoes.

Vernon groaned, rubbing his face. "I know. And she’s stressing herself out so much that it’s stressing me out."

You smirked, shaking your head as you walked past Vernon toward the living room. "You know... I think I might know where that missing wheel is."

Vernon narrowed his eyes, following you as you crouched in front of the TV cabinet. "Wait—what?"

Without a word, you reached out, opened one of the cabinet doors, and rummaged through the random collection of small toys, puzzle pieces, and forgotten treasures Anne had stashed away over time. And there it was—a tiny, slightly dusty plastic wheel, sitting right next to a crayon and a stray hair tie.

Holding it up between your fingers, you turned to Vernon with an amused expression. "You really don’t know your daughter’s habits, do you?"

Vernon stared at the wheel, then at you, then back at the wheel again. He exhaled, half relieved, half exasperated. "I knew I should’ve checked there first," he muttered.

You chuckled, tossing the wheel to him. "Go on, hero. Go save Mr. Monkey."

Vernon caught it effortlessly, shaking his head with a tired smile. "I swear, this girl gets her dramatics from you."

"Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that," you said, grinning as you followed him back to Anne’s room.

Just as Anne was about to attach the wheel to her little ambulance, she suddenly froze. Her tiny hands turned the piece over, inspecting it closely.

Anne sighed dramatically, holding up the wheel with a disappointed look. "Oh no..."

You and Vernon exchanged glances before he crouched down beside her. "What is it?"

"It’s broken, Daddy," Anne groaned, showing him the crack in the plastic. "That’s why I put it away! It wouldn’t stay on."

You sighed, shaking your head with a smile. "So after all that searching, we still can’t fix the ambulance?"

Anne nodded, frowning. "Now how will we take Mr. Monkey to the hospital?"

Vernon rubbed his temples, looking amused but exhausted. "Anne, baby, you could’ve told me this before turning your whole room upside down."

Anne gave him a sheepish look. "But I really forgot."

She suddenly clapped her hands together, eyes lighting up with a new idea. "Wait! I think it’s okay to drive Mr. Monkey to the hospital with three wheels!" she declared confidently.

Anne placed her hands on her hips, looking very serious. "Well... sometimes cars have accidents and they lose a wheel, but they still keep moving, right?"

You bit back a laugh as Vernon sighed out his stress.

"We just have to drive really slowly! Like this!" She crouched down and started pushing the ambulance across the floor at an exaggerated snail’s pace. "Vrooooom... but slooooowly... vroooom..."

You couldn't hold back your laughter this time. "That’s very responsible of you, baby. Slow and safe!"

Vernon watched her with an amused smirk. "I guess Mr. Monkey’s life is in good hands, then."

Anne nodded seriously. "Of course! I’ll be the best ambulance driver ever." She carefully placed Mr. Monkey inside, patting his head. "Hang in there, buddy, we're going to the hospital... but very carefully."

Vernon leaned toward you, lowering his voice. "So we went through all that stress for nothing?"

You shrugged, grinning. "At least she figured it out on her own."

Vernon sighed, watching his daughter inch the ambulance along at a painfully slow speed. "I should’ve known. She’s definitely your daughter."

[gotnigs]

#whoremembers