#best friend seventeen

[taesjpq]

Jealousy part. I

genre — suggestive fluff, best friends to lovers, (smut in part II) ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ pairing — female!reader x best friend!Mingyu summary — You, Hoshi, Wonwoo, and Mingyu—inseparable. Their apartment feels like your second home. But one of them makes your heart race in ways you wish it wouldn’t. He treats you like you’re special—attentive, caring, almost like a boyfriend. But he’s not your boyfriend. He’s your best friend. He treats you this way—this is just how Mingyu is, right? word count — 4,3k (part l) 8,7k (part ||)

You can read part 2 here.

Warnings and notes under the line.

WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, jealousy/insecurity, unrequited/complicated feelings, emotional distress, avoidance/coping mechanisms, mild possessiveness (towards him), possible hangover, waking up next to someone, suggestive elements/mild sexual tension, light kiss [let me know if I forgot something]

notes: san (ateez) cameo (you will better understand in part II) Hoshi, Wonwoo cameo. This is my first published ff ever, I hope you like it. I‘m actually very nervous about it, so feel free to give your opinion. I just wrote this, when I felt down bad for Mingyu again (he‘s so boyfriend istg). The question is, when i am not exactly down bad for Mingyu? He‘s the standard.

"Any plans for the weekend?"  

San held the office door open for you, his gentle smile as familiar as ever.  

You sighed quietly, relieved that the exhausting workweek was finally over. It had been chaos—half the staff out sick, leaving you drowning in double the workload.  

San had been your lifesaver, stepping in every time you thought you might break under the pressure.  

"Actually, I'm meeting my friends at a restaurant," you replied, noticing the faint flicker of something wistful in his eyes.  

"Why am I not surprised?" he teased, his grin widening as you stepped through the door.  

San had a way of always asking about your plans, like he was hoping, just once, your answer might include him. But it never did. Just: „My friends, my friends, my friends.“ 

It wasn’t a lie, though. You practically lived at their apartment. Gaming nights with Wonwoo, gym sessions with Mingyu, and endless meals with Hoshi—that was your rhythm, your second home.  

"Thanks for the coffee, San. Next time, it’s on me," you said, flashing him a grateful smile.  

"Anytime," he replied, his gaze lingering for just a moment longer before you parted ways.

 

You arrived flustered, breathless from rushing. Of course, they were already here. 

As you pushed open the door, the warm buzz of conversation and clinking plates enveloped you.  

Your eyes scanned the restaurant, locking on them almost immediately: your boys—and a girl. A girl? 

She was sitting beside Mingyu, close enough that their arms nearly brushed. Her laugh carried across the table, light and unrestrained, and something about it made your stomach twist. Who was she?  

"Finally!" Hoshi greeted you as you approached, his voice brimming with playful exasperation. "We thought you’d ditched us."  

You forced a smile, settling into the usual chaos of their teasing welcome. 

"This is Hana," Wonwoo explained casually when he caught the question in your eyes.  

"And? don’t you think she looks just like me?" Hoshi added, grinning as he gestured dramatically toward her.  

You studied her more closely, and the resemblance hit you. It was uncanny—her smile, her energy. She could’ve been his twin. 

"I’ve been crashing at their place for a few days," Hana said, extending her hand toward you. "Hoshi insisted."  

Your polite smile barely reached your eyes. Why hadn’t anyone told you?  

"Nice to meet you," you said, shaking her hand and glancing around. There wasn’t an empty chair for you.  

Mingyu noticed immediately. Without hesitation, he stood, grabbing one from a nearby table and setting it beside him.  

"Thanks, Gyu," you murmured, your voice softer than you intended.  

He nodded and gave you a gentle smile. 

Oh, how you’d missed him. His warmth, his silly jokes—the way his laughter could dissolve the stress of your week. You’d been looking forward to this, to catching up with him. But now, it seemed difficult.  

As the group settled into conversation, you tried to focus, tried to join in. But your attention kept drifting—to Hana, to how close she sat to Mingyu, to the way she leaned into him when she laughed. Her fingers grazed his arm casually, like she belonged there.  

"So, Hana, how do you like the city so far?" Wonwoo asked, drawing her attention.  

"It’s great," she said brightly. "Hoshi’s been showing me around—it’s been so much fun."  

Her hand lingered on Mingyu’s shoulder as she spoke, and your stomach knotted uncomfortably.  

Just then, the waiter arrived, placing drinks on the table. Four sojus. Your eyebrows lifted in surprise—they’d ordered before you arrived. That wasn’t how things worked. You always waited. It was a small tradition, but it mattered. Or, at least, it used to.  

"One soju for me too, please," you said quickly, catching the waiter before he walked away.  

But the unease didn’t leave. Hana’s touchiness continued—her laugh too loud, her attention on Mingyu too focused. He didn’t seem to mind, even smiled at her a few times. Yet, every so often, his eyes flicked to you, as if checking for something. 

You didn’t know why, but every time Hana’s hand brushed against his arm, you reached for your bottle. Every time she giggled a little too sweetly, your glass met your lips. The warm burn sliding down your throat was easier to deal with than the twist in your chest. 

"You should see these two at the gym," Hoshi chimed in suddenly, pointing between you and Mingyu. "They’re like workout aliens or something." 

The group laughed, and you managed a small smile, but your heart wasn’t in it. 

Hana giggled, leaning closer to Mingyu. "Maybe you can show me some moves sometime," she said, her tone playful. 

Your fingers tightened around the glass. Without thinking, you poured yourself another shot—your third, or was it the fourth? You weren’t keeping track anymore.  

Mingyu let out a small chuckle, and that was it—you tipped your head back and downed the drink in one go. 

Your chest tightened. Mingyu was your closest friend. Your partner for everything. The one you laughed with, teased, leaned on. Seeing her in that space, acting like she belonged, made your skin crawl. You probably were just overreacting- and yet, you just kept drinking. 

��I need to go to the bathroom,” you lie, the words tumbling out too quickly, barely convincing even to yourself. 

You needed space—air that wasn’t thick with your confusion, your frustration. If you stayed another second, your face would betray you, exposing the childish jealousy simmering just beneath the surface.  

The cool evening air hit you like a lifeline as you stepped outside, goosebumps forming on your arms from the crisp breeze. 

You closed your eyes briefly, letting it kiss your flushed cheeks, but it did little to soothe the ache in your chest. The dull, relentless throb of longing refused to fade.  

“This isn’t the bathroom.”  

The familiar voice sent a jolt through you, every nerve in your body suddenly on high alert. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.  

You glanced back anyway, already masking your shock with a strained smile. Of course, it’s him. It’s always him.  

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said, forcing a lightness you didn’t feel. “This looks like a bathroom to me.”  

He chuckled, that low, warm laugh that always did things to your chest, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. And despite yourself, you smiled too, because how could you not? 

God, you were so hopelessly in love with him.  

Without a word, he steps closer, draping your jacket over your shoulders. “You’re probably freezing,” he says, his voice gentle, but with a tenderness that makes your stomach tighten.  

His hands brush lightly against your skin as he adjusts the jacket, and it sends a shiver through you—not from the cold, but from the barely-there touch. 

You look up, your breath catching in your throat as your eyes meet his. His gaze softens, a flicker of concern crossing his face.  

The silence that followed stretched taut between you, thick and heavy with unspoken words. Neither of you seemed willing to break it. The faint hum of traffic and the muffled buzz of laughter from the bar filled the empty space.  

You shifted uncomfortably, your fingers toying with the hem of your dress. Don’t say it. Don’t bring her up. Just let it go. But the question clawed its way out of you anyway.  

“I didn’t know Hana was staying at your place,” you blurted, the words sharper than you intended, laced with something raw and exposed.  

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, his exasperation evident. “Yeah, I didn’t know either. Trust me.”  

You raise an eyebrow, still unsure. “Hoshi didn’t mention it?” 

“He forgot,” Mingyu mutters, shaking his head. What a Hoshi thing to happen, you thought.  

“I walked into my room, and she was already asleep in my bed. I didn’t have the heart to wake her, so I took the couch for the week.”  

Your stomach twisted, the weight of his explanation sitting heavy. Of course, he wouldn’t complain. He’s Mingyu—always generous, always selfless. Always giving more of himself than he should.  

“Oh,” you managed, your voice too light, too fake. “It’s just funny to think… if I showed up at your place, I’d find her instead of you.” You tried to laugh, but the sound was hollow, even to your ears.  

He shrugged, casual and unaffected. “It wasn’t a big deal for me. I worked overtime all week, so I wasn’t home much anyway.”  

Of course, it wasn’t a big deal to him. But to you? It was everything. Every single thing.  

You felt the sting of tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away quickly. Not here. Not now.  

The night had been shallow and hollow, a void you couldn’t seem to escape. All you’d wanted was a quiet evening with your friends, especially Mingyu. Just sitting beside him, leaning against his shoulder—feeling the solid warmth of him—would’ve been enough.  

But instead, you’d spent the evening watching Hana, her laughter, her touches, her presence invading spaces you’d always considered yours. Even if you don't have the right to do so. 

The ache in your chest sharpened, spreading through you like wildfire. You couldn’t stay here any longer.  

“I’m gonna head home,” you said, your voice flat, eyes fixed on the ground. “I think I need some rest after this week.”  

You felt his gaze land on you, heavy and searching, and for a moment, you wavered under its weight.  

“I’ll take you home,” he said softly, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.  

“No, it’s okay,” you replied quickly, trying to steady your tone. “I have my car.”  

“I know,” he says, stepping closer, his presence almost overwhelming. His eyes scan your face, tracing every inch of you, as if reading you in ways that make your heart race. “But you shouldn’t drive. You drank too much.” 

“I’m fine,” you muttered, frustration bubbling up. “I’m not drunk.” 

 And then, he speaks again, voice softer, more tender. 

“Your cheeks,” he murmurs, his thumb gently brushing against your flushed skin. “They’re red. That happens when you drink too much.” 

You freeze, his touch lingering. Your heart pounds in your chest, and his proximity feels like a punch to your gut. He looks even more handsome than usual—his messy hair falling over his forehead, the soft fabric of his shirt still loose and unbuttoned just enough to make your breath catch. The way he stands there, effortlessly composed, but so close that you can almost taste the air between you—his scent wrapping around you like a warm, familiar blanket. 

God, you feel weak in front of him. 

“I can’t let you drive like this,” he adds softly. 

You want to protest, but the words catch in your throat. He cares. He always does. 

“Unless…” he tilts his head slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’ve got other plans?”  

A sharp, throbbing pain pulsed through your head as you reached for your phone, your limbs feeling heavy under the weight of sleep. 

The sunlight filtering through the curtains was way too bright, making you wince as you blindly swiped to answer the call without checking the caller ID. 

“Hello…?” Your voice was hoarse, thick with exhaustion. 

“Mingyu, where are you?! I’ve been trying to reach both of you for hours!” 

Your brows furrowed, confusion washing over you like a cold wave. Mingyu? 

You pulled the phone away from your ear to check the name on the screen. Hoshi Hyung. 

Your headache made it hard to process, but one thing was clear—you would never save him like that. 

Why the hell was he even calling you about Mingyu? 

Just as the pieces of the puzzle refused to click into place, you felt it—a presence beside you. 

With a slow, sinking feeling, you turned your head to the right. 

And there he was. 

Mingyu. 

All 187 centimeters of him, sleeping peacefully under your blanket like he belonged there. His hair was tousled, his breathing deep and even, his broad chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. 

Your eyes widened, your grip on the phone tightening. You hung up immedietly.  

Fuck. 

Before you could spiral too much, Mingyu let out a deep sigh, his arm stretching out lazily—almost like he was reaching for you. His eyes, still hazy with sleep, fluttered open but instantly softening the moment they land on you,— The way you were staring at him, as if he'd just appeared out of nowhere —his lips curled into a knowing smirk. 

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice deep and rough with sleep. 

“It’s 2 p.m., Mingyu.” 

He blinked slowly before lazily glancing around the room. “Shit, really?” His voice was raspy, thick. He let out a slow breath before sinking deeper into the pillows. “I slept so fucking good.” A lazy smile tugged at his lips as he let his eyes fall shut again. 

You watched him. His dark hair was a complete mess, strands sticking out in every direction, and yet, somehow, it only made him look softer. His skin looked warm and tan against the white sheets. His lips—full, slightly swollen from sleep—parted just the tiniest bit, and for a moment, you had to fight the urge to reach out, to trace them with your fingertips, just to see if they were as soft as they looked. 

You swallowed hard. "I... uh—what happened last night?" 

Mingyu let out a soft chuckle, rolling onto his side to face you properly. “You really don’t remember?” 

Your silence was answer enough. 

“Oh, this is fun,” he mused, resting his cheek against his palm. “You were very affectionate. Like, I knew you liked me, but I didn’t expect you to cling to me like that.” 

Your face burned instantly. “Shut up.” 

He grinned wider. “You wouldn’t let go. Kept saying I couldn’t leave, that I should sleep next to you.” His voice dropped into something teasing. “Should I start staying over more often?” 

The heat in your cheeks deepened, and without thinking, you grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at him. He laughed, catching it effortlessly before it could hit his face. 

“Ohhh, so violent first thing in the morning,” he teased. “Where’s all that love from last night, huh?” 

You wanted to escape the awkwardness, so you stepped away from the bed, but as you did, your gaze betrayed you—flicking toward Mingyu. His white shirt hung loosely on his frame, almost completely unbuttoned, exposing a hint of his chest and the silver chain resting just above it. The sight made your breath catch for a moment, your heart skipping. 

Mingyu caught your glance. His eyes met yours for a heartbeat, but then they dropped—slowly, unwillingly, lingering on your legs just a moment too long. 

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling the fabric of your dress inching up, revealing more of your legs than you'd intended. The air between you both seemed to thicken, heavy with something unspoken. 

In an awkward flurry, Mingyu began buttoning his shirt, his movements too quick, too self-conscious, like he was suddenly aware of every inch of space between you. 

You cleared your throat, trying to fill the silence, and nervously stammered, “I—I’m making breakfast.” 

Mingyu immediately sat up, “I’ll do it.” 

You turned to glare at him, a bit sharper than you intended. “I can make it on my own.” 

“I know you can,” he said with that same, effortless ease, his tall, towering frame moving toward you without hesitation. “But let me.” His voice was softer this time, the teasing gone. 

His eyes flickered over you briefly—the exhaustion, the headache written all over your face, the way your clothes were still crumpled from last night. 

“You should take a shower,” he added, voice gentle. “It’ll help with the headache.” 

You blinked at him, and looked down on you after.  

“Yeah..probably.” 

You hesitated for a second before heading towards the bathroom, still feeling like you were stuck in some weird dream. 

The moment you stepped in front of the mirror, you almost flinch. 

Your makeup was smudged, your hair an absolute mess, strands sticking to your forehead. Your dress from last night was wrinkled and slightly loose on one side. 

You looked horrible. Greasy. Disgusting. 

Mingyu slept next to this? 

You suddenly wanted to cry. 

Taking a deep breath, you quickly peeled off your clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the weird feelings in your chest. 

By the time you were done, you felt human again. 

There was no way you were putting that dress back on, so you grabbed your bathrobe, tying it tightly around your waist before stepping out. 

Your hair was still damp, strands clinging to your skin as you walked barefoot toward the kitchen, following the smell of food. 

Mingyu stood at the stove, moving effortlessly like he belonged there, he changed his white shirt. His black t-shirt now clinging just enough to make you notice. The sleeves stretched over his biceps, broad and defined, flexing slightly with each movement.  

And then he turned around. 

For a moment, it was like time froze. 

Mingyu’s breath hitched the second his eyes landed on you. 

The damp strands of hair framing your face, the way your robe sat snugly around you, revealing the delicate curve of your collarbone—he was so unprepared for this. 

His fingers twitched around the wooden spoon, and for a split second, he forgot what he was even doing. His grip almost faltered. 

He was staring. 

Hard. 

You raised an eyebrow. “You good?” 

Mingyu swallowed, snapping out of it. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, I’m—uh, food’s almost done.” 

He forced a smile, turning back to the stove way too quickly—like he needed a second to compose himself. 

You didn’t question it, shrugging as you took a seat at the table. 

Mingyu, on the other hand, inhaled deeply, gripping the spoon like it was the only thing keeping him from completely losing his mind. 

Yeah. He was so screwed. 

“So.” Mingyu cleared his throat, a little too forcefully. “How’s your headache?” 

You barely looked up, scrolling through the endless messages from Hoshi and Wonwoo. “Hm? Oh-It still hurts. But I’m sure I’ll feel better after eating something."

A beat of silence. 

Too long. Too heavy. 

You, sitting there like that—bare-faced, hair still damp, wrapped up in your robe—he had seen you like this before. And yet, right now, it felt… different. His fingers flexed against the edge of the kitchen counter. 

He didn’t want to think about why. 

“How’s work been lately?” he asked, voice casual—too casual. “You looked exhausted yesterday. And, well… the number of drinks you had kind of spoke for itself.” 

You let out a dry laugh, stretching your legs beneath the table. “Yeah, work… Work has been insane. Feels like half the office is out sick, and I’m the lucky one picking up the slack.” 

Mingyu frowned as he turned off the stove, moving with practiced ease. “That’s bullshit.” A pause. “No wonder you were exhausted.” 

That wasn’t the reason you drank last night, but he didn’t need to know that.  

You shrugged, watching him. The way he knew where everything was. The way he moved through your kitchen like he belonged there. Because he did. 

Mingyu set a plate in front of you before settling into the chair across from you. He picked up his fork but didn’t eat right away, just watching you for a beat. 

“You really need a break,” he muttered, mostly to himself. Then, his eyes flickered to yours, and something shifted in his expression. A smirk tugged at his lips. “Or maybe just… new clothes.” 

You blinked. “What?” 

He gestured vaguely toward you. “I mean, I knew you had a couple of my things, but—” He gave you a pointed look. “At this point, half of your closet is mine. I could practically  move in here.” 

You almost choked on your food. 

That little shit. 

Mingyu leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “You know, I always wondered where my stuff kept disappearing to.” He tilted his head, pretending to think. “For a while, I actually believed I had a hole in my closet.” 

You swallowed your bite. “Weird. Sounds like a you problem.” 

He scoffed. “Oh, really?” 

You nodded, keeping your face blank. “Mhm. No clue what you’re talking about.” 

His gaze flickered over you, his smirk deepening. “So, you’re telling me my hoodies just magically disappeared? Along with my t-shirts? And my beanie? And—” 

“Okay, okay,” you cut in, groaning. “Maybe your clothes are just… way too comfortable. Not my fault they’re basically begging to be stolen.” 

“Begging,” he repeated, like he was tasting the word. 

“Yes.” You met his eyes, feigning innocence. “I don’t see the issue.” 

Mingyu let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.” 

You smirked, tilting your head. “And yet, you still let me steal your stuff.” 

He exhaled through his nose, picking at his food. “I don’t let you. You just take it.” 

“Semantics.”  

Mingyu rolled his eyes, but there was something in his expression—something warm, something familiar. 

For a moment, it almost felt normal again. Like the weird tension from before had settled into something softer. Something easier. 

But then his eyes lingered on you a second too long. 

And suddenly, it was back. 

That unspoken thing between you. 

Neither of you acknowledged it. 

You just kept eating. 

And Mingyu? 

Mingyu was so, so screwed. 

Your phone started ringing. Hoshi was calling. 

We were screwed. 

By the time evening settled in, you had changed into something comfortable—his clothes, to be exact. He was still here, lingering in your space, and for a few fleeting hours, everything felt right. As if this was how it was always meant to be. As if this was your everyday. But deep down, a small voice whispered, warning you not to get used to it. 

After dinner,  Mingyu is still here. 

You’re in the kitchen, washing dishes side by side like it’s nothing, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hand brushes against yours when he reaches for a plate, and it’s almost too quick to register. But you don’t pull away. Neither does he. 

He leans against the counter, arms crossed loosely, watching you as you load the dishes into the dishwasher. His voice breaks the silence, low and casual, but there’s an edge to it, something like hesitation. 

“Do you still have a headache?” 

Before you can speak, he’s close. His presence fills the space between you. His left hand gently presses against your forehead.. His right hand moves to your neck, fingers brushing lightly over your skin.  

You barely notice it at first, but when you shift slightly, you feel it—your back pressing against the counter. Mingyu is so close, standing in front of you, subtly caging you in You can barely breathe. You don’t know what’s worse: the fact that he’s so close, or the fact that you want him closer.  

Your voice falters when you answer. "I’m fine now. It’s... better." You watch as Mingyu’s face softens in an instant at your words. 

Neither of you moves, standing close, too close.  

Mingyu’s lips quirk into a grin, but there’s a hint of something more in his voice. “My clothes look good on you. I should let you steal them more often.” 

You laugh, but it’s breathless. You stretch up, reaching for his face, your fingers brushing his skin. You squint your eyes, making a playful face. “I’d do it anyway. Don’t need your permission.” 

Mingyu chuckles, but his gaze shifts, sharpening just enough for you to notice. He steps closer. The warmth radiating off his body, the faint brush of his leg against yours, the way his chest is so close that if you just leaned in the smallest bit, you'd be pressed against him. It’s intoxicating. You don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing for a second until you force yourself to inhale, only to take in the faint scent of him—clean, familiar, utterly Mingyu. 

He watches you with an intensity that makes the room feel smaller, more intimate. His eyes flicker to your lips, and that’s when it happens—the hesitation. Heswallows hard, fighting the urge to close the distance entirely. He’s trying—really trying—to resist, to keep this from crossing a line neither of you can come back from. But it’s impossible when you’re looking at him like that, when your body is so close, when the scent of you wrapped in his clothes makes his head spin. 

And then, he inches closer, almost without thinking, and his lips brush against yours—just the lightest touch, so soft that it could almost be a breath. Your body tenses, and for a second, everything stills.  

But fuck, it’s enough to send heat coursing through his veins. 

His lips are soft, teasing, brushing lightly against yours. The kiss is slow, barely there, but enough to leave you gasping for more. 

You inhale sharply, your breath mixing with his. You don’t move away. If anything, you shift closer, your body reacting before your mind can catch up. 

His lips linger, hovering, teasing. Testing. 

His self-control is hanging by a thread. 

He tells himself to stop. You were loosing yourself in it. You- 

- Ding Dong 

The sound of the doorbell rings, slicing through the tension. You both freeze. The world shifts back into focus. The heat, the closeness, everything evaporates in an instant. 

You step back, your breath coming in uneven gasps. Mingyu looks away, running a hand through his hair, trying to regain his composure. 

[archivegyu]

unspoken, yet known

part 1

AUGUST 8 — SEUNGCHEOL’S BIRTHDAY

A soft sigh escaped your lips when you unlocked the apartment door. The click of it closing behind you was familiar and comforting. The scent of morning coffee still lingered faintly in the air, left from the to-go cup you prepped earlier—his, not yours. You slipped off your shoes, dropped your bag by the wall, and padded into the kitchen, hair slightly tousled from the afternoon sun and a long half-day at uni.

Your phone buzzed.

A video call.

Incoming call from Drunk Gyu 

You picked it up, leaning lazily against the counter. “Let me guess, you’re calling to interrogate me.”

Mingyu’s face popped into view, sweat-slicked hair pushed back with a towel around his neck. “We’re just checking in. Totally normal. Definitely not to say someone is pouting.”

Joshua leaned over from behind him, sitting on the floor of the practice room. “He waited until 12:03. You didn’t call. Or text. He thinks you forgot.”

You blinked, stunned. “Wait, he stayed up that late?”

“Correction,” Joshua said, raising a finger. “He was already up. He was with Woozi, in the studio. Jihoon was working on a new arrangement, and your sulking best friend sat there staring at his phone in the dark like he was waiting for a prophecy.”

Mingyu chuckled. “At 12:03, he sighed so loud we thought something broke. Said, ‘She must be tired…’ Then walked out like a rejected K-drama second lead.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, running a hand down your face.

“And,” Joshua added, “Cheol told us that he came home at, like, 3AM. Found your note next to a packed breakfast and thought you were avoiding him.”

“I had class,” you said defensively, though your voice softened. “It was a half day, I swear.”

“Then why does he think you’re gone till night?”

“Because I might have told him my schedule was full just to buy time for the surprise?”

Joshua gasped dramatically.

Mingyu leaned in closer. “So you’re cooking something up. I knew it.”

You smirked. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Your eyes flicked briefly toward the empty tote bag by the front door. You hadn’t even bought the ingredients yet. There was dinner to prepare, decorations to set up, and a cake to pick up. Your window was tight, but you were determined.

Joshua wagged a finger. “Well, better make it count. He’s been sulking all day. Even Minghao told him to go lie down somewhere.”

You laughed, already heading for the door again. “Then I’ll make it worth the wait.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

The city was golden and bright, dusted with the warmth of a late summer afternoon. You strolled with Kkuma trotting happily beside you, her new pink bow bouncing with every step.

First stop: the bakery.

A quaint spot tucked into a side street, lined with ribboned boxes and pastries that sparkled under glass. You stepped inside, the bell above the door chiming.

“Back so soon?” the baker greeted with a knowing smile.

“It’s his birthday,” you said, crouching to pat Kkuma. “I need a cake that’s… not plain. Not white. Not boring. He pouted for an hour last year because I gave him a minimalist one.”

The baker laughed. “Sounds like he’s particular.”

“He’s sentimental,” you corrected. “And dramatic.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “So... something cute? Thoughtful?”

“With effort,” you added. “Like, it has to look like I lost sleep over it.”

“Got it. Leave it to me.”

You left the shop with a receipt and a promise to come back in two hours. Kkuma trotted beside you, her ears twitching.

Next was the gift shop. You wandered between shelves of candles and accessories before settling on a simple silver bracelet. Not flashy. Just… sincere. You had it engraved with the words:

“with you, always.”

You turned the small box in your hand, heart fluttering at the thought of his face when he’d open it.

On your way out, you spotted a set of pastel hairpins: lavender, peach, and daisy-patterned. You looked down at Kkuma.

She stared back with resigned eyes.

“I know,” you said. “You thought Cheol was the shopaholic in this house.”

She sighed (you swear she did), and followed you anyway.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

By early evening, the apartment had transformed.

The lights were dimmed. Soft fairy lights strung along the ceiling glowed in a warm hue. You lit a few candles, small ones, nothing too dramatic, just enough to give the room a flicker of intimacy. You cooked carefully, triple-checking the taste, adjusting the plating. Bulgogi, kimchi pancakes, soft egg rolls, seaweed soup.

You set the table, added a handwritten note under his plate that read:

“For the one who never lets me feel alone. Happy Birthday !!”

Kkuma sat by your feet, freshly brushed, with one of her new pins clipped into her fur.

You held the cake, tiny candles flickering, and stood by the entryway, the soft hum of music playing low in the background.

The door clicked open.

Seungcheol stepped in, shoulders slumped from exhaustion. He froze the moment he looked up.

You.

The lights.

The food.

Kkuma, who immediately barked and ran to him.

He picked her up with one arm, still staring.

You smiled, lifting the cake gently.

“Happy birthday, Cheol.”

His expression cracked, eyes glassy, smile shaky.

“I thought you forgot.”

“I never forget,” you said softly. “You just had to wait a little.”

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Dinner passed in a haze of warm lights and quiet laughter. The living room, usually scattered with Kkuma’s toys or forgotten laundry, had transformed into something soft and thoughtful: dim lights, a candlelit table, the faint scent of soy and sesame oil wafting through the air.

Seungcheol was glowing under it all. Not from the candles, not from the wine, but from something gentler. His eyes were crescent-shaped from smiling too much, and his shoulders had lost that weighted, practice-room tension.

“You really made all of this?” he asked again, looking at the food like it had just told him a secret.

“Mhm.” You fought the grin tugging at your mouth as you refilled his bowl. “Twice, if you keep asking.”

He scooped another helping of rice with exaggerated reverence. “I’m serious. This is…” He took a bite, chewed, and let out a dramatic groan. “Okay, no. This should be illegal. You could honestly take over the world with this marinade.”

You shook your head, laughing. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m being realistic. If you ever betray me, please do it after dinner.”

You tossed a napkin at him, and he dodged it with a smug smile, eyes twinkling under the golden light. Then came a quieter beat, one that didn’t need to announce itself. He lowered his chopsticks and looked at you with a kind of fondness that made the room feel smaller.

“I didn’t realize how much I missed this,” he said, voice softer now. “Coming home to you. Just… being here.”

You paused mid-reach for the pitcher of water, surprised. “You’ve only been gone a day.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling faintly. “Felt longer.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. So you looked at him a moment longer, then rose from your seat.

“I got you something.”

His gaze followed you as you crossed the room. You came back with a tiny wrapped box, not flashy, not extravagant—just you, wrapped in care. You placed it gently in front of him.

Seungcheol blinked. “You didn’t have to—”

“I know.”

He opened it slowly, carefully peeling away the tape like he was afraid to ruin whatever was inside. When the lid came off, he stared.

It was a silver bracelet. Simple. Clean. The kind he could wear every day.

His thumb grazed the small engraving on the inside.

“with you, always.”

He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he closed the box gently, like sealing in something delicate. Then he stood up from his seat, the chair legs scraping softly against the floor, and walked toward you.

When he wrapped his arms around your waist, it wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t loud.

It was quiet. Steady. Honest.

His head lowered, resting gently against your shoulder. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just let out a breath, like this was what he’d been waiting for all day without realizing it.

“I really love it,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

You placed a hand gently on the back of his head. “I’m glad.”

He stayed there a little longer, his grip loosening just a bit, but his thoughts only tightening.

If only you knew how much of me is already yours.

He didn’t say that part out loud.

Instead, he let the silence speak for him, and held on a little longer.

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Later that night, the three of them— Seungcheol, her, and a half-asleep Kkuma— ended up in his room instead of the living room like they’d originally planned. The shift was unspoken, effortless. His room always felt warmer anyway, a little smaller, a little softer. Familiar.

The bedside lamp was dim, casting golden shadows across the room. Outside, the city moved quietly beneath them, but in here, everything had settled into something quieter. Safer.

She was curled up next to him under a shared blanket, legs tucked beneath her and sweater sleeves pulled past her wrists. Kkuma was nestled in her lap, already asleep, little breaths even and steady.

Seungcheol scrolled through the movie options with one hand, trying to ignore how close she was. How she smelled like vanilla and clean laundry. How his heart had been pacing with a quiet urgency ever since dinner ended and they sat down together like this was just another normal night.

It wasn’t.

He turned to her with a small, knowing grin. “Let’s watch Made of Honor.”

She groaned. “Why this one again?”

“It’s funny and chaotic!” he said with a shrug, like it didn’t mean more than that.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

His heart stalled for a beat, but his smile didn’t falter.

She threw a handful of popcorn at him, laughing. He caught one piece in his mouth and grinned like an idiot, like this, her laughter, this version of home. It was something he could hold onto. Something he wanted to.

Eventually, her laughter faded into a soft, comfortable quiet. She leaned into his side, her head barely brushing his shoulder, but it was enough to make him forget the movie had even started. His body went still. Not rigid, just focused. Aware of her warmth, her presence, the weight of how easy this felt.

The movie played on, but his attention kept drifting. He’d seen this film enough times to memorize the lines, but tonight, the only thing he could memorize was the slope of her cheek in the golden light and how her fingers absentmindedly stroked Kkuma’s fur.

There was a part of him, maybe the reckless part, that wanted to reach for her hand. Just to hold it. Just to know how it felt to be allowed that much.

But he didn’t.

He never did.

By the time they were halfway through the second movie—Love, Rosie—her head had gently slipped onto his shoulder. Her breathing slowed. Eyes closed. Sleep found her easily.

Seungcheol turned his head to say something about the scene. He had a joke on the tip of his tongue. But the moment he looked down at her, words disappeared.

She was asleep, soft and unguarded. Kkuma had shifted, curling closer into her chest.

And he just… looked.

There was no other way to put it, he looked at her the way someone does when they’re trying to hold a moment still. Trying to memorize every detail so they could carry it through time.

She didn’t know.

She didn’t know how many versions of this moment lived in his memory. How many times he’d chosen silence just to keep things the way they were. How many times he’d wanted to say something and instead, just like now, said nothing at all.

But he loved her.

He loved her the way you love someone you never want to lose.

Quietly.

I hope you always feel how much I love you, he thought, staring at the way her face softened in sleep. Even when I say nothing at all.

He reached for the remote and clicked the screen off. The room dimmed into stillness. He adjusted the blanket, pulling it gently over her shoulder, tucking it beneath her chin like she’d done for him once months ago, when he’d fallen asleep on the couch after a rough night at practice.

Then he lay back, careful not to jostle her or wake Kkuma, and settled beside them.

He let himself stay like that. Close, quiet, content.

And just before sleep started to pull him under, he turned his head, eyes still on her.

“Goodnight,” he whispered. A pause. A breath.

“I love you.”

Soft. Gentle.

A secret tucked into the dark.

One she’d never hear.

Not yet.

[jeonsupershy]

seungkwannie with his wonu hyung happy birthday v @wonboos🧡

[facethesuns]

[ariescults]

DINO in SPELL (OFFIAL MV)

[ferrariseventeen]

since someone has to say it…vernon with a stupid baseball cap that he refuses to take off even when you’re sunk between his knees,and it’s so low on his eyes all you can really see is his pretty mouth fall slack when you start sucking on his balls

[riseokau]

CINEMATIC LOVE

Theme: bestfriends to lovers

Pairing: Lee Seokmin x fem reader (yuna)

w/c: 5k

Warnings: kissing, a little of angst

story: A quiet rooftop movie night, a soft drizzle under the stars, and two best friends who have spent years dancing around their feelings for each other. As the world fades away, they find themselves facing the unspoken truth they've both been waiting for. In a moment that's neither dramatic nor flashy, they discover that sometimes the most perfect love story is the one that's simply theirs.

a/n: got this idea while listening to cinematic love by dokyeom. Also this is my very first one shot if there's anything that you think I should change plz so tell me and I'd love to know your thoughts!

Seokmin's POV

"You need a main character moment."

It was something I'd been rehearsing since the morning.

Not because it was profound or anything — I mean, come on, it sounded like a line from a coming-of-age film with a slightly-too-quirky male lead. But it was the kind of thing Yuna would smile at. Not roll her eyes — well, maybe she'd do both — but the kind of smile that tugged at the side of her mouth before she realized she was giving it away. That was always the goal.

The sun was still hanging high when I left my apartment. Hot pavement radiated up through my sneakers, and the air had that sticky warmth that made every fabric cling to your skin. Typical summer in the city — loud, sweaty, alive. Kids laughing in the distance, a dog barking from a balcony somewhere overhead. The kind of day that was made for ice cream and spontaneous plans.

And yet, I knew where she'd be — probably holed up in her apartment with the curtains drawn and her laptop screen glowing judgmentally at her.

She hadn't said as much, but I could tell. The texts had gotten shorter. The calls came less often, and when they did, there was a weariness in her voice. Like even talking was one more thing she didn't quite have the energy for.

I climbed the steps to her building two at a time, heart pounding slightly from the heat more than the effort. Still, I paused outside her door.

Three knocks. Sharp, but not rushed.

There was a moment of silence. I could hear soft music playing inside — something instrumental and moody. Typical Yuna soundtrack when she was deep in her own head.

Then the door creaked open.

And there she was.

Hair tied up in a lazy bun, loose t-shirt hanging off one shoulder, her glasses slightly askew. She blinked at me like she'd just come out of a nap, or maybe a fog.

"Hey," she said, voice low and scratchy in a way that somehow made my chest ache.

I held up the two paper tickets like they were winning lottery numbers.

"Movie night," I said. "Rooftop screening. 7:30. You, me, and a critically-acclaimed love story with subtitles."

She squinted at the tickets like they were written in another language.

"It's Wednesday."

"Exactly."

"That's not a reason."

"It is if you're free."

"I'm not."

I tilted my head. "Really? What pressing plans do you have? Intense scrolling? Judging yourself for not writing? Alphabetizing your sticky notes?"

Her mouth twitched, and for a second, I saw it — the ghost of a smile. She sighed and leaned her shoulder against the doorframe.

"I'm just... stuck, Seokmin," she murmured. "The words aren't coming. I feel like I'm floating in place."

"Which is why," I said, stepping closer, "you need a main character moment."

There it was. I said the line.

She blinked.

Then laughed, soft and incredulous, like she didn't mean to. "Did you rehearse that?"

"Maybe."

Her smile cracked through fully now, and I swear, it lit up the entire hallway.

"I've got snacks," I added. "Your favorite — the caramel popcorn that gets stuck in your teeth and makes you hate yourself a little bit."

"You're really playing all your cards."

"And I brought a blanket. Just in case you try to use 'city breeze' as a dramatic excuse to cancel."

She studied me, eyes narrowing slightly — not in suspicion, but like she was trying to see through me. She always had that look. Like she was reading a line I hadn't said yet.

"Is this a pity invite?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"No," I said. Too quickly. "I just... I thought of you. That's all."

She didn't say anything. Not at first. Just looked down at the tickets, then back up at me. Her expression softened, like she was letting go of something heavy she didn't realize she'd been carrying all day.

"Okay," she said quietly. "Just let me change."

I exhaled — probably too visibly — and she smirked as she turned and disappeared into the apartment.

While I waited outside, I glanced down at the tickets again. The film was one I hadn't even heard of until that morning — some artsy, atmospheric indie flick with a too-long title. But it had an open rooftop venue, fairy lights, skyline views, and a soundtrack that screamed nostalgia. That was all I needed.

Well, that — and her.

She came out ten minutes later, wearing a light denim jacket over a sundress, her hair now loosely curled and a tiny bit frizzy from the humidity. She looked casual, effortless — the kind of beauty that sneaks up on you if you aren't paying attention. Not that I ever stopped.

"All set?" she asked.

I held out my arm with an exaggerated flourish. "Lead the way, main character."

She rolled her eyes, but I saw the grin she tried to hide.

And as we stepped into the fading sunlight, the sky a soft peach behind the buildings, I couldn't help but wonder:

Maybe this was the moment the story began to change.

.

The rooftop is peaceful now. The movie has started, but the world around us feels suspended, as if everything has slowed down, just for a moment. The screen flickers with soft light, casting a glow that dances over the crowd, bathing the people in a warm, golden hue. The air is heavy with the warmth of summer, but there's also a cool breeze that slips between the cracks, brushing against the skin like a whisper. It smells faintly of grilled meat from the food trucks down below, the kind of smell that makes your stomach growl without warning.

I can hear the soft hum of the city beneath us — the distant rumble of traffic, the muffled chatter from nearby conversations, the far-off clinking of bottles and glasses from a bar that's open late. But up here, on this rooftop, it's quieter. A space carved out from the noise. There's an unspoken intimacy in the air — the kind you don't notice until it's already there.

And then there's her.

Yuna. Sitting beside me. Just being.

The space between us is narrow, but it feels wide in the most unsettling way. We've been friends for so long that this proximity, this closeness, should feel easy — normal, even. But tonight it doesn't.

Tonight, everything feels sharper. More vivid.

I can feel the heat of her shoulder brushing against mine. It's not an uncomfortable heat, not at all. It's the kind of warmth that feels natural, like we've always been this close, like the space between us has always existed. It's the sort of warmth that lingers on the skin long after the touch has gone, like a mark that can't quite fade. And it doesn't make me uncomfortable — no. It makes my heart beat just a little faster. Makes the air feel thick and full of possibilities.

Our legs are stretched out in front of us, and I feel the lightest touch of her leg against mine. A brief, accidental brush — but hell, it's enough to send a shock through me. It's not the first time this has happened. We've sat this close a hundred times, in our cozy spots in the apartment, on the couch with our legs tangled under blankets, eating takeout and laughing at old sitcom reruns. The usual. But tonight? Tonight feels different.

I'm aware of every little detail now. The way her knee hovers just above mine, the way the fabric of her dress brushes against my skin in the gentle breeze. It's so small, so subtle, but I feel it like it's electric, like my whole body is hyper-aware of her in a way it's never been before.

I reach for the popcorn in the middle, mostly out of habit, to break the silence that's settled around us. She looks at me for a second, her eyes flicking over the motion of my hand as I stretch toward the bag, and she reaches for it too. Her fingers brush against mine as she takes a handful, and it's like the world narrows for a brief moment, the touch reverberating through me in ways I'm not quite ready for.

"Thanks," she murmurs, her voice low, soft, and I nod, swallowing down the sudden dryness in my throat.

She's not looking at me now. Her attention is on the screen, her eyes fixed on the characters as they wade through their messy, complicated love. The plot isn't anything new — two people falling in and out of love, a lot of misunderstanding, a lot of heartache, the typical trope. But I'm not really watching the movie anymore.

I'm watching her.

The way the soft glow of the screen catches her face. It highlights the curve of her jaw, the delicate arch of her cheekbones. The shadows across her features make her look... different, like she's someone else, someone new, even though I've known her for years. I watch the way the light bounces off her skin, making it glow in a way that's almost otherworldly. Everything about her feels softer in this moment, more real than anything I've ever seen in a film.

I notice her lips — how they part ever so slightly when she smiles at a line from the movie. It's a small, almost invisible shift, just a curl of the corners of her mouth, but it's enough to stop me in my tracks. I've seen that smile a thousand times, but tonight it feels like the first time.

Her eyes flicker toward me, and I realize I've been staring for too long. I look away quickly, clearing my throat, trying to focus back on the movie, but I can't shake the feeling that something has shifted. Something between us.

I laugh at the next line from the movie — something witty, something meant to be funny, but I'm aware of how shallow it sounds in the silence that hangs between us. Yuna doesn't even notice my laugh, or maybe she does, but she doesn't acknowledge it.

I catch her glance, though. Her eyes flicker to my face, briefly landing on my lips as they curve in amusement. And for a second, I wonder if she notices how close we are now — how our breaths are almost in sync, how my hand is barely an inch from hers. I wonder if she feels it too — that something in the air, that almost-connection that we've been dancing around for so long.

I can't help it. I want to ask her. I want to know if she's thinking the same thing I am.

But before I can say anything, the movie shifts into one of those cliché scenes — the one where the couple, under the stars, shares a vulnerable confession of love.

It's supposed to be one of those grand, sweeping moments in the story, the kind you see in every romance. But tonight, it feels different. Tonight, it hits. The words the characters exchange feel too real, too close to what I've been thinking for weeks, for months.

I glance at Yuna. She leans back, her arms stretched behind her, resting on the blanket. Her eyes are trained on the screen, but I see the soft furrow in her brow, the way her lips tighten as she watches the couple on the screen.

"Things like that only happen in movies," she murmurs under her breath, half-joking, but I can hear the sadness, the weight that lingers beneath her words. The longing, too — the part of her that still believes love, the real kind, only exists in fiction.

I feel it. The ache behind her voice. And I hate it.

It's as if she's resigned herself to the idea that this — the kind of connection we've had for years, the kind that feels effortless, natural, like it could be something — could never be more than something that only happens in the movies.

I freeze. The words I've been holding back rise up in my chest, and before I can stop myself, they slip out.

"Do they have to?" I whisper, and it feels like I've shattered something in the space between us. I don't even realize how heavy the question is until I see her reaction.

She freezes too. For the briefest of moments, her hand hovers in the air, the popcorn suspended just above her lap, like she's forgotten how to move. Her eyes snap to mine, and there's a flicker of surprise — no, more than surprise. Shock.

It's so quick, but it's there — in the way she freezes, in the way her breath hitches.

I hold her gaze, not looking away. I don't want to. I can feel my heart thudding in my chest, each beat growing louder, faster, as the seconds stretch between us.

Her lips part, but she doesn't speak at first. It's like she's collecting herself, like the weight of the moment is too much to say something casual, too much to just laugh it off like she's always done.

"I—" She begins, but the word hangs there, unfinished. Like she doesn't know how to continue. It's not uncertainty, though. It's more like... too many things have built up, too many unspoken words between us, too many years of waiting, of pretending that we were just friends.

Her eyes flicker away from mine, back to the screen, but the look in them doesn't fade. If anything, it deepens. It's sharper now, like she's searching for something — or maybe she's trying to hide something from me. But I don't think she can. Not anymore.

I don't know what to do. I don't know how to close the distance between us — not physically, but emotionally. It's too much to carry, this feeling that's swelling inside of me, this thing between us that neither of us has acknowledged out loud. It's always been there, buried beneath our jokes and shared moments, but tonight, it feels like it's on the edge of spilling over.

I wish I could wrap my arm around her. Pull her close, make it easier. But it feels too soon. Too soon, and yet, I'm not sure how much longer I can wait.

For a long moment, we sit there, side by side. The city hums below, the movie flickers, and time feels like it's both moving and standing still. We don't speak. We don't need to.

But something has changed. I can feel it. The tension in the air is almost tangible now, and it's not going anywhere.

And when her voice finally breaks the silence again, it's softer this time, almost like she's saying it to herself. "I guess... things don't have

.

The air feels cool now, the kind of cool that always settles in after the heat of the day has faded away. It's the kind of chill that brushes your skin like a soft caress, inviting you to savor the quiet moments before the night truly takes hold. The breeze carries the scent of something distant, like the faint smell of grilled meat wafting from one of the late-night food trucks nearby, but it's so soft that it's almost imperceptible. There's something comforting about the city at this hour — the streets are still lit but far fewer people are out, and it's as if the whole city is slowing down, taking a collective breath before the rush of the next day.

We walk side by side, our footsteps in sync, but tonight it feels like we're walking through a dream — slow, deliberate, but with a sense of unease, like something's on the edge of being realized. My thoughts are tangled, restless. I can feel the weight of them in my chest. I glance over at Yuna, and the way the lamplight spills over her hair, casting it in a soft, golden glow, makes my heart skip a beat. It's funny how something as ordinary as the light can make her seem so... ethereal. The waves of her hair catch the light in this way that makes her look almost untouchable. Her expression is peaceful, but there's something deeper, something I can't quite read. It's like she's somewhere between here and another place, lost in thoughts she hasn't shared yet.

We've walked down these same streets before. Countless times, in fact. But tonight, every step feels like we're on unfamiliar ground, even though the path is so well-worn. The rhythm of our shoes hitting the pavement feels different — heavier, as if the weight of our words, unspoken, is beginning to pull on us.

And the silence. It's not the kind of silence that's awkward or uncomfortable — not anymore. It's the kind of silence that carries meaning. It's the silence of things that have always been there, sitting beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to rise. And maybe tonight, the right moment is finally here. But it's not easy. Not for me, at least.

"Yuna," I say, my voice coming out rougher than usual. It's not just the cool air that makes my breath feel thicker — it's everything. All of the things I've never said, the things I've kept locked away because I've been too scared to speak them out loud. But they're spilling out now, whether I'm ready or not.

She turns her head toward me, her eyes soft, as if she's already sensing that something's about to change. Her gaze is expectant, but it doesn't pressure me. It's the way she always is with me — patient, understanding, like she knows I need time to find the right words, even if it takes longer than I want it to.

"I've never said this," I continue, my throat tight with the weight of what I'm about to reveal. "But there's... there's so much I haven't told you."

She raises an eyebrow, a flicker of curiosity crossing her face, but she doesn't interrupt. Instead, she stops walking, just enough to make me slow down too. Her eyes stay on mine, steady and calm, like she's waiting for me to let the words come as they need to.

I try to breathe in the cool night air, steady myself. "I've written you birthday cards," I say, and even as I say it, I realize it's been something I've thought about for years. "Do you remember those birthday cards I always get for you? The ones that always seem to fall short of what I really want to say?"

She nods, the soft smile she's wearing doesn't quite reach her eyes, though I can see the tenderness in the way she's listening to me. I can feel her presence so keenly, like I'm standing at the edge of something, and I'm afraid to take the leap.

"I've written them — God, I've written them at least ten times," I continue, the words coming faster now, almost like a confession. "Ten different versions of what I wanted to say to you. But each time I stopped. I couldn't finish them. It never felt like the right thing, the right words. It was as if no matter how hard I tried, nothing could ever fully capture what I felt."

I chuckle softly, but it's not a happy sound. It's a bitter one, filled with the weight of all the things I never allowed myself to say. "Maybe that's why I kept hoping you'd open the door and just know. I kept hoping that somehow, you'd sense it. That what I felt would be enough, even though I never said it."

I pause, swallowing, trying to fight the lump in my throat. My chest feels tight as if I've been holding my breath for years, waiting for this one moment, for her to hear me.

"But it never was," I add quietly, the regret slipping out before I can hide it. "It was never enough."

I look at her, waiting for some sort of response, but she's silent. She doesn't speak. She just looks at me with those deep, dark eyes, studying me in a way that makes me feel like she's peeling back every layer of my thoughts. It's like she can see straight through me. I feel so exposed, so vulnerable, but for some reason, I can't look away.

The stillness between us feels heavy now. The city around us continues its quiet hum, but it's as though we've stepped out of it. All of it — the noise, the world, the distractions — fades, and there's just us. And in that silence, I wonder if she can hear my heart beating in my chest, wild and erratic, unsure.

"Seokmin..." Her voice breaks through the tension, soft and tentative. She says my name like it's a question, like she's unsure of how to respond, or maybe she's unsure of me.

I stop walking, and she does the same. We're standing under a streetlamp now, and the glow from it makes her look even more surreal. Like something out of a dream. The light catches the edges of her face, accentuating the delicate features, the sharpness in her eyes, the way her mouth trembles just a little when she speaks.

I take a step closer to her, but not too close. I want to respect the space between us, but it feels like I can't stand the distance any longer. The air around us is electric now, thick with everything we haven't said.

"I always thought love had to be loud," she says, her voice quiet, barely a whisper against the city's distant murmur. But I hear every word. "I thought it had to be dramatic. A big confession. Fireworks. All of that." She gestures with her hands, almost as if she's brushing away the idea of it. The image of love she's held for so long.

I feel a pang in my chest. I understand. I've always understood. I don't want that either. I want something real. Something subtle. Something that doesn't require grand gestures, just presence. But the words are stuck in my throat, heavy, pressing down.

"Yeah," I say, barely above a murmur, "I thought that too." My words are too simple. But it's the only thing I can offer right now.

She doesn't say anything right away. Instead, her gaze softens, and her breath hitches as she meets my eyes again. There's something different in her expression now — it's not the casual detachment I've often seen from her, but something else. Something that feels more like awareness. Like we've crossed a line we can't uncross.

"But you..." she says, her voice lowering, the words like a quiet confession. She steps forward, ever so slightly, and the shift in her presence makes my breath catch in my throat. "You've been the quietest, clearest thing in my life. You're the one who's always been there, even when I didn't want to see it. The one who showed up, who understood." Her words spill out, tentative but sure, like she's finally letting go of something she's been holding for a long time. "And I think that's what I was waiting for. For someone like you."

The world shifts around me, and I feel like everything has finally clicked into place. A weight lifts from my chest, and a warmth settles in its place. My pulse quickens, and for a moment, I'm at a loss for words. How do I tell her that I've been waiting for the same thing? That I've always known there was something about her that called to me, something that didn't need to be loud or grand — it just needed to be real?

But I can't say it. Not yet. Not like this.

"I..." I start, but the words stick. I want to say it, want to say everything I've been feeling, but it's too much, too soon. So instead, I take a step closer, closing the space between us. Her eyes are still locked on mine, like she's searching for something in me — for the truth, maybe. Or for something I haven't found the courage to say.

And in that moment, I know. I know she's waiting for me to make the first move, but I can't rush it. I can't force it. So I just take a deep breath and say, quietly, "I don't want loud, dramatic love either."

She doesn't pull away. She doesn't laugh it off or look at me with uncertainty. She just watches me, the silence thick between us, until I finally reach out and brush my hand against hers. This time, she doesn't hesitate. Her fingers curl into mine, the warmth of her hand slipping into mine like it was always meant to be.

The city hums around us, but in this moment, I don't need the noise. All I need is this quiet connection, the unspoken understanding between us. And maybe that's enough. Maybe that's all we need.

.

The first drop of rain hits the back of my neck, sharp and cold, a sudden contrast against the warmth of the night air. Then another, and another, until the sky releases the weight it's been carrying. The drizzle starts as a gentle whisper, but it soon grows into a soft, persistent rain, falling over us like a secret, quietly shared between the two of us and the world. The rain isn't heavy or loud — it doesn't demand attention — instead, it settles around us like a delicate curtain, wrapping us in a cocoon of intimacy. There's something fragile about it, almost as if this moment, this connection, could be swept away at any second.

I barely notice the shift in the air, but the moment the first raindrops hit, I feel a shift inside myself. There's a certain comfort in it, as though nature itself is signaling that this, right here, is exactly where we're meant to be. Not a moment too soon or too late. Just this soft rainfall, like it's giving us permission to be here with each other, in this quiet, stolen space where time seems to slow.

Under the streetlamp, the rain catches in the light, sparkling in the golden glow. It doesn't feel like the city anymore. The world beyond the pool of light is lost to us, blurred into shadows. The mist from the rain floats in the air like a veil, softening everything, blurring the harsh edges of the world we're leaving behind. All that exists is the light, the rain, and us. The city's noise is just a hum, distant and faint. It's as if the world has quieted for us, given us this brief, perfect moment, where nothing else matters but the two of us standing here in the rain.

I look at her — really look at her this time, taking in every detail that's always been there but has never felt so real. Her hair, damp and darkened by the rain, clings to her face in wet strands, glistening as the light from the streetlamp catches the droplets. Some of them collect at the tips of her lashes, and when she blinks, I see the water shimmer against her dark eyes, making them deeper, almost bottomless. Her face, half in shadow, half in light, looks different in the rain. Softer, more delicate, more there. Like she's been revealed to me in a way I never understood, even though we've known each other for so long.

I've seen her laugh, seen her smile, seen her angry, but this — this is different. The quiet of the night seems to have drawn something out of her, something that isn't obvious, something that isn't spoken. There's a stillness in the way she's looking at me, a soft focus in her eyes that tells me she's no longer unsure. The hesitation, the distance, the things we've both kept hidden — they've melted away with the rain, dissolving into the soft night air.

She's standing close now, close enough that I can feel her breath, warm and steady, mixing with the cool air between us. The way her chest rises and falls, each movement so gentle, so calm, gives me a sense of peace that I didn't know I needed. Her body is warm against mine, but the warmth doesn't come from the heat of the night or the streetlamp. It's something else. A quiet kind of heat that lingers in the air between us, something so familiar that it feels as though we've always been here, standing like this, waiting for this moment.

And then, there's this unspoken shift — a pull, subtle but undeniable. Everything slows down, like the rain itself has decided to freeze time for us. I can't say who moves first — is it me? Is it her? Maybe it's both of us, slowly leaning in, drawn together by something far deeper than the simple proximity of our bodies. The distance that once felt too wide between us is suddenly gone, erased by the shared space we've carved out in this rain-soaked night. My heart is racing in my chest, a steady thrum, like it's trying to escape, like it knows that this is what it's been waiting for.

And before I can fully register what's happening, her lips are there — soft, tentative, brushing against mine in a way that makes everything feel fragile, like we're both unsure of whether this is real or not. The kiss isn't anything like the ones you see in the movies — no fireworks, no rushing adrenaline. It's quiet, hesitant, almost awkward, like we're both testing the waters, unsure of what we're about to do, but too drawn to each other to stop. Her lips are warm against mine, the moisture of the rain mixing with the warmth of her skin. I feel the faintest tremble from her, and I know it mirrors my own.

For a few seconds, it's unsure. Like we're both learning how to be here, how to be with each other in this new space. Her fingertips brush lightly against my arm, tentative, like she's unsure if she should hold me, touch me, or pull away. It's such a small, delicate thing, but it's exactly what this moment is — small, quiet, delicate, and yet somehow so profoundly right. The rain falls steadily around us, but it's not cold. In this moment, the rain feels like a gentle barrier, like a shield from the rest of the world. It's just us. The rain. And the soft, tentative pressure of her lips against mine.

And then, slowly, it deepens. Not in a rush, not in a frantic, overwhelming way, but in a quiet, deliberate progression. It's as if we both suddenly realize that this is the culmination of everything we've been waiting for, everything we've both held back from saying or doing. The awkwardness fades, and there's a warmth that blooms between us — the kind of warmth that isn't just physical, but something deep and honest. The rain becomes louder, its drops falling harder, but it doesn't matter. We're sheltered in this small moment, wrapped in the quiet rhythm of the world around us, yet we're entirely focused on each other.

I'm not sure how long the kiss lasts, but when we finally pull away, it's not with the rush of breathlessness that you'd expect after something so intimate. Instead, there's a quiet kind of peace that settles over us. My heart is still pounding, but now it's steady, a calm echo of the chaos that came before. I open my eyes slowly, the world around us still a hazy blur, like everything else has faded away. And when I meet her gaze, I see the same softness in her eyes, that same stillness, like she's trying to take in the gravity of what just happened — of what we just shared.

She doesn't say anything right away, and neither do I. There's no need. The silence between us isn't awkward; it's comforting. It's filled with the quiet understanding that we've both crossed some invisible line — that we've arrived at a place where words no longer need to be spoken. Our lips are still warm from the kiss, our bodies still close, but it feels like there's so much more unsaid between us. The rain continues to fall, steady and persistent, but in this moment, it feels like it's part of us, like it's part of the truth we're both realizing.

She reaches up, almost instinctively, her fingers brushing through the damp strands of my hair at my temple. It's a light touch, soft and careful, like she's trying to ground herself, as if to remind herself that this is real, that we're really here. Her hand lingers there, just for a moment, but it's enough. It's enough to make my heart do something strange, something that feels like both relief and anticipation.

And then, she smiles. It's not a big, bright smile — it's softer, a little shy, and yet it feels like everything. In that smile, I see it all. The uncertainty, the hesitation, the quiet hope that's been there all along. Her eyes soften, and I know then that she's here with me. She's with me, in this moment, fully, completely, and without hesitation.

The rain still falls around us, but it's no longer just rain. It's part of this. Part of the quiet acceptance between us. The world beyond the streetlamp's glow is a blur, distant and irrelevant. There's only this space, this small bubble where nothing else matters. Not the passing time, not the world, not the things left unsaid. Only the way her hand rests on mine now, the way her fingers fit so naturally against my own.

I step back a little, just enough to catch my breath, but I don't let go of her. I reach for her hand, and this time, she doesn't pull away. Her fingers slip into mine, and it feels so simple, so natural, like we've always been doing this, always been here. We don't need to speak. We don't need to rush. We just stand there, together, letting the rain fall around us, letting the world continue as it will, while we remain still, in this perfect, quiet space.

It's not flashy. It's not dramatic. But in this rain, in this moment, it feels perfect. It's familiar. It's home.

.

As we stand there, rain gently falling around us, the quiet of the moment wrapping itself around us like a soft blanket, I realize something. It didn't look like a movie scene. There were no grand gestures, no sweeping music or dramatic confessions. It wasn't flashy or perfect in the way love is often portrayed on screen. But as I look at her — really look at her — I know that's what makes it so much more meaningful. It looked like us. Two people who have always been there, in the quiet, the subtle, the real. And maybe that's even better.

I hope you liked the story if you have any thoughts i'd love to see them!

[mejaemin]

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orbit - xu minghao

wc: 2.3k summary: minghao, your old friend who hasn’t talked to you in weeks, invites you to choreograph a dance with him, and there’s a feeling rising that neither of you can ignore warnings: fluff, childhood friends to lovers, very very vague angst an: hehe remember when i said i would never post this? guess who got random inspo today and got it done !!!

listen🎧: orbit - the8

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it’s late into the night, and you’re sitting on the floor of the dance studio with your long-term friend, minghao. you met when you were both in your youth, still learning how to dance, which was obviously quite a long time ago, so it’s routine for you both to meet up in the studio every once in a while. dancing together is how your friendship started, after all. it’s been quite a long time since the last time you both even spoke together, way before you became a seasoned choreographer and way before minghao became a popular dance influencer.

you have quite a few takeout boxes full of food laid out on the ground, sharing the variety between one another. it was another late night choreographing together, and though it wasn’t really the healthiest idea, you and he enjoyed it thoroughly.

right now he and you were taking a short break after coming to a roadblock in the dance you were choreographing together. minghao had a producer friend that he often hung out with, and after a night where they were simply messing around in the studio, they created a song minghao had written and sang himself. the moment its sound laid upon your ears, it was magical. it was something he had randomly sent to you after weeks of not messaging one another, but you’re eternally thankful that he did. the song was truly heaven sent, and of course you wasted no time in letting him know. ever in tune with your thoughts, he invited you to your favorite dance studio to help him choreograph it. it wasn’t going to be released anywhere, but he enjoyed it enough to end up recording and sharing it on social media.

you’re still chewing away when minghao sighs, folding up his hoodie and putting it on the floor next to your feet, resting his head on it. “now that i’m thinking about it, we haven’t danced together in a while, have we?” he asks, looking up at you.

“hm, i guess we haven’t. i haven’t seen much of you, actually.” you grab a piece of food with your utensils, lowering it towards his mouth. he takes it gratefully, finishing it before responding.

he hums, “you’re right, i’m sorry about that. i’m happy to be back with you though, especially here, in our zone.”

“true.“ you sit in slightly awkward silence for a few beats before speaking up again. “i really missed this, hao.”

his eyebrow raised and a playful smirk crossed his face. “missed what? dancing with me, or just me?”

you lightly smack his shoulder, giggling softly. despite playing it off like it was simple teasing, he hit the nail right on the head. you really did miss him, to the point that it hurt. “you know what i mean.. now, let’s continue, shall we?”

minghao takes your hand, pulling you up off the floor and to the middle of the practice room. you stand there setting up your speakers while he puts your food to the side. once done, you play his song once again and take his hands.

the choreography you’ve designed together is quite intense, but not in the sense that there’s a lot of strong or aggressive movements. it’s not like that at all, and instead uses movements that hold that same intensity and feeling all while keeping movements minimal and graceful.

when the intro was choreographed, minghao recorded it and sent it to the friend he was working on it with. in response to it, vernon, you learned his name was, replied saying there was “mad tension” with the looking emoji. upon reading it, you both felt extremely bashful at it. there’s no tension anywhere, it’s simply dancing to a song about yearning, but platonically.. right?

since that video was created, you’ve finished nearly the entire thing. the whole song has been at least blocked, and now you’re running through it once again.

now that the song has started and you’ve started, you’re starting to see how minghao’s friend saw tension between the two of you. the lyrics really are something else, and when he sent the audio file to you it had you question who he was talking about. the choreography definitely fits the vibe of the concept he was going for. every move he makes is the perfect mix of forceful and fluid, and you match it perfectly.

you get to the pre chorus, and you finally make contact with him. the whole time you were dancing around each other, envisioning backup dancers who would make it look like there was a crowd you were dancing through, but then as the chorus gets ready to come on you finally touch. each time you do it feels different than it ever has. you’ve danced with minghao many times, but after such a long break you feel a little more antsy every time it happens. it’s almost as if every time his skin touches yours, your body fills with an overwhelming feeling you can’t name to the point where you want to keep him there. in contact with you.

finally, after a few counts staying in the same position, his hand on your cheek, you split. if you had held it any longer, you might not have been able to control your thoughts. after smooth adlibs come through the speaker, you begin to perform the chorus side by side with an almost effortless fluidity. you’re dancing around each other, still exuding a feeling of want, just without touching. it’s easy to put yourself in the mood and almost begin acting as you dance together.

as the outro comes, you are back together, with an ending pose of him holding you almost in a dip. the words end and it follows with you two walking off together, his hand on your lower back as the music fades away. once it ended, you stood there to catch your breath. you knew he was looking at you, you could feel it in your soul, but it was too hard to look at him. there’s something in you that’s too afraid, as if you’ll look at him and your brain will shift, causing something in your friendship to evolve.

“that was good. i think we’re ready to record it now, how do you feel?” he asks, going to step in front of you. you’re finally forced to look him in the eye, and when you do, your brain switches.

the last time you saw the man was when his smile lines weren’t as harsh, and his hair wasn’t a muddy blonde. despite all of this, he’s still the same man you pictured when you wondered, ‘how is my hao doing?’. he’s still the same man who makes your skin tingle every time you touch, just like it did when you both started dancing. if anything, age has only made him more attractive. not only have his looks become seasoned, but so have his skills, in both dancing and singing. he’s grown all the more attractive, and the wait has been worth it, but you decide it’s about time it ends.

“yeah, of course.” you nod, albeit dazedly.

minghao takes a moment to set up a camera in a place that looks good, and you take this time to take a short walk. after stepping out of the studio, you’re met with the night sky. you’d try to act surprised, but your many dance sessions with your best friend always stretched into the late night, and even early morning. a smile crosses your face as you remember the many times during childhood where you’d receive phone calls from each other’s parents inquiring about your whereabouts. never wanting to end the night, you’d always lie about it until one of them came to the studio and got you themselves. you were a little mischievous as a duo, but that’s how some of your best memories were made.

finally, the setup is finished, and you’re able to start the recording. it goes smoothly, both of you performing the choreography in a manner so flawless that it could be finished in one take. once done, minghao hands you a water bottle before sitting down with you to play it back. you’re shoulder to shoulder, leaning close to watch your work through the small screen of the film camera. it looks.. good, almost a little too good. minghao perfectly captured the yearning he speaks of in the lyrics, and you were able to dance with a desirable aura that matched him perfectly. every time you touch, you can see the look in your eyes, and some sort of emotion in his even through the ‘acting’.

once it’s done, he adds you to a group chat with his producer friend and video editor to send a clip of the recording to them both. it only takes a few minutes for the two people to start reacting, raving about the chemistry, but your friend puts his phone down before you can see it in full. you two sit there for a moment, in silence, until you both turn to each other.

“can i tell you something?”

“did you feel it too?”

you both speak up at the same time, and your body heats up in embarrassment. he only smiles, gesturing for you to speak first. you turn to face forward, still keeping close to him, fidgeting with your shoelace while gaining the courage to speak up again.

you draw a deep, shaky breath, “did you get that feeling too..? when we were dancing?”

he’s silent, and your eyes flick over to him for a moment, seeing him in thought. “we work well together,” he starts, a hand reaching over to take hold of yours. he knows you’re nervous, and you’ve always had a habit of picking at your fingers. “it really shows on camera, and i do believe we have a sort of.. chemistry.”

“..is that what you were going to say?” you turn your head to fully look at him, and find that he’s already looking back at you.

he subconsciously reaches out for your hair, beginning to twirl a strand around his fingers. “somewhat.” his eyes trail all over your face, and you could’ve sworn they fell on your lips for a moment before flicking straight back up. “i was going to mention how long it’s been since we’ve done this. or, since we’ve seen or even spoken to each other at all.”

you hum. “it’s been quite a while… i thought you were starting to forget me.”

“i could never.” he immediately shuts the thought down. “i know i haven’t been the best at keeping contact, but i could never leave you behind. truthfully, i’ve missed you a lot. more than i let on.”

“really…?” he’s getting closer, the entire sides of your bodies touching. at your genuinely shocked expression, eyes wide and glossy, his knuckles brush your cheek as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. in all honesty, you have no idea what’s going on anymore. the man you’ve been dreaming of since childhood is occupying your space in a way that has you forgetting how to speak.

“of course.” this time his eyes move slower as he looks at your eyes, from the left to the right, then down to your lips. when he looks back up, he’s looking straight into your eyes, almost as if he’s searching for something. “you’re a really important part of my life,” he says your name, and it has you zoning in on his mouth at the words that come out of it. “i truly do regret how we drifted apart. and for what it’s worth, i did feel it too… that spark. i still miss you, you know.. and if you’re comfortable, i hope to never let you go again..”

he’s leaning closer, your faces getting closer by the second. “please don’t..” your voice is barely above a whisper, the moment too delicate for you to raise your voice any higher. he shakes his head, voice so faint that you can’t hear it. i won’t, he murmurs, and it’s the last thing he says before your eyes flutter shut.

your noses touch first, brushing against each other gently, before your lips finally connect. it’s so soft, so gentle, and he lingers for a moment, as if he’s truly trying to keep this in his memories. when he pulls away, it’s only for a second, looking at you to make sure you’re comfortable, before his fingers hold your chin to bring you back in. he gives you a few quick kisses, getting used to the feeling, before staying there. when you finally pull away, your cheeks are matching his with a deep pink, but it doesn’t feel awkward. you don’t feel like running, or like anything’s been ruined. it feels right, and you’d even go to the length of saying that you feel more complete than you did at the beginning of your meetup.

he wipes the corner of his mouth, “i’m sorry i didn’t ask.”

you shake your head, dismissing his apology as you take his hand. “you don’t have to. you could do it again if you wanted to..”

at your subtle nod to your feelings, he relaxes, leaning back into the wall behind him with a soft smile. “don’t you think we should spend more time with each other first? go on dates, make up for lost time?” his head still rests on the wall, but he turns to look at you.

“that’d be nice.” you hold onto his arm, leaning close enough to rest your head on his shoulder. this amount of skinship is normal between you two and always has been, and the feeling of it hasn’t even changed. it just feels a little more special now, and you know he feels it too. it’s as if you’re finally letting go of the breath you’ve been holding, finally coming back together and becoming what you’ve always wanted to be with one another, whether you knew it or not.

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perm taglist: @chenlezip @coquettejunnie

[angelnumber27]

My father completely refuses to help pay for taking my cat to the vet to be euthanized but he’s losing function and mobility more every day and he’s not doing very well. At all. He’s dying and I have to just sit and watch it and it’s torturous. If y’all have anything to spare within the next few days please help if you can. I need him to be fully at peace as soon as possible.

My cash app is $juliagw please dm me for paypal or venmo if you’d like to help out 🖤🥺

at my local animal hospital euthanasia costs $150. That’s what I was told when I called. He is so shaky and keeps falling over to the point I’m horrified he will fall down the steps or something while im asleep. I really really don’t want him to be hurt. I’m just devastated and I have absolutely no idea what to do rn.

[96wonulicious]

big baby - k.mg

>> part 2 of: treat you better - k.mg

genre: fluff; wc: 1,3k

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

..."You know, I could treat you so much better than him..."

The next morning you woke up, Mingyu's arms still wrapped around you. You tried getting out of his grasp but his grip only tightened. "Gyuuu I want to get up" you whined. "Just a little longer" he said and pulled you on top of him. Now there is no way you can get out so you just accepted your fate.

Until you had an idea. You almost felt a little bad, especially since he was sleeping so peacefully but you had to get up. You started tickling him until he let go of you. "That is SO unfair" he said laughing. He grabbed a pillow and hit you, which just escalated the situation.

You were having a pillow fight, frequently landing some hits but also receiving some. You tackled him and started tickling him again. "STOP I CAN'T ANYMORE" he said laughing histerically. You stopped and looked at him, realising you were sitting on top of your shirtless best friend.

"What's wrong?" he asked grinning at you. He knew exactly what was "wrong". In a swift motion he flipped you around so he was on top of you. Your cheeks were burning at this point and he could see that. His face slowly moved towards yours. His eyes never leaving your lips. You were mentally preparing for what was about to happen next.

You closed your eyes, trying to keep a steady breath when you felt Mingyu's breath tickle your ears. "Don't start something you can't finish" he whispered seductively. Then he hit you with a suprise attack and tickled you without showing any mercy. You laughed until your sides hurt and tears formed in your eyes.

Mingyu then stopped and got up. "Come on, let's make breakfast" he suggested. You jumped up running towards the kitchen, Mingyu following close behind you. You opened the fridge and took out some yoghurt you had. "What do you want?" you asked. "I don't know..What are you eating?" "Some yoghurt. Want some too?" "Sure"

As you guys were eating, the room fell quiet. "How do you feel?" he asked all of a sudden. You knew why he was asking that. "Right now I'm okay I guess. Maybe I'm a little hurt that he would do that, but...maybe it was a sign. A sign that he wasn't the right one you know? I certainly think the right one wouldn't cheat" you chuckled saying the last part.

"I would never cheat on you..." Mingyu whispered as quietly as he could. You heard it but pretended you didn't. "What did you say??" you asked. "Oh nothing I just agreed with you" he smiled and continued eating his yoghurt.

-3 months later-

The thing with Brian didn't bother you much anymore. More or less it still hurt your ego a bit, but other than that you were finally okay again. It happened faster than you thought it would. Maybe because Mingyu was a great help in distracting you from it, but also helping you talk about it. It seemed like all of this made your friendship even stronger than before.

You were sitting at home, wondering what to do with your life. You decided to call Mingyu to see what he was up to.

"Hello?" someone answered, someone that wasn't Mingyu "Uhm hello? Is Mingyu there?" "He's not here right now, this is Minghao speaking. Do you want me to tell him something?" the voice said. You never talked to any of his friends before. "Uhm I just wanted to know what he was up to since I'm bored" you laughed nervously. "Well, you could come visit us at practice if you want. Then we can finally get to know you better, especially since you're Mingyus girlfriend" Minghao said. "Girlfriend..?" You asked "Well, you're saved under ___ with a million hearts so I thought you're his girlfriend" Minghao said, sounding a bit embarrassed "Oh no it's okay haha, we're just best friends. Would you send me the address though?? Then I'll come visit you guys" you smiled. "Of course!! See you later then" Minghao said and shortly after sent you the address over Mingyu's phone.

You got ready, trying to look at least a bit presentable to meet the guys for the first time. I hope he tells him that I'm coming. After you got to the company you were greeted by who seems to be one of his friends . "Hey!! I'm Minghao, the one you talked to on the phone" he said and kindly greeted you. "Mingyu has been talking so much about you, we're happy we finally get to actually meet you" he happily exclaimed. "Talked about me..?" you asked with a confused look.

"I may shouldn't have said that.." he whispered and laughed. You just laughed with him until you were infront of a door. You can hear music and some people inside. "Let me go in first" he said and motioned for you to hide behind him.

"Mingyu I have a surprise for you!!" Minghao said. "Really??" you heard your best friend say before running up towards you guys. Minghao stepped out of the way and revealed you as the "suprise". "___!" Mingyu screamed and picked you up. "I'm so happy you're here" he said after you told him to let you down. "Guys this is ___ my best friend!!" he said while you just stood there awkwardly.

You sat down with some of the guys and just started talking to them. You got along with them really really well. You laughed a lot with them and came to find out that all of them are so nice. When you started talking to Seungcheol, you could feel a pair of eyes on you. You looked around and saw Mingyu glaring at you and Seungcheol.

You went back to talking and laughing with Seungcheol, talking about everything possible. Suddenly Mingyu came up behind you and put an arm around your shoulder. You turned to look at him and asked him if he was okay. "Could we maybe go out just for a second?" he asked.

You agreed and left the room. "What's wrong??" you asked. "Do you like Seungcheol?" he bursted out. "What? I've known him for literally the past 20 minutes. He seems nice but that is way too early to say you like someone" you laughed. He apologised and you guys went back in. Why would he ask me that? And why would he care?

After some more very interesting and different conversations with his friends and spending the whole day with them you decided to go home. Mingyu accompanied you on your walk. "Thanks for walking me home" you said and hugged him. "No problem" he smiled, "also uhm, I hope this isn't too weird to ask but I've been thinking about this thing for some time now.." "What thing?" you asked a bit concerned. For whatever reason your first thought was that he wanted to end the friendship. "Us. I've been thinking about us.." he started", "I thought about how happy you make me, about my feelings in general and.." he looked down, almost acting a bit embarrassed to actually say what he wanted to say. "Please Gyu, tell me what's bothering you. What are you trying to tell me??" you said and took his hands in yours. "You know you can tell me everything right?" you assured him. 

"I love you yn" he blurted out. You didn't say anything at first. Seeing the lack of reaction, tears started welling up in his eyes. "I'm sorry.." he whispered, "I shouldn't hav-" you shush him, cupping his face with your hands. "Don't be sorry Gyu. There is no reason to cry, I haven't rejected you have I?" you smiled at him. Slowly you closed the gap between you two and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. It didn't last long, but it made obvious how you felt about his confession. 

"I love you too, my big baby" you chuckled.

[mymegrokosmos]

"josh, I can't keep doing this."

you sighed, rubbing a hand over your face as you glanced across the small table at your best friend. he offered you a sad smile, reaching over to take your hand.

"it's like he just doesn't care anymore and I'm so tired of being the only one fighting for this relationship."

joshua slid your cup closer and leaned back in his seat. "then don't."

you blinked, sipping the coffee and curling your fingers around the warm mug. "what do you mean?"

"I mean," he shrugged. "stop fighting. if he isn't willing to put in the effort then you'll know it's over and if he is... then maybe there's something there left to save and you two just need to sit down and talk about it again."

you considered his words. "I don't know. I think... that maybe we moved to fast and he just isn't ready to love me."

your best friend took your hand again. "like I said, stop pulling all the weight in the relationship and find out for yourself. if that's true, then he's missing out, but at least you'll know for sure instead of always wondering."

you squeezed his hand. "maybe you're right."

"I usually am."

his silly grin had you smiling and you knew that at the end of the day, however this went, you'd be okay. you nodded.

"I'll give it a try."

...

it didn’t even take him a week notice the difference in you. dinner was still waiting for him when he came home late but it was packed into the fridge in a container, cold, and you were already in bed.

you were still there but you weren't really present. you responded when he spoke to you and you listened when he had something to say but you weren't engaged. you kissed him goodbye every morning but your heart wasn't in it.

you used to reach for him, whine at him to stay an extra five minutes, plead for one more kiss before he left. now he was lucky if you even mumbled goodbye or left him a lukewarm cup of coffee when you woke up first and made a fresh pot while you were showering.

"angel?"

"yes?"

he frowned at the lack of nickname when you blinked up from your book to look at him.

"did I do something?"

you set your book down, folding the corner of the page and sitting up. "what do you mean?what's going on?"

he ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know, you tell me. first you start treating me like a stranger and now you don't even use pet names for me. what happened to hannie? baby? to love and darling and saying hello when I come home?"

you sighed. "jeonghan."

he shook his head. "no, see, there you go again. it's like you're falling out of love right in front of me."

you met his eyes. "now you know how I've felt for the last six months." you got up, picking up your half empty mug of tea and carrying to the kitchen.

his footsteps followed. "wait, you can’t just say that and then walk away from me. what do you mean?"

you set your mug in the sink and leaned back against the counter. "it feels like you checked out of our relationship a long time ago. I know work is important, but it's felt like the only priority of yours for a while now. you come home late every day, you forget plans, you blow me off for your friends, you don't answer calls or texts even to say you can’t talk you'll get back to me later."

you shrugged, looking up to meet his eyes.

"it's felt like you had better things to do and other places to be for months. you barely even notice I'm here unless you want something and it's kind of exhausting being the only one holding any of this together."

you bit your lip. it felt harsh but it needed to be said. jeonghan's eyes were sad as he stepped closer, shuffling his way over to you slowly like you'd run or slip away if he moved faster.

you leaned into his touch as he cupped your cheeks in his hands, thumbs brushing over your skin and forehead resting on yours. you sighed softly, melting and wrapping your arms around his waist as your eyes fluttered shut.

"why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I tried. you were always busy or too tired. you kept saying we'd talk about it later and we never did. eventually I got sick of being brushed off so I just stopped bringing it up."

one hand slid down to rub your back, holding you closer against his chest. "I'm sorry angel. I didn't realize it was getting that bad."

you nuzzled your cheek against his shoulder. "I just wanted to know if you were over this so I could figure out if I should move on or if there was still an us in the picture."

he pulled back at that. "there's still an us. there's still this us." he lifted your chin, eyes locked to yours as he spoke. "we're still together, and we're staying together. I'm going to fix this."

you smiled softly as his thumb brushed over your bottom lip. "that's all I wanted, hannie. I just need you to try. to feel like you still want this, want me."

he leaned in to brush his lips over yours, the barest hint of a kiss, breath ghosting over your skin. "I still want this. I'll always want this angel. want you."

you took his face in your hands. "that's all I needed to know. josh was right."

he blinked. "josh? about what? you talked to shua about us?"

you nodded, hands sliding down to rest against the sides of his neck. "I needed someone who would listen."

the hand on your waist tightened and he pressed closer. "that person should have been me."

"yeah," you kissed his nose, leaning up a little to reach. "but it wasn't."

"well, then that's where we should start."

you looked up at your boyfriend, head still leaning on his shoulder. "mm, that would probably help."

he kissed your forehead. "I don't mind that you talked to shua. you should have a support system, but maybe we can both work on being better at communicating? don't let me brush you off if it's important, and I'll try to make more time to sit down and talk with you about things."

you nodded, holding out a hand. "deal."

he linked your pinkies, lacing your fingers after the promise and kissing your fingers. "we're okay?"

you kissed his neck softly. "we still need to sit down and hash some things out, but yeah. we're going to be. if you'd still like that."

"I would." he held you for a minute, just pressing little kisses to your face as you played with the ends of his hair. "after we wrap this comeback, I'm taking some time off, and we'll go on a little trip."

"just the two of us?"

"just the two of us."

"I love you hannie."

he squeezed you tightly in reply. "I love you too, angel. forever, okay?"

[jeonwon-wonwoo]

HOSHI's NIKE Shoot Sketch

[archivegyu]

our umbrellas should always match

It was the last day of school before summer break, and the kindergarten classroom of Mrs. Park was buzzing with excitement. Twenty-four small children sat in a circle, fidgeting as they took turns sharing their vacation plans.

"I'm going to the beach with my grandparents!" announced Seungkwan proudly, puffing out his chest.

"Well, I'm going to Lotte World THREE times," countered Jeonghan with a smirk, holding up three tiny fingers for emphasis.

In the corner of the circle sat a little girl with bright eyes and a shy smile. She hadn't said much during sharing time, content to listen to her classmates' grand summer plans. Next to her sat Kim Mingyu, her best friend since before they could remember. Their parents had been college roommates, and the two children had grown up having playdates every weekend. Mingyu, tall for his age with a crooked smile, leaned over to whisper something in her ear that made her giggle.

"My mom says we're going camping with your family this summer," he whispered, grinning with excitement. "Dad bought a new tent just for us!"

"Really?" she whispered back, eyes brightening. "That's way better than Lotte World!"

Mrs. Park clapped her hands. "Children, remember to take home ALL your belongings today. The weather forecast says there might be rain this afternoon, so make sure you have your umbrellas!"

At the mention of rain, the little girl's face fell. She had forgotten her umbrella at home that morning, despite her mother's reminder. The sky outside had been so bright and sunny when she'd skipped to school; the thought of rain seemed impossible then.

As the final bell rang, the children scattered like confetti, gathering their backpacks adorned with cartoon characters and colorful lunchboxes.

"Don't push!" called out Joshua, the class helper, as Soonyoung and Chan raced toward the cubbies.

The little girl packed her things slowly, watching as one by one, her friends were picked up by their parents. Seokmin was showing off his dance moves to Hansol in the corner while Wonwoo sat quietly reading a picture book, waiting for his mother.

Suddenly, a deep rumble of thunder shook the classroom windows. The remaining children gasped collectively.

"I told you all to be prepared," Mrs. Park sighed, looking out at the rapidly darkening sky.

The little girl felt a knot forming in her stomach. Her mother would be arriving any minute, but they would have to walk three blocks in what was quickly becoming a downpour. She pressed her nose against the window, watching raindrops race down the glass.

"Mingyu! Your father is here!" Mrs. Park called out.

Mingyu jumped up from where he had been building a tower with Jun and Jihoon. He grabbed his backpack but then paused, looking back at the little girl by the window. They had arrived together that morning, their parents taking turns with drop-offs, but her mother was picking her up today. Their eyes met, and something seemed to click in his mind.

"Wait here," he told her with surprising authority for a six-year-old.

She watched curiously as Mingyu ran to his father, engaged in an animated conversation, complete with dramatic hand gestures and pointing in her direction. His father smiled knowingly and nodded, ruffling Mingyu's hair. After all, he'd known the little girl since she was born and was practically a second father to her.

A few minutes later, as parents continued arriving with umbrellas in tow, Mingyu burst back into the classroom, slightly breathless and holding something behind his back.

"Look what I found in my dad's car!" he exclaimed, revealing two small matching umbrellas with cartoonish dinosaur patterns. "Remember these? From our trip to the museum?"

The little girl's eyes widened in recognition. Two years ago, when they were just four, they had gotten caught in a surprise shower during a family outing to the museum. The gift shop had been selling children's umbrellas, and their parents had bought the matching pair on impulse.

"You still have yours?" she asked in amazement.

"Dad says I never let him throw anything away," Mingyu grinned. "Mom tried to donate it last week, but I told her we needed them for emergencies. Like today!" He puffed out his chest proudly. "Here's yours."

He handed her the slightly smaller of the two umbrellas, the one with the purple triceratops pattern rather than his blue T-Rex.

"Woah! Cool umbrellas!" exclaimed Seokmin, who had wandered over with Minghao, both gawking at the dinosaur designs.

"Are you two dating?" teased Jeonghan with a mischievous smile.

"Eww!" both Mingyu and the little girl exclaimed in unison, though neither made any move to return the umbrellas.

"We're best friends, not boyfriend-girlfriend" the little girl explained with the exasperated tone of someone who had clarified this many times before.

"Our moms were roommates in college," Mingyu added importantly. "We've known each other since we were babies."

Seungcheol, the tallest boy in class who considered himself very grown-up, rolled his eyes. "You can't date in kindergarten anyway. You have to be at least in second grade."

"Says who?" challenged Seungkwan, always ready for a debate.

"Says everyone," Seungcheol replied confidently.

"My cousin is in kindergarten and she has a boyfriend," Minghao chimed in, resulting in a chorus of "oohs" from the remaining children.

Just then, the little girl's mother appeared at the classroom door, slightly damp from the dash from the parking lot.

"Ready to go, sweetie? Oh, it's pouring out there!"

"It's okay, Mom! Mingyu brought me my dinosaur umbrella!" the little girl announced proudly, holding up her purple triceratops shield against the rain.

Her mother looked confused for a moment before recognition dawned on her face. "The matching ones from the museum? You still have those?"

Mingyu's father appeared behind her. "Found them in our garage last week. Mingyu refused to let me put them in the donation pile. Said they were 'special emergency umbrellas.'" He winked at the little girl. "Turns out he was right."

"As usual," her mother laughed, sharing the knowing look of parents whose children had been inseparable since birth.

"We're still on for dinner Friday?" Mingyu's father asked.

"Of course! I've got that new recipe I was telling you about," the little girl's mother replied.

As they prepared to leave, Mingyu and the little girl stood side by side, their dinosaur umbrellas ready for action.

"Wait!" cried Hansol, grabbing Mrs. Park's polaroid camera from her desk. "Pose for a picture!"

The pair stood back-to-back, umbrellas raised dramatically overhead like tiny dinosaur shields, their smiles wide and carefree.

"Say 'best friends forever'!" instructed Hansol.

"That's too long!" complained Mingyu.

"Say 'rawr' then!" Hansol suggested.

Just as they were about to roar, Soonyoung burst into the frame, his hands curled into claws. "Wait for me! I want to be in the dinosaur picture too!"

"But you don't have a dinosaur umbrella," Mingyu pointed out.

Soonyoung puffed out his chest. "I don't need one! I'm a tiger! And tigers are scarier than dinosaurs!" He proceeded to demonstrate by scrunching his face into what he clearly thought was a ferocious tiger snarl, but instead made him look like he had just eaten something terribly sour.

"Tigers don't go 'rawr,' they go 'ROAR!'" Soonyoung insisted, making an exaggerated roaring sound that was more of a squeaky yell.

"Dinosaurs were bigger than tigers," argued Mingyu, protectively clutching his blue T-Rex umbrella.

"But tigers are faster!" Soonyoung countered, hopping from one foot to the other to demonstrate his speed.

"Dinosaurs lived millions of years ago," Wonwoo chimed in from his reading corner, not looking up from his dinosaur picture book. "Tigers didn't exist then."

"Can I just take the picture?" Hansol sighed, the camera getting heavy in his small hands.

"Fine," huffed Soonyoung, squeezing between Mingyu and the little girl. "But I'm doing a tiger roar, not a dinosaur rawr."

"RAWR!" shouted Mingyu and the little girl.

"ROOOAAAR!" bellowed Soonyoung at the exact same time, his voice cracking mid-roar.

The resulting photo showed two smiling children with dinosaur umbrellas and one very blurry Soonyoung with his mouth wide open, causing the remaining classmates to dissolve into fits of giggles.

Outside, the rain poured down relentlessly, but beneath their matching dinosaur umbrellas, Mingyu and the little girl didn't mind one bit. They splashed through puddles in the parking lot, comparing who could make the biggest splash.

"I'm winning!" the little girl declared, jumping into a particularly deep puddle that sent water flying onto Mingyu's shoes.

"No fair! Your legs are longer!" Mingyu protested, though they both knew this wasn't true; he towered over her by several inches.

"They are not!" she retorted, standing on her tiptoes to try to match his height.

Their parents watched, shaking their heads with fond exasperation.

"We should get going if we want to beat traffic," the little girl's mother finally said.

They reached the point where they had to part ways, their parents waiting patiently despite getting slightly wet themselves.

"See you tomorrow for our playdate?" Mingyu asked, suddenly remembering their weekend plans.

"Of course! Mom bought ice cream!"

"The chocolate kind?"

"Is there any other kind?" she replied with a grin.

As they turned to go their separate ways, Mingyu called out, "Don't forget your umbrella next time!"

The little girl smiled, clutching her purple triceratops umbrella tightly. "I won't need to," she called back. "I have this one now! And our umbrellas should always match!"

"Always!" Mingyu agreed with a firm nod.

Just as they were about to part ways, Mingyu's mother appeared, hurrying toward them with her own umbrella.

"Why don't you all come over for a bit?" she suggested, looking at the little girl's mother. "It's been such a busy month with work. Let's have some coffee and catch up while the kids dry off."

"That sounds wonderful," the little girl's mother agreed readily. "We're just across the street anyway, and I made cookies this morning that I was planning to bring over this weekend."

"Perfect! I just brewed a fresh pot before coming to pick Gyu up," Mingyu's mother said.

And so instead of saying goodbye, the two families made their way to Mingyu's house, the adults chatting animatedly about their week while the children marched ahead, proudly holding their matching dinosaur umbrellas.

Once inside, the children were instructed to change into dry clothes. Mingyu in his room and the little girl in the bathroom with a set of spare clothes she kept at his house for their frequent playdates.

"Dinosaur Planet is on!" Mingyu called excitedly, emerging from his room in dinosaur-print pajamas that, not coincidentally, matched the pattern on their umbrellas.

The little girl appeared in her own set of pajamas kept at Mingyu's house; hers with purple triceratops, naturally.

While their parents gathered in the kitchen with steaming mugs of coffee and plates of cookies, the two children settled on the couch in the living room, a fluffy blanket spread across their laps, eyes glued to the television where animated dinosaurs roamed across the screen.

"I told you dinosaurs are cooler than tigers," Mingyu whispered, thinking back to Soonyoung's antics at school.

"Way cooler," the little girl agreed, reaching for the bowl of popcorn Mingyu's mother had thoughtfully provided.

In the kitchen, the parents watched the pair with affection, their conversation eventually turning to the children's future, as it often did.

"They're practically joined at the hip," Mingyu's father observed. "Always have been."

"Remember when we used to joke about arranging their marriage?" the little girl's father laughed, keeping his voice low enough that the children couldn't hear.

"Who says I'm joking?" Mingyu's mother replied with a wink. "My son has excellent taste in best friends. I wouldn't mind if that friendship turned into something more in about twenty years."

"Oh stop," the little girl's mother chuckled, though she couldn't help but glance fondly at the children. "But they do complement each other perfectly. Mingyu with his impulsiveness and her with her thoughtfulness."

"Like their umbrellas," Mingyu's father mused. "Different but matching."

"To matching umbrellas and matching souls," the little girl's father declared, raising his coffee mug in a toast.

As the rain continued to pour outside, the two families enjoyed their impromptu gathering, the children eventually dozing off on the couch, their heads leaning against each other, while their matching dinosaur umbrellas dried side by side in the entryway.

A sight that would repeat countless times throughout their lives.

[taesjpq]

Jealousy part. II

genre — best friends to lovers, fluff, smut MDNI!! pairing — female!reader x best friend!Mingyu summary — read part I hehe, this is pure smut (with plot) word count — 8,7k (part II)

I highly recommend reading part 1, first, or this probably won’t make much sense.

Warnings and notes under the line.

Notes: mention of san (ateez) and sangyeon (theboyz)

Well… it’s finally here!! it’s been a while, so even if you’ve already read part 1, I recommend giving it another read before diving in – this picks up right where it left off. Enjoy, and please scream & shout at me about how you liked it!! it’s my first time writing smut, so be kind (but also honest hehe) ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

WARNINGS: alcohol consumption, switch!mingyu (CAUSE I KNOW HE IS), switch!reader, needy mingyu (yes that’s a warning), semi-public situations (they're not getting caught at all), fingering, oral sex (f & m receiving), consent emphasized, breast play, dirty talk, edging, mild overstimulation, unprotected sex/creampie (don't do that!!), cockwarming, aftercare implied, excessive use of “fuck” and “shit” (because i can’t stop it) 

21:12 

"Woah." 

Hoshi and Wonwoo storm inside, the door swinging shut behind them. "I almost turned into a damn tree waiting out there. Thought you guys were pretending not to be here." 

There’s a pause. His eyes flicker around the room—searching. 

"For whatever reason," he adds, dragging out the words before shooting Wonwoo a look, wiggling his brows. Wonwoo chuckles under his breath, balancing bottles in both hands. 

Usually, Mingyu would roll his eyes, maybe even smack Hoshi for a dumb comment like that. But right now? His mind is too hazy, too full—still tangled up in you. 

The second you hear their voices, you go. 

Straight to the bathroom. Fast enough to escape, slow enough not to raise suspicion. The door clicks shut behind you, just shy of a slam. 

Your hands grip the sink. Your reflection stares back at you, wide-eyed, cheeks burning, lips—fuck. 

You look wrecked. 

Your hair is a mess from where Mingyu had leaned too close, your lips are swollen from nothing but a brush, and your skin still tingles where his breath had been. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. Inhale deep. Try to steady yourself. 

Because they’re out there. He is out there. And you need to act normal. 

So you force it all down, splash cold water on your face, and when you step out of the bathroom, you do what you do best. 

You pretend. 

"Why the hell wouldn’t you guys pick up my call? I was going crazy. Do you know how much I paid yesterday for your shit?" 

Hoshi sprawls out on the couch, his voice loud and dramatic, while Wonwoo sets the snacks and bottles down on the table. 

That’s how Hoshi expresses his worry—through complaints, through exaggerated frustration that’s half real, half just him being Hoshi. Usually, Mingyu would respond. Would roll his eyes, laugh, tease him back. 

But right now? 

Mingyu isn’t listening. 

He can’t listen. 

He sinks onto the couch, still lightheaded. Still caught up in the last few minutes. 

Hoshi is talking—something about the night, something Mingyu should probably respond to—but his mind is elsewhere. He’s still in the kitchen. Still pressed against you. Still feeling the ghost of your lips brushing his. His whole body is tense, his skin too warm, his jeans way too fucking tight. 

He shifts uncomfortably, subtly adjusting himself before grabbing a pillow and placing it over his lap. He tries—really, really tries—to focus on Hoshi. To nod at the right moments. To act normal. But all he can think about is how soft your lips felt, how you looked at him. The way your lips parted just slightly, like you were going to— 

"So tell me, what did you guys do today?" 

Fuck. 

Mingyu freezes. 

What—what is he supposed to say? That you guys—? No. No fucking way. 

His stomach tightens. His jeans—shit—feel impossibly tighter. A sudden wave of dizziness washes over him. He wasn’t even drunk, but it was too hot in here. Too much. Too you. 

"Umm…" he mutters, fingers pressing to his temple, trying to come up with something—anything—normal to say. 

"Nothing much," you say, stepping into the living room. Too casual. Too even. "Just ate, watched something. Pretty chill." 

Hoshi hums, unconvinced. 

And Mingyu—Mingyu forgets how to breathe. 

His eyes drag over you—your face, your lips. Your legs, where he was between them just minutes ago. 

Shit. 

His grip tightens on the pillow. 

"Yeah, of course," Hoshi says, voice laced with suspicion. But thankfully, he shrugs it off, already moving on to another topic. The conversation shifts, flows into something else. 

But Mingyu doesn’t. 

He stays still. Because you don’t look at him. Not once. 

Since the second you walked into the room, since the moment you spoke, you haven’t spared him a single glance. 

And fuck, that does something to him. 

Fingers clenched. Jaw locked. Heart pounding. 

Because this isn’t over. 

Because no matter how much you pretend— 

No matter how steady your voice is, how carefully you avoid his gaze— 

He knows. 

He knows now.

22:12 

"Well, I was supposed to go out with the other guys tonight, but of course, you guys come first," Hoshi announces dramatically, stretching across the couch. 

Wonwoo doesn’t even look up from his phone. "Why are you lying? You were the one who insisted on coming here and dragged me along." 

Hoshi huffs and lightly smacks Wonwoo’s arm. "Shh, be quiet." 

But then, as if the thought just occurred to him, Hoshi perks up. "Actually… now that I think about it, I could've brought them along. They’re pretty cool." 

He pauses for effect, then smirks. "Especially Sangyeon." 

There’s something in his tone—something teasing—that immediately puts you on edge. 

"You know what?" He grins. "I should introduce him to you. He might be your type." 

Your head snaps up. 

And so does Mingyu’s. 

The air shifts in an instant. 

“I—uh, I’m actually pretty picky, so don’t bother.”  

“Come on, it can’t be that complicated. What is your type, anyway?” 

Your mouth opens, then closes. 

 And before you can stop yourself, before you can think—your gaze flickers to Mingyu. 

Shit. 

You regret it immediately. The moment is too fast, too obvious. Wonwoo catches it instantly, his sharp eyes reading your expression like an open book. 

"Just leave her alone with your nonsense," Wonwoo says, his voice even, unimpressed. "Maybe worry about finding your own girlfriend first." 

Hoshi gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. "Hey! I’m trying to help! It’s been years since she’s had a boyfriend!" 

Your stomach tightens. You can’t sit here any longer. 

Mingyu doesn’t look away. He just watches.  

Heat creeps up your neck, and suddenly, you need to get out of here. Now.  

You force out a laugh, pushing yourself to your feet. "I think it’s time for more drinks." 

"Want some help with that?” Wonwoo asks, still half-distracted by his phone. 

"No!" It comes out too fast, too desperate. You cringe at yourself but don’t stop. 

You don’t wait for a response—you just go. 

The moment you step into the kitchen, you exhale sharply, setting the glasses down and gripping the counter. 

Just breathe. In and ou— 

“Need help?” 

His voice. 

Casual. Too casual. 

He’s there—leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, shoulders broad, completely unbothered.Taking up too much space. 

An annoyed smile tugs at your lips. Why can’t he just leave you alone? 

“I thought I was being clear,” you mutter, staring ahead. 

A slow, knowing hum. Amused. Mocking . “I’m just being nice. Like always.” 

And he’s enjoying this—teasing you like this. 

You shake your head, you shift, pulling open the fridge. “Good. Then don’t be like always.” 

Mingyu straightens, uncrossing his arms, a soft chuckle. 

You grab a couple of bottles, setting them on the counter before reaching for the glasses in the cabinet. 

He doesn’t move. Just staying there at the door frame. Watching you. 

“Yeah? And how exactly do you want me then?” 

Your grip tightens around the glass. 

Mingyu. You little shit. 

You inhale, forcing yourself to keep your back to him. “I need you to be quiet. Just quiet.”  

“Oh, I can do that,” he murmurs, voice lower, rougher. 

You don’t dare meet his eyes. You don’t even turn around. Instead, you keep your gaze on the glasses in your hands—like that’s all you came here for.  

“I think you know how.” 

You let out a breath, stepping toward him like it’s nothing. 

“If you’re done, here, make yourself useful.” 

His smirk deepens. You’re trying so hard to act unaffected, but he sees it—the way your fingers tremble slightly, the way your breath catches.  

Mingyu tilts his head. Slow. Calculating. “I thought you didn’t want my help?” 

You shoot him a glare. You scowl. Why does he have to be so goddamn annoying?  

And worse—why does he have to look this good while doing it? 

But before you can fire back— 

Your phone rings. 

You glance down at your pocket, hands too full to reach for it. You sigh, shifting everything toward Mingyu. 

He looks at you. A beat of silence. And just when you think he’s going to take the bottles— 

His hand moves. 

Not for the drinks. 

For your phone. 

No hesitation. No second-guessing. 

His fingers brush against your waist as he lifts the hem of your shirt—just slightly. 

His fingers curl around your phone. He pulls it out, his gaze flickers down to the screen. 

San. 

The name rolls off his tongue. He’s heard it before, here and there. Was it someone from work? 

His eyes flick back up to yours, searching. “This late?” 

You swallow. “Give it back.” 

You step forward, but he doesn’t move. 

His grip tightens around your phone. He should just hand it over. He should step back. 

Instead, the words slip out—low, unfiltered. 

“Why is he calling?” 

You blink. 

Shit. It wasn’t a question he meant to ask. It wasn’t something he even thought about saying. It just fell out of him. 

“What?” 

The call ends. Silence. 

Mingyu doesn’t answer the question. Neither do you. 

Before you can figure out what's happening, he smiles. But not just any smile.That slow, knowing, devastating kind. 

And then—He puts it back, back into your pocket. 

Ding. 

A message. 

He tilts his head. 

Ding. Ding. 

“Must be important.” 

Another message. 

“You close?” 

His voice dips lower. 

You open your mouth, but before you can answer— 

“How close?” 

Something shifts. 

The teasing is gone. 

He sees the realization flicker across your face. You notice it now—the difference. 

No smirking. No amusement. 

Just— 

Jealousy. 

Your lips twitch. 

This is fun. 

Your turn now. 

“This close,” you murmur, taking a few steps back. 

His brows furrow slightly. 

“Or this close?” 

You step forward again. 

His fingers flex. His jaw tightens. 

Now he gets it. 

Now you’re right in front of him. So close, almost touching. 

“Or maybe… this close?” 

So close you feel his breath. The way his chest rises. The way his hand twitches at his side. 

Your gaze flickers down to his lips. Then back up. 

His breath stutters. 

Your voice drops, barely above a whisper. 

“What are you gonna do about it?” 

Mingyu moves before he can think. 

His hand grips your waist. Your back. Pulling you into him. 

His body is so warm. So solid. 

And then— 

“I doubt you two are this close.” He leans in. Just slightly. 

His breath ghosts over your lips, his fingers flexing against your waist.  

The cold of the drinks and glasses in your hands presses against his chest, against his stomach—a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from him. It makes his breath hitch. You can feel it, the bottles and glasses pressing against your breasts, and you wonder what it would have been like if they weren't there. 

“You didn’t even think about checking his messages,” he murmurs. His voice is smooth. Too smooth. And then—lower—right against your ear—  

“I have you right where I want you.” 

A sharp inhale. 

“YAAA!!”  

Hoshi’s voice cuts through the moment like a blade. 

Neither of you move. 

Neither of you break eye contact. 

“MY DRINKS!! WHERE ARE MY DRINKS!!”  

Mingyu should step back. He should let go. 

He watches the way your chest rises. The way your lips part. The way your fingers tremble, just slightly, against his arm. He could end it right here. Close the space. Kiss you senseless. 

He wants to. God, he wants to. 

But the voices in the living room—too close. 

He doesn’t know how it would end. Doesn’t know what you’d do. What he might do. Not when his pulse is this loud, not when you’re looking at him like you already know. 

Not now, he thinks. 

Because if he moves even an inch closer—  He’ll do something stupid. 

Right then where you think he would lean in —again 

he takes the bottles and glasses from your hands. 

Turns and walks out of the kitchen. 

Leaving you standing there, heart racing. 

Mingyu—smirking to himself. 

He chooses restraint. For now. 

00:34 

Your night plays out like it always does. 

Mario Kart on the Switch, followed by rounds of drinking games, laughter bubbling up with every sip, the room alive with energy. It’s become routine—getting tipsy with the guys, letting the evening slip into a blur of noise and warmth. But tonight, something’s different. Your mind isn’t on the game; it’s on him. 

Mingyu. 

You’re counting down the minutes until this all ends, until you can finally be alone. 

Alone with your thoughts. 

“Okay, last round, Hoshi,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant. 

“Yes! Yes!” Hoshi hurls himself into the couch, already grabbing his drink before the race even starts. Predictably, he loses again. 

You don’t even flinch, too distracted by the way Mingyu leans back against the couch, his eyes casually glancing at the screen but his attention fully on you. He’s sitting there, relaxed—his messy hair falling perfectly in a way that makes you want to reach out and fix it, even though you know he’d just mess it up again. 

His black t-shirt is slightly stretched from his movement, and as he shifts to grab another drink, you catch a glimpse of the chain hanging loosely around his neck. It glints in the dim light, you gaze down to the sharp line of his jaw to his exposed collarbones. 

You try to look away,  but every movement he makes seems deliberate, as if he's doing it on purpose. 

“PLEASE! LAST ROUND, PLEASE!!” Hoshi’s voice rings out, exaggerated and dramatic, dragging you back into the room. Mingyu chuckles, his lips curling into that effortless smirk. 

“Alright, let him have another round,” he says, voice deep and calm, a little too calm, his eyes meeting yours for a fraction of a second. 

It’s enough. 

Your heart stutters. You’re hyper-aware of everything. He rolls his sleeves up, just slightly, as he takes another drink. The biceps of his arm flex as he lifts his glass, you can see the veins along his forearm. It’s suddenly so warm in here and you can feel the way it pulls you closer even though you haven’t moved an inch. 

He doesn't need to try. He just is. 

He knows it, too.  

“YAAA!! THIS CAN’T BE!!” Hoshi wails, the chaos pulling you out of the moment. His controller crashes to the floor in exaggerated despair. 

You sigh, laughing despite yourself, the sound escaping your lips like a small release. For a moment, it feels like the tension that’s been thickening the air all night finally breaks, but it lingers—just out of reach. Your eyes flicker to Mingyu, and in that instant, you catch him. Staring at you. Not just a glance, but a look that lingers. 

He’s watching you, watching the way you sit there—knees on the floor, bare legs beneath you. But it’s not just the way you’re sitting, it’s the way his shirt clings to your skin, your posture, your eyes, your lips... everything about you seems to pull him in. His thoughts begin to drift, and before he can stop them, his mind’s running down a path he knows he shouldn’t be on. 

No, he thinks. Not again. 

He drags a hand over his face and thunks his head back against the couch, eyes squeezed shut. He exhales slowly, a forced calm. Focus, Mingyu.  

He can’t afford another hard-on tonight. Not with everyone around. 

But he knows. You both know it. 

It’s going to be a long, torturous night after all. And it isn’t ending anytime soon.

02:46 

Hours have slipped by, blurred by laughter and the bitter tang of alcohol on your tongue. The room is warm, dimly lit,—half-empty glasses, crumpled snack bags, the low hum of music still playing somewhere in the background. 

You’re exhausted, but wired. The kind of tired where everything feels a little too slow, a little too heavy. 

A soft snore interrupts your thoughts. 

You turn your head. Hoshi, sprawled out across the couch, mouth slightly open, completely dead to the world. 

You blink. "Well. There he goes." 

Mingyu huffs out a quiet laugh across from you, tilting his head toward the couch. "Took him long enough." 

"It’s always him," you mutter, shaking your head. 

"It was Wonwoo first." 

"Wonwoo doesn’t count. He chooses sleep." 

Mingyu grins, eyes crinkling at the edges, his dark, tousled hair—slightly messy from the long night—falls over his forehead, the dim light catches the sharp line of his jaw and suddenly, you’re aware  that its just the two of you now. The laughter fades, leaving something quieter in its place. 

And then it happens. 

That look. 

Mingyu leans his head back against the couch, watching you in that way that makes your stomach twist. His gaze is dark, unreadable, and smirking. you feel it—lingering too long on your face, dropping to your lips.  

He’s fucking smirking at you.  

Like you guys didnt kiss each other just hours ago.  

Your breath catches. Heat pools in your stomach, climbs up your spine, wraps around your throat until your face burns. It’s impossible to ignore the way your body reacts to him, impossible not to remember the way he felt pressed against you, the way he almost— 

No. 

You need to move. You need to do something—anything—to break the tension before it swallows you whole. 

So you stand up. 

Quickly. Too quickly. You busy yourself with the mess on the table, grabbing empty glasses, snack wrappers—anything to keep your hands occupied, your mind distracted. You can still feel his gaze pressing into you, following your every movement like a weight on your skin. So you just move yourself to the kitchen. Yeah, that damn kitchen. 

To escape. To escape him. 

But of course, he follows you. 

You focus on the counter, setting things down with a little too much force. You reach for an empty glass, then hesitate, frowning. Where does this go again? You open a random cabinet. Wrong one. You try another. Wrong again. 

Mingyu leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you struggle. His broad shoulders stretch the fabric of his shirt, and the sleeves cling to his biceps in a way that makes your fingers itch to touch. 

"Need help?" 

"No." 

"You sure?" 

"Yes." 

You find the right cabinet—finally—but as you reach up to place the glass inside, it slips. Not enough to fall, but enough for Mingyu to react. 

He leans in slightly, voice lower now. "You seem a little distracted." 

You exhale sharply, setting the glass down before you drop it for real. "I’m fine." 

He hums, unconvinced. 

Silence settles between you. Mingyu doesn’t move, doesn’t look away. Instead, he watches you—closely. His gaze lingers as you slowly place the glass in the cabinet, like he’s studying every movement, every flicker of hesitation. You feel it—his eyes, the weight of his attention pressing into your skin. 

"You’re bad at this, you know," he murmurs. 

"At what?" 

"At pretending." 

Your pulse stumbles. 

"I’m not pretending," you say, but your voice isn’t as steady as you want it to be. 

He laughs teasingly, not really believing you.  

"You’re also bad at drinking games," he teases, his voice low, laced with something deeper. He leans against the counter, too close. "Honestly surprised you’re still standing." 

You roll your eyes, feigning confidence. "It takes a lot to get me down." you say, your voice steadier than you feel. The warmth of the alcohol hums beneath your skin. "I’m not even that drunk, actually."  

"Oh, yeah?"  

He steps closer.  

No. Please, no. 

You almost whine.  

Not again. Not when you’re still weak from earlier. Not when you still feel the ghost of his breath on your skin, the way he nearly kissed you, the way he almost had you.  

You swallow hard, nodding—but it’s weak, almost shaky. And he notices. 

"So, you weren’t really that drunk yesterday? Was all of that just an act?" 

His skin glows under the kitchen light, sweat dampening his forehead, his neck. His lips are pinker than before, and when he tilts his head slightly, your knees almost give in.  

“I dont know what you mean- I-" Your voice falters, and you curse yourself for how obvious it is. He's always been able to read you, hasn't he? 

He smirks. But he knows it all too well. Without touching you, he moves. His presence alone pulls you backward, guiding your body against the counter. You find yourself pressed against the edge, your breath caught in your throat. He doesn't touch you, but it feels as if he’s controlling every inch of your movement. 

Finally, his gaze softens, but the intensity remains. He reaches up, his fingers grazing your cheek, the touch light but electric, sending a shiver through you. “Your cheeks are giving you away,” he murmurs, his voice low and knowing. “Mingyu, stop.” you whisper, as you push against his chest, it causes him to step back, just a little. His arm wraps around yours, pulling you right back into him. The movement is fast, and before you can fully react, you’re pressed against him—your chest against his, your breath shallow as you’re forced to tilt your head back to meet his gaze.  

He exhales, voice deep, teasing, but his eyes betray him. "Why? you’re not gonna ask me to stay this time? Not gonna ask me to sleep with you?"  

"I don’t even remember what I—" 

"But I do." 

He doesn’t let you go. 

He leans in, hand ghosting along your jaw, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he’s trying to memorize it. His warmth seeps into your skin, into your bones, unraveling something inside you. 

“You were looking at me like this,” he murmurs, forehead resting lightly against yours. “Exactly like this.” 

You can feel every word against your skin. His eyes don’t leave yours. 

“Mingyu, I—” 

“You held me here.” He traces your hand over his chest, down his abs, his touch slow, deliberate. “You asked me to stay, told me not to leave”, a smirk tugging at his lips as he remembers that moment. “Shit, I thought you were fucking with me.” 

Your throat goes dry, a tightness spreading through you as his nose brushes against yours.  

“You said please,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a low, teasing whisper. He slowly pushes you against the counter.  

“Say it again" he whispers, the word coming out like a plea, thick with want, yearning—almost as if he's asking to kiss you. Your throat goes dry, a tightness spreading through you as his nose brushes against yours. 

“Please,” he whispers. It’s barely a sound—more breath than voice—but it carries everything. A plea. A need. Like he’s not just asking for a kiss, but for permission to fall apart in your hands. 

Your chest tightens. Your fingers move before your thoughts can catch up, curling around the back of his neck, drawing him in even though you’re already impossibly close. 

His breath hitches at the movement, eyes locking with yours. And there, in the quiet space between heartbeats, he knows. 

Then he kisses you.  

Soft at first. Barely there. It’s slow, careful—his lips brushing yours, like he’s learning the shape of you through every careful pass. 

Then again—deeper this time. More sure. 

His hands find their way to your cheeks, holding you, steadying you, like he can't pull away even if he wanted to. He hums against your lips, a soft relief, like he's been waiting for this. And he was. 

But the moment his mind catches up with the taste of you—he’s lost. 

The kiss turns desperate, all softness bleeding into something needier. Like if he stops, even for a second, it might all slip away. 

Your hands are everywhere—roaming, exploring. He nudges you gently until your back hits the counter, the edge cool against your spine. Your palms press to the surface behind you, steadying yourself as the bottles shift and clink under your touch. 

“Mingyu—” 

“No—”,he’s already kissing you again. 

Your protest is cut off, swallowed by his mouth, his kiss harder now. Like he’s trying to erase every reason not to. 

His hand slides to your waist, fingers pressing in, grounding himself in you. His chest brushes yours, heart pounding. 

“We should—” he exhales, his voice cracking, his lips barely leaving yours. “We should stop, right?” 

Your fingers find the hem of his shirt, slipping underneath, brushing against the skin of his stomach. He’s warm, feverish beneath your touch. 

“Yeah,” you breathe, lips still brushing his, “they—hmh-they could come in…” 

Shit. He knows. He really fucking knows. But he’s too far in. He should stop—he knows that. But how’s he supposed to do that? When you're looking at him like that? He tried to be good. He really did. But with you like this? He’s already too far gone. 

“Mmh,” he exhales, kissing the corner of your mouth. “We should stop before...” 

But even as he says it, his hands slide down, fingertips grazing your thigh. He looks at you, like he’s checking—like he needs to make sure. And the way you're staring back? He gets his answer. 

He lifts your leg onto the counter. The bottles clink next you, sharp and loud in the quiet, like a reminder of where you are but — 

“Yes—mmh—we should stop before anyone—” 

But then he hums, low and rough, as his hand moves to your chest. Fingers glide up, brushing over your breast, and your breath stutters.  

“We should… fuck-” His voice trembles. “Go to sleep.” 

He’s trying. God, he’s trying. 

But his mind is lost in you. Like he’s clinging to every thread of control he has left. 

 “Yeah,” you whisper back, breathless. Your hand slides under his shirt again, feeling the way he trembles under your touch. 

“I should go to sleep…”, you smile to yourself.  

“Yes- We should go to sleep,” he says, pulling off his shirt. 

You watch his skin glows golden under the dim lamp, and when he runs a hand through his hair—black strands sticking up in every direction—you almost loose it. It’s not the first time you’ve seen him like this, but damn. 

He takes your hands, places them on his chest, his abs—letting you feel him. And then he kisses you again. 

“Shit,” he breathes. “I can’t… I can’t fucking stop.” 

You're still on the counter, legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer. 

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against your lips, even as his hands slide up, cupping your tits, grazing the edge of your bra, his mouth finding your neck. 

“Fuck— Mingyu,” you moan, soft but breathless. 

“Don’t do that,” he groans. “-Fuck.” 

You tug off your shirt, and he just stares for a second. 

Out of breath, hair a mess, half-dressed. This—this is what he dreamed about for far too long. 

You reach for his belt, pulling him back in. 

“We can’t be loud,” you whisper. “Be quiet, Mingyu.” 

He smirks like you’ve just dared him. Like being quiet is a challenge. 

He kisses you hard, pressing his dick against you—exactly where you want him. You moan into his mouth, hands in his hair, kissing him like this might be the last time. Because maybe it is. 

He trails kisses down your neck, then your chest—his mouth warm over your bra, licking and sucking. You feel everything, but it’s not enough. You need more. 

“Mingyu, don’t—don’t tease.” 

“We can’t be loud, right?” he smirks to himself. You whine in response. 

One hand cups your breast while the other runs across his lips, tasting you . You bite down on your lip, trying to quiet every moan that threatens to slip. His hands are so big on you, his mouth so unbelievably good. 

You pull him back to your lips, needing to feel him—needing to let those moans escape where only he can hear them. 

“More,” you breathe, your hand drifting lower, palming him through his pants. 

The alcohol is blurring your filter, but you don’t care. You want him. 

Still, he doesn’t give in. Not fully. Not yet. 

He kisses you deeper—your lips, your throat—grinding against you like he’s losing control. Like you’re the one driving him insane. He thinks he’s teasing you, but maybe he’s torturing himself just as much. 

You dig your nails into his back, kissing along his shoulder. The intimacy of it gives you goosebumps, sets your skin on fire. 

You can’t take it anymore. Your hands go to his belt, fingers working it open as your eyes meet his. 

“Shit,” he exhales. Mingyu shakes his head “Not here.” 

“Not here?” you whisper, almost whining. 

His hands find your waist again, sliding lower, between your legs. 

His fingers are a little cold, and the touch makes you gasp.  

“Mingyu-” 

“Spread your legs for me,” he says lowly, never breaking eye contact. 

You do. 

He moves slowly at first, teasing your clit, eyes locked on every little reaction your face gives away. 

Your mouth parts open slightly, breath hitching. 

“Hm? That sensitive?” he asks, speeding up just a little. 

A soft moan slips from your lips as you grip his arms, trying to steady yourself. 

And then his finger slides inside. 

Then another. 

While his thumb keeps working your clit, making you lose your mind. 

“You like seeing my hands between your legs?” he rasps, still watching you. 

You can’t even look away—neither of you can. 

He kisses you, and you moan right into his mouth. 

“You like the way that feels?” he asks. “So wet for me already…” 

You try not to, but his names slips out of your mouth.  

“Shit. Didn’t we talk about being quiet?”, voice low, watching you all desperate and squirming under his touch. 

And you can feel it building—right there, right under his fingers. 

“Fuck, yeah. Like this”, he whispers. You’re so close. 

His fingers move just right—fast, precise, relentless—and your body can’t take it anymore. It hits you all at once. You gasp, eyes squeezing shut, legs trembling as the orgasm rolls through you.  

He doesn’t stop until you're done—his fingers slow down, helping you through it, letting you ride it out as your whole body shudders against him. 

Then he kisses you—soft, almost sweet, lips warm and slow. You melt into it, dizzy, still catching your breath. 

He smiles into the kiss, smug as hell. “You think they heard you?” 

You smack his chest, face burning, and he just laughs—loud, unbothered—and gives you a quick kiss on the lips like it’s nothing. 

“Time to sleep,” he says, all casual, like he didn’t just make you fall apart on the kitchen counter. 

You’re still dazed, legs weak, not even trying to get up when he picks up your clothes. And just as you’re wondering what now, he lifts you—hands under your thighs and back—carrying you. 

You bury your face in his neck, skin still warm, and you can feel him chuckling, chest shaking under your cheek.  

He carries you into your room, setting you down on the bed,you lean back on your elbows, chest rising and falling, still hazy from your high—but your eyes are locked on him. The soft light from the hallway hits his skin just right. His abs flex as he moves, still shirtless, just his jeans hanging low on his hips.  

You're supposed to be tired. You’re supposed to be done. 

But your body says otherwise. 

He notices your stare. “Don’t look at me like that.” 

You tilt your head. “Like what?” 

He runs a hand through his hair, almost flustered, but that smirk is back.  

“Like you want more. You know I lose control when you do that.” 

You lean forward, lips brushing into a small, wicked smile. “Hm, really?” 

He curses under his breath. 

You shift onto your knees, crawling closer to where he’s standing by the bed, teasing, until you’re eye level with his lips. You watch him closely, deliberately. His eyes darken, flickering down to your mouth. 

“You’re testing my patience,” he mutters. 

“I’m just being like always,” you say, like it’s innocent—but the way you graze your fingers over his belt says otherwise. 

He laughs, low and rough. “You’re impossible.” 

Then he kisses you, hard, like he’s finally letting go again.  

Your hands move lower, reaching for him, cupping him as you finally try to undo his belt. But he gently brushes your hands away, shaking his head. 

“Mhh, no,” he says against your lips, voice deep and determined. “I’m not done with you.” 

His hand finds your waist, guiding you back down to the bed without breaking the kiss. You sigh into it, helpless under his touch.  

Mingyu slips off your bra, he trails kisses down your collarbone, your chest—slow. His mouth lingers on your breasts, lips and tongue teasing. You’re biting back a moan when he lightly sucks on your nipple. His other hand slides lower, down your side, until it reaches your hips. You gasp as his fingers curl around the waistband of your panties. 

He pulls them down slowly, watching every flicker of your expression like it’s something he doesn’t want to miss. Like he’s imprinting it in his mind. 

Then he kisses lower—over your stomach, your hips your inner thighs. His lips brush every part of you except where you want him most. He’s taking his time, savoring the moment, and it’s driving you insane.  

You breathe in sharply when his mouth finally finds you. His tongue moves in slow, careful circles over your clit, your fingers already tangling in the sheets. He’s gentle at first, like he’s still learning, but his confidence grows fast. And it’s not just skill—it’s the way he pays attention. The way he listens to every sound you make, every breath you take He groans into you, like he needs it just as badly. 

You can barely focus. Your thoughts are scattered. All you know is heat. His tongue. That pressure building again, way too fast.  

You peek down at him, and the sight almost ruins you. His eyes are half-lidded, completely focused —locked on yours. His brows slightly furrowed like he’s concentrating, feeling you, not just tasting. His grip tightens on your thighs as you move, and he groans against you—fuck, he’s into it. 

And in his head? He’s losing it. 

This is all he ever wanted. 

He’d dreamed about this—too many nights, too many times imagining what you'd sound like, taste like, how you’d fall apart under his mouth. But none of it compares to this—flushed, needy, eyes fluttering, mouth open with every breathy moan. And the way you say his name? 

Yeah, he’s gone. 

He’s so mad at himself—mad that he waited this long, mad that he let you be so close for so long without touching you like this. But right now? He’s making up for it. 

He presses your thighs open wider, groaning at the way you react. His tongue starts to move faster now, rougher, more deliberate. Circling, sucking, teasing. You whimper his name—desperate, breathless—and he loves it. Every moan you try to bite back just makes him go harder. 

“Mingyu—fuck—” you breathe, legs trembling under his grip. 

And he just hums into you in response, lips curved, like he’s proud of the way you fall apart for him all over again. 

He slips a finger inside you, and your back arches, a loud gasp ripping from your throat before you can stop it. You glance down—his mouth still on you, tongue still moving—and you can see it. 

That smug little smile. 

You actually want to slap him for it. But God, it feels so good. Too good. 

You shove your finger between your lips, biting down hard, because otherwise you'd be moaning his name. 

Trying to not wake anyone. But he makes it impossible. His finger curls just right, finding that spot that makes your whole body clench, and then— 

A second finger. Thicker. Deeper. You cry out into your arm, hand flying to his hair, gripping hard—more for your sanity than his guidance. 

This isn’t what you had in mind when you got drunk last night—but fuck, you’re not complaining. 

“Mingyu—I’m going to—” 

You can barely get the words out, voice all shaky. He pulls back just a little, breath heavy against your thigh, fingers still pumping into you slow and deep, while looking at you in your eyes. 

“Not yet,” he says, voice low, but wrecked. “Just a little longer, please?” 

You want to curse at him, cry, beg—but all that comes out is a desperate whine. You throw your head back into the mattress, eyes squeezed shut. 

You need it. 

But he knows that. He wants you right there. He wants to watch you fall apart again—and know it’s him doing it to you. 

His fingers speed up, more precise now, like he knows exactly how much you can take. His tongue’s back on you—licking, moaning with you, vibrating against you. 

And when he lifts your legs up, resting them on his broad shoulders—you can’t take it anymore. 

Your whole body clenches. The heat crashes over you so fast it steals your breath. Your hands still tangled in his hair as he stays with you till wave ends. 

He doesn’t let go. He holds you through it, still licking you soft and slow, humming gently like he’s calming you down from a high only he could give. 

He smiles to himself, then leans in to kiss you again—slow, deep. You can still taste yourself on his lips. You kiss him back. your body’s still buzzing, but God, you're tired. 

Eventually, he lets himself drop back onto the bed beside you, one arm flung lazily over his eyes. You're both breathing hard, skin warm and flushed. 

“You tired?” he murmurs, voice a little hoarse. 

You hum, eyes still closed. “Yes… but no.” 

He lets out a quiet laugh, shifting just enough to peek at you from under his arm. “What kinda answer is that?” 

You giggle softly, brain still foggy. “You?” 

“Kinda, yeah.” He drags a hand through his messy hair. “You seriously drive me insane. I was tense the whole damn day… like some fucking college kid with a crush.” 

You smile to yourself. “Oh yeah? You deserved it. You made me wait long enough.” 

He lifts his head, resting on his elbows now, eyebrows raised. “I made you wait?Are you kidding? I was trailing after you like a damn dog for months. Everyone saw it. Everyone. Except for— you. They made fun of me. Hoshi even gave me names. He called me a puppy!” 

“You didn’t do anything either!” you shoot back. “And it’s not my fault—you’re nice to everyone!” 

“Yeah, but…” he pauses, and you can feel something shift in the air between you. You look at him, waiting for ending the sentence. 

“I’m only in love with you.” 

The words are soft. Steady. No hesitation, no teasing this time. And it hits you. Your heart stutters—you look at him, searching his face, trying to read the truth in his eyes.  He meant it. Every word.  

Your lips part, but no answer comes. Not yet. Instead, your gaze drops—his chest still rising fast, the muscles of his stomach tense, his jeans still unbuttoned, the bulge beneath his boxers so obvious now.  

A slow smile curls on your lips.  

“You waited that long?”, drawing the word out, fingers drifting low on his stomach. 

He groans, tossing his arm back over his face. “Don’t mock me.” 

You lean in. “What did they call you again?” Your hand cups him through his boxers—he’s already hard. 

He lets out a long breath through his nose, biting back a curse. 

“Stop playing…” he mutters, but it’s weak—he doesn’t really mean it. 

Your voice dips lower. “Did Hoshi call you a puppy?” 

“Mhm—  a puppy in love, he said.” 

A slow smirk tugs at your lips as your hand dips beneath the waistband of his boxers, fingers wrapping around him. He’s hot, thick, and already leaking. He groans—sharp and low. 

“Fuck—don’t tease—” 

You pull down his jeans and boxers in one slow motion, freeing his cock. He twitches in your hand. 

“So much pre-cum…” you say. “Were you really about to cum in your pants, Gyu?” 

He laughs at himself, eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck, yes—almost.” 

You bite your lip, your hand moving slow at first, teasing.  His breath catches. “Shit—I’m sensitive.” 

You watch the way his expression shifts—brows knit together, lips parting, chest rising quicker with every breath. 

  “Don’t—ahh—your hands…” he groans, voice breaking around the words. 

You go a little faster. His hips twitch. A breathless moan slips from his lips and he grabs at the sheets. 

“What if I..” You lean in, breath ghosting over the tip of his cock. You give a soft lick, just once—just to see. 

“Shit— cant you just—” he gasps, jaw clenched tight.  

You look up at him, wide-eyed and innocent. “Not so loud,” you whisper. “What if they hear you like this?” 

He lets out a desperate sound, biting down on his fist, like that’ll help. 

You smirk, finally taking him into your mouth—slow, deep, with deliberate pressure. His whole body jerks. 

He’s trying to hold back. He doesn’t even dare to look at you. Because if he does—if he watches your lips wrapped around his cock, your eyes fluttering shut, your head moving slow and steady—he’ll lose it. Completely. 

You suck him deeper, your lips wrapped tight, tongue tracing every inch. He’s so responsive, so sensitive, every little flick making him twitch in your mouth. His thighs tense beneath your hands, and the soft, ragged sounds coming from his throat only make you want more. 

“Shit—” he gasps, a hand reaching down, not to push you away—but to ground himself. His fingers tangle in your hair, not guiding, just holding. 

You glance up. His head’s tossed back, lips parted. 

He tries to hold still. Tries not to fuck up into your mouth. But the way you’re working him—slow, then fast, then slow again—it’s driving him insane. 

And then suddenly— 

“Wait—fuck, baby—stop.” 

You try to understand why he pulled away—lips still parted, his length heavy in your hand—and then you hear it. Footsteps. The faint creak of the bathroom door down the hall. Someone’s awake. 

instead of stopping, you stroke him—slow, deliberate—watching his eyes flutter, jaw clench tight. 

“Shit, baby…” he whispers, voice tight, “I can’t hold it in. I’m gonna—” 

  You lean up, cutting him off with a kiss. A soft hush. You don’t want him too loud either. But he’s still so hard, throbbing in your hand, and the way he kisses you back—messy and desperate—tells you how badly he’s struggling. 

He sits up slowly, his hands grip your waist, pulling you into his lap like he can’t help it. You settle over him, straddling, still bare, your pussy brushing his cock. The friction makes you both gasp—his tip slides right against your folds, wet and hot and so wrong. So good. 

“Fuck—” he groans into your mouth. “Baby, your pussy… it's—shit—it’s right there.”  

“I know,” you whisper, lips brushing his. You roll your hips, letting his cock glide through your slick folds, not quite inside, but enough to make him lose his breath. “But we’re not having sex, right?” 

His hands squeeze your hips tighter, trying to steady you, but you keep grinding—slow, delicious pressure. His cock slides over your clit just right, making you both shiver. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” he breathes. 

“But you like it,” you whisper against his jaw, biting it gently. 

“Fuck baby, I love it. You feel—mhm—fuck.” He’s unraveling beneath you, hips jerking up once, just barely. 

You smirk and keep going. Little circles. Little rocks of your hips. You moan quietly, lips brushing his ear. “What if I came like this? Just from grinding on your cock?” 

“Dont fucking talk like that. Shit—” 

And then he says it—low, strained, breathless: 

“Just the tip?” He meets your eyes, voice barely a whisper. “It wouldn’t count… right?” 

The smirk on your lips falters when you feel him shift beneath you. He looks at you, one arm wrapping around your waist. His tone drops lower—deeper, more confident now. “Say yes.” 

You nod. That’s all he needs. 

He pulls you down—slowly—just enough to push the head of his cock inside. You gasp at the stretch, at how thick he feels, even like this. He holds you there, both of you trembling, his forehead resting against yours.  

You whimper, but before you can speak, he moves. He rocks his hips up—just once, shallow, purposeful. Enough to make you cry out and cling to him. 

He chuckles, quiet and low. “Told you. Just the tip, and already look at you…” 

Your nails dig into his shoulders, and he loves it. 

“You’re so fucking tight,” he murmurs, guiding your hips slowly, letting you feel all of him without giving you everything. “Look at you. So desperate to be full, huh?” 

You nod again, helpless. “Please…” 

He tilts your chin up, kissing you softly—then deeper, filthier. “You want more?” 

“Yes,” you whisper. 

He hums, leaning back to look at you. “Then ask me.” 

You swallow hard, but your mouth stays shut, lips parted, breath shallow. You know what he wants to hear— but something  in you won’t give it to him that easily. Not yet. 

“Hm?” he says softly, eyes narrowing with the hint of a smirk. “No?” 

His hands slide down your sides, slow and sure. He shifts his hips under you—just the head of his cock still buried inside, pulsing—and rolls them up ever so slightly. Just enough to make your breath hitch. 

“You gonna make me work for it, huh?” he murmurs, brushing his lips against your jaw. One of his hands slips between your bodies, fingers trailing over your clit in featherlight circles. You jerk forward instinctively, gasping. 

“Fuck—Mingyu—” 

“Still not asking,” he mutters, almost amused, his voice thick with restraint. 

He keeps circling, teasing—soft, slow, maddening. At the same time, he rocks his hips again, just a little, dragging himself barely an inch deeper inside you. Your body clenches down, desperate for more. 

You whimper, hands braced on his chest, trying not to completely melt. He’s watching you now, eyes locked on your face, drinking in every twitch, every shaky breath. 

His free hand grips your ass, guiding you into a slow, lazy grind against him. The friction makes your head spin—you can feel the tip of his cock pressing right there, and his fingers still working you, too slow to satisfy, too perfect to ignore. 

You try to hold on—but your body betrays you, chasing the rhythm, chasing more. The words are on the tip of your tongue, but your pride holds them back just a moment longer. 

He leans in close, lips brushing your ear. “I’ll keep going like this all night,” he whispers, voice rough. “Just like this. Teasing you. Keeping you full, but never enough. Is that what you want?” 

“N-No,” you breathe, almost a sob. Your legs are shaking now, your whole body aching. 

“Say it,” he whispers. You break. You can’t take it anymore. 

“Please—Mingyu—fuck me.” 

And the second those words leave your mouth, his expression shifts—something deeper, darker flashes in his eyes. 

He grabs your waist with both hands and sinks you down onto him in one slow, devastating thrust, filling you inch by inch until you’re gasping his name, your body going taut. 

“There you go,” he breathes, his voice strained, jaw clenched. “Fuck—you take me so well.” 

You’re panting, hips rolling instinctively, but he slows you down with a firm grip. 

“Not yet,” he murmurs. “I want to feel you like this. Just… stay here a second.” 

You can feel him pulsing inside you, his hands roaming your back, your hips, your thighs like he’s trying to memorize every part of you. He presses kisses to your neck, slow and hot. 

Then he starts to move—hips snapping up, controlled, deep. Not rough, but precise. He watches your face the whole time, eyes flicking down to your parted lips, your fluttering lashes, the way you gasp when he hits that spot inside you. 

“You feel me right there?” he growls against your ear. “Right where you needed it?” 

You nod frantically, fingers clutching his shoulders, your voice broken. 

“Tell me,” he urges, his tone softer now, coaxing. “Tell me how good I make you feel.” 

“So good—fuck, so deep—Mingyu—” 

He kisses you again, grinning into it, just a little cocky now that you’re coming apart in his hands. His pace quickens, your moans slipping free with every thrust, louder, needier. 

And then he stills, his grip on your waist tightening. 

“Ride me,” he says, voice low and hoarse. “Fuck yourself on my cock. Let me watch you.” 

You bite your lip, breath shaky, but you shift your weight and begin to move—slow at first, dragging your hips in circles, rolling against him. He groans, loud, his head tipping back, eyes heavy-lidded as he watches you from beneath messy strands of hair. 

“That’s it, baby,” he pants. “Just like that—fuck—look at you.” 

You start to bounce, the rhythm building as his hands slide down to your hips, helping, guiding, squeezing. The sound of skin on skin fills the air, filthy and wet and perfect. You can’t stop moaning, can’t stop grinding down onto him—because he’s so deep, and you’re so full, and it’s too much. 

You’re close. You can feel it coiling deep in your stomach. 

“I—Gyu—I’m—” You don’t even finish. Your body seizes up, every muscle tightening as you cry out his name and fall apart around him, shaking, pulsing, gasping. 

“Let go, baby,” he whispers, his voice wrecked. “Come for me. Right here, right on my cock.” 

He’s right there with you—watching you fall apart around him has him unraveling, too. His fingers tighten at your waist, jaw clenched, a desperate groan tearing from his throat. 

“I’m gonna cum—fuck, I can’t hold it—” 

“Cum inside me,” you breathe, still trembling, your voice barely more than a whimper. You’re still fluttering around him, soaked and warm, and the plea in your voice pushes him right over the edge. 

With a broken moan of your name, he buries himself deep, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you, pulsing hot and thick. He holds you tight through it, his face tucked into your neck, breath shaky and warm against your skin. 

For a while, neither of you moves. There’s just the sound of your heartbeats, the rise and fall of your chests pressed together. 

Then he presses a kiss to your shoulder. Then your jaw. Then your lips—soft, lingering. You both smile into it, drunk on the closeness. 

As the haze starts to fade, you shift your hips, starting to lift off him gently. 

But his arms tighten, holding you in place. 

“No,” he murmurs, half-pleading. “I wanna stay inside you a little longer.”  

You sink back down with a quiet laugh, and he whimpers. 

“Shit,” he mutters, eyes fluttering shut, “I’m still sensitive…”  

You smile, brushing his damp hair back from his forehead and kiss the tip of his nose. He blinks up at you, wide-eyed and flushed—and then he just starts to laugh. His hair is a wreck, his lips still kiss-bruised, and his collarbone is marked where you bit him earlier. But it’s his eyes that undo you—bright and crinkled at the corners. 

You laugh too, even if you’re not sure why. “What?” you ask, grinning.  

He shakes his head, still smiling like he can’t believe you’re real.

“I’m a fucking puppy in love.”  

a/n: it’s done!! finally. i’m so sorry for making you guys wait this long, but i’m actually really happy with how it turned out. i hope you like it just as much as i do ⭑.ᐟ thank you so much for waiting patiently—your comments were seriously the sweetest and so, so kind. ⋆.˚

fun fact about the whole “jealousy” story: this actually started out as a completely different story. i was inspired by that one gif of mingyu at the gym, and had this whole plot in mind… but then i realized it needed some context to make sense, and somewhere along the way, it just turned into this. so yeah, that’s why san’s little cameo feels kinda random 😭 BUT i’m thinking of turning that original idea into a bonus part for this one instead...would you want to read it?? let me know in the comments, in my dms, wherever—i’d love to hear from you!!

love youuuu xoxo ౨ৎ

My cute little 🏷️ taglist:

@wseye @wooahaeivy @dinow13 @httpscoco444 @jihoonsbbygirl @tigersandcherries @souleater440 @gyuldaengie97 @potayaa @mmingooo @ninigyuuu @littlewolfieposts @amingo046 @saturnesposts @starsewl @potayaa @saltyfriendsaladbandit @imhwajaez @perfectlycleverface @chykyu @gohyemi @baekhyunimochibbh @gh0stprinceess @holyfestfire @id7lso @zimzalaminho @hellosighsophy-blog @my-woozi @sumeyyetuna

Honorable tag: @maplegyu

thank you for enjoying my fic and supporting me! It means a lot!

[jeonstellate]

caught up in a dichotomy

you ask junhui for a divorce.

๑彡 wen junhui x gender neutral!reader

๑彡 best friend!au, royal!au, arranged marriage!au, unrequited love!au — angst, little fluff(?)

๑彡 paragraph format — 1.4K words

masterlist

[gif’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

๑彡 re-read the webtoon that heavily inspired this seungcheol fic && whaddya know, it inspired another fic :')

๑彡 title’s from fly by midnight’s as long as it leads to me. the song has nothing to do with the plot, it’s just one of my favorite songs atm. heh.

This is supposed to be a quick and collected conversation. A small talk over dinner of sorts. And yet, it has transformed into this — a heated mess.

"I no longer love you." The words, small as they are, burn your throat as they pass through. Your throat constricts halfway, but you insist to finish what you started.

You met Wen Junhui back when you both were still children and still clung onto your respective guardians. Your first meeting had been nothing but meek exchanges of "hello"’s paired with promptly hiding behind the adult figures you came with. You thought nothing of him besides identifying him as your godmother’s son.

Your second meeting had been everything. For a reason you could no longer remember, you injured yourself days prior, which restricted you from participating in physical play with the other children in attendance. Junhui appeared next to you before you could lament at the fact, hand extended to offer you a flower ring.

"Do you not like it?" He inquired when you seemingly reacted too slow for his liking. His arm remained stretched out even when his head soon tilted in confusion. "That’s strange. Mama said pretty people like flowers."

You didn’t understand why he was giving it to you, but you accepted the flower ring with a timid "thank you" nonetheless. You and Junhui bonded over crafting jewelries out of his mother’s jungle geraniums that day. You thought everything of him since.

The marriage that ties Jun to you isn’t built on the same foundation as the others that came before. Rather, it’s built on convenience . . . and unreciprocated love.

"‘Love’?" Junhui echoes in an unexplainable hybrid of a disbelieved scoff and a stunned disgust. His neutral facial expression barely borders cold, but it hardly matters — especially when his voice is enough to convey his feelings. "You want a divorce for such an insignificant reason?"

Despite what the current scene paints, you and Junhui are best friends ever since your second meeting all those years ago. When his succession loomed over the horizon, you became the obvious choice to stand beside him. At that time, it was a win for both sides: Jun secures his position with your family’s notable support, you get to spend the rest of your life with the person who owns your heart. At that time, it seemed like the best choice.

And it was— is. You and Jun are great partners. You work well together, bringing forth an unprecedented period of prosperity with majority of public opinion in your favor.

As any other partners, there are some things you two don’t see eye-to-eye with. It just happens that yours is about this.

"I love you, too, [first name]," Jun replied a moment after the silence that followed your slipped confession settled. It was barely a few months after your first wedding anniversary then. "Just not in the way you want me to."

You had known he doesn’t feel the same way for some time now. However, it’s your first time hearing how little he values your affections.

Insignificant. As if it didn’t dictate how you spent your childhood and how serious you took your studies. As if it didn’t motivate you to be the best partner for him; to essentially dedicate your own life to him. As if it didn’t found everything you built together.

Insignificant. As if your feelings mean nothing to him.

"We’re not an ordinary couple." Junhui’s voice, devoid now of any unpleasant undertone, brings you out of your head. "We’re leaders of an empire. We—"

"—House Helledrite will continue supporting the crown." You interrupt without fear. Experience has taught you you’re the only one who can do so without repercussions awaiting, and such a privilege seems appropriate to use at the moment. "You don’t need me—"

You don’t expect him to reciprocate your affections in the same magnitude. You don’t wish for him to — much less need him to. After all, he was your best friend first. You want what’s best for him; what makes him happy. And if it means him choosing someone else to entrust his heart over you? Then so be it.

You just want freedom from this torment now, having endured it for six more years after your first wedding anniversary. It’s about time you seek a different source of happiness for yourself.

"—No!" Junhui’s objection bounces off the dining hall’s ornate walls. It makes you freeze momentarily. He has never raised his voice at you until this very moment. "You can ask anything of me, but I will not agree to a divorce."

That is when you finally completely understood how people find him intimidating. His glared eyes are steel and burning with ice. His jaw is set with firm resolve. His body is still, but postured in such a way that discourages any arguments to his words. He is not the childhood friend you grew to love right now, but the feared emperor of Falthorne.

Frankly, you don’t understand why he’s so against the idea. Your arrangement had been clearly just to secure his position on the throne, and the crown has since sat the stablest on his head amongst his royal ancestors. He has nothing to fear with your proposal. Your divorce will certainly not impact his hold on the throne. And, yet, . . .

You’re wholeheartedly convinced you’re just seeing things but, for a moment there, you could’ve sworn a glint of desperation in his eyes. It can’t actually be there, of course, because you know Jun doesn’t love you. He has made that perfectly clear over the years.

Tears threaten to spill over your cheeks. Your suppressed tiredness from all these years washes over you in a tidal wave. Why can’t he just let you go?

"And cut!" The director calls from his chair before a tear actually escapes. "Great job everyone! Let’s prepare for the next scene!"

You look up the ceiling to force your tears to retract. You’re paid for your tears, figuratively speaking, and it’s best to not waste them. Besides, if you let one escape even accidentally, you know someone—

"You alright?" Speak of the devil and he shall appear, indeed. It’s a bit impressive how he’s already by your side in a flash, when he’s literally on the other end of the long table on the opposite side of the room just a moment ago.

You suppose that’s one of the things that sets him apart from your character’s Jun. While the latter doesn’t even take a second to consider his spouse, your Junhui’s warm eyes are always on you. He worries for you in a magnitude on par with yours for him and your affections are reciprocated in the same way.

"Jun sucks," you opt to bash his character instead of giving a direct reply.

Junhui brings a thumb over to the corner of your left eye, careful not to smudge your makeup as he helps you dry your eyes. "He’s not that bad."

"Easy for you to say," you counter with a slight glare. "You know what he’s thinking. I don’t, because he doesn’t talk to his spouse."

He lets you fume. His years of experience as your best friend has trained him that you often just need to vent to feel better. All he needs to do is lend an ear. And, once everything has been released from your system, a succinct comment is best. As a mere token of proof that he actually listened to whatever came out of your mouth.

"For what it’s worth, I think you should at least give him the benefit of the doubt."

You look at him from the couch inside his trailer, where you made yourself comfortable as soon as you walked in before him. "Why?" You squint your eyes, obviously suspicious. "What does your script say?"

Junhui is quick to respond, "I’m not spoiling it."

"Wen Junhui," you extend the last syllable of his name in a whine. "Tell me."

He chuckles at your antics, "You’ll find out soon enough."

You don’t like that answer, which you made evident by throwing a pillow at him. He catches it with no problem, much to your dismay. "I’m telling Mama you’re being mean to me."

That’s another thing that sets you and Junhui apart from your characters. While you four had very similar beginnings, a ring on your finger didn’t ruin your dynamic. It did change it to an extent, but it’s all for the better.

"Be my guest," he shrugs with feigned nonchalance. His eyes sparkle with barely concealed amusement and adoration. "You’re already her favorite child, anyway."

[deekaye]

You know what the best part of marrying your best friend is?

Well, it's the unconditional love and acceptance. Even when he knows you snore like a freight train, or remembers those awkward teenage days when you looked like a potato, or how you cried over a simple injection for an entire week. He embraces all of you - quirks, flaws, and all.

I roll my eyes at my best friend slash husband, Seungkwan. He's at it again, playfully teasing me while I'm trying to cook breakfast. Despite his occasional antics, I've grown accustomed to them.

But what truly makes it special is how he loves my family as his own.

"Hey, mother. Did you know when I first saw you, I really thought you and my wife were sisters?" Seungkwan's voice drifted from the kitchen, mingling with the aroma of breakfast cooking on the stove. I smiled at the playful exchange between him and my mom.

Her laughter echoed through the room as she lightly swatted his shoulder. "You moron,how can you remember when you were just 3 years old when your family met us."

"Well, mother, ever since then… you haven't changed even a bit," Seungkwan teased, their shared laughter filling the air.

As I observed their easy rapport, a sense of warmth washed over me. They had effortlessly become family to each other, blending seamlessly into the fabric of our lives.

"Hey, my favorite father!" my husband exclaimed, offering a high five that my dad eagerly reciprocated. Their camaraderie was palpable, a testament to the bond they shared.

"My favorite son!" my dad retorted, a grin playing at the corners of his lips.

Seungkwan chuckled, his expression turning nostalgic. "I'm always glad you became my father! I always envied that woman in the back—" he nodded in my direction "—that she had you as a father. Now, I still can't believe I became your son!"

"Of course, you will always be my son, even if you didn't marry that monkey over there," they laughed together, oblivious to my presence. "Now, hold this flashlight. Let's fix your car. I can't believe you're already grown but can't fix this."

My dad's laughter mingled with Seungkwan's, their banter a familiar melody that filled our home with joy. In that moment, I realized how lucky I was to be surrounded by such love and laughter.

"I've been looking for you everywhere, yet you were just there beside me," The memory of our wedding vows flooded back as I gazed at him, reminding me of the journey that led us to this moment.

Back in college, when we were both grappling with heartbreak and disillusionment, I uttered those words almost as a whimsical notion. "If we can't find someone who will love us forever, let's just marry each other instead." And in that moment of vulnerability and uncertainty, he didn't hesitate to agree.

Now, as I reflect on our journey together, I realize that marrying him was the best decision I ever made. Despite all the missteps and regrets of the past, he has been my constant source of love, support, and happiness.

With Seungkwan by my side, my life has changed in ways I never imagined. In moments of doubt or despair, he's always been there to lift me up. It's almost as if he was the answer to my prayers all along, and I was just too blind to see it.

In him, I found not just a partner, but my soulmate, my confidante, my rock. And as we stand here, enveloped in each other's arms, I know with unwavering certainty that our love will continue to light the path ahead, guiding us through whatever challenges may come our way.