#i like different succulents
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
Tbh, the question of whether or not Nayuta is a threat to humanity is much less interesting to me compared to the question of whether she'll ever understand that she can't both make Denji happy and isolate him from all other relationships.
This chapter kicks that can down the road yet again. But, when all's said and done, I wonder what will win out: her possessiveness of Denji, or her love for him?
#chainsaw man#she may not fully grasp it yet#but like everyone else in Part 2#she's staring down the barrel of her very own trolley problem#and#if i'm reading the subtext right...#she's far from the first iteration of the control devil to have faced this dilemma--and i doubt makima was either#the spoils of her conquests always crumble to ash in her hands#and the love she yearns for always eludes her#will it be different this time?#will she finally stop overwatering her succulents?#time will tell
33 notes
·
View notes
Text
Day 7 of Fighting Dystopia
I cleaned up my garden this morning. I now have six empty pots ready for my next gardening adventure and two new pothos propagations in repurposed glass soda bottles. Everything is pruned, watered, and cared for. I feel refreshed and fulfilled. Everything is thriving.
#its not really a garden persay#mostly 4 inch and smaller pots terracotta pots that ive collected from school events#and glass soda bottles#i have a rosemary hydroponics kit in a mason jar#an attempt at growing a potato from one that sprouted on the counter#and my pothos that i grew out of cutting from my aunts plant#the rest are succulents that i grew from propagations#im really proud of how well everything grows#so anyway...#the world can feel like its going to shit#so this is an exercise in making a difference where you can#appreciating what we have#and not catastrophising#inspired by the solar punk genre and building a new world from the community up#if anyone sees this feel free to join in#hopepunk#solarpunk#day x of fighting dystopia#positivity
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
Can anyone help me identify this volunteer growing with my African violet? It's pretty so I didn't kill it but I have no idea what it is or where it came from.
#unforth rambles#plants#it looks like a succulent#which wouldnt be entirely nonsensical#because when a succulent died i took the soil and dumped it on the african violet to help refill the pot#after the african violet almost died#its recovering nicely btw#but anyway i think its possible its that succulent somehow revived#except that while it looks similar its leaf shape is different#im so confused plant what are you
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
this is not how i am supposed to start my year.
#so years ago my parents bought our current house#but there were some sligh foundational issues - nothing too big at the time#since then our house has been taken over by cracks in our walls and doors and windows#and I had to MOVE out of my room (my SANCTUARY) into the spare bedroom#and now I cannot sleep#the carpet is too fluffy (I paced and danced in my old [OLD] room so the carpet is rough now)#the room it Too Clean (I had to discard my jeans on the floor just to give it a little messiness)#it's much warmer in here#the window is different#this room has so much space - TOO MUCH SPACE for just little old me#a vaulted ceiling?? nope. nope nope nope I need my flat one#I need my room smaller it is meant for one person only -> moi#even sherlock is freaking the fuck out because he cannot go into the old room#SPEAKING OF WHICH#my beautiful precious room now looks like a tornado hit it!!!#cardboard boxes trash and clothes are all across my floor and I now have two different mattresses just hanging out#in my poor old room#and I HAVE. NO. BOOKSHELF.#all my life I've always had a bookshelf for my books and knick knacks and cute little succulents#all my life. bookshelf.#no bookshelf here#only vaulted ceiling#and the closet is too big for me!!!#I don't need all of this space and I don't need all of this change#some of this furniture I'm using isn't even mine!#my mother (an actual godsend) helped me bring in as much of my furniture as we could#but my bedframe is gone - the one I'm using is too big and hits the wall to easy!#I know okay I KNOW that I need to be an adult about this but I am freaking the fuck out#in six to eight months I'm not going to be living here anyways I'm going to be living in college#so all of this had to happen sooner or later right??
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
my pothos :D when i got it vs now!
#rams garden adventures#been awhile!#gonna post my other plants after this one :)#theres. not many anymore#(the heat got to most of em... and what it didnt kill the spider mites did)#im just glad i still have plants honestly#i am sad about the losses though :( the string of pearls was a gift from my sister#now i have repurposed lokis tank into a plant house(added some grow lights to the top)#ive got a few cuttings propagating(outside of the tank)#(burros tail in two different pots the only jellybean stock that survived two string of pearl vines that i dont have much faith in-#cuttings from my first plant(kalanchoe) that got root rot and one cutting of a succulent that i forgot the name of but i loved)#(shooting stars? that looks like it. i have no idea what happened it just... dropped all its leaves and started dying?)#pothos has been doing great though! i do get a heart attack when i see a dead/dying leaf however#highly recommend they are lovely plants#i wanna get another lol
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
birthday cake for me :)
#the lady at the Walmart bakery did the succulents and cactuses#then i added the mushrooms n shit afterwards#got them from the garden section of dollar tree#these are actually 2 separate cake but ive always wanted a 2 tier cake#so we got a sheet cake and a 6inch round cake and slapped em together#the reason i didn't just get one of their mini 2 tiers is cause i love marble cake and the round cakes don't come in marble#bless the Walmart lady for putting up with my socially awkward ass#also this is all whipped icing!#i hate buttercream but some places won't let you get the designs in whipped because its not as clean#i don't really care if its the cleanest and neatest design i need it to taste good but also#i would never know the difference it looks exactly like it did in the pictures#she was a very good cake decorator#the green gel icing she did not add i had to put it in a few spots to hide some mistakes when we put the second cake on top#and then i tried to make it look intentional 😆#so those are not her messy lines
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ugh. Am getting a baby sibling plant for Hortensia when I have more monies (Lucky bamboo, most likely. Not a succulent but allegedly low maintenance and less likely to trigger allergies) and am looking up funky/creepy pots for one and the queer Texan who designed and 3D printed the Pot Of Many Faces that Charlie Vera lived and died in and now where Hortensia Vera has successfully grown for over two years now, has had their designed stolen by another Etsy shop from the U.K. selling and printing the design for cheaper. And I'm guessing the original creator knows this and has tried and failed to get Etsy to act because now their listing for the pot says "the original" on it, and Etsy won't let me report the shop since I'm not the one being plagiarized and I can't leave a review on the shop because I never bought from them.
Anyway, the original designer is PrinTerror (not sure if it's supposed to be parsed as Prin Terror or Print Error, it's one word) and not only do I adore the funky poly-face pot but when Charlie died of root rot I reached out and asked how to best sterilize the pot so Hortensia didn't die and they were super helpful. So like. If you like disembodied body parts as an aesthetic, go check them out
#i really want the Styx flower vase from PrintError but it's out of my price range for now#i wish i had the money to buy one now and not later because the disembodied leg pot was on sale yesterday for half but it ended today#the hopefully successful succulent story of Hortensia Vera#Etsy#also i saw like twelve listings for identical 'melting goddess' pots all from different shops so like#Etsy get your shit together
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
watching scifi shows as someone who knows stuff abt plants is so funny
#Bc there will be characters willing to kill each other over bricks of rations. While there are like 3 different varieties of edible chappara#...chapparal plants behind them#I would understand trying to kill each other over water or rocket fuel or whatever but theres food right behind you#Also I think it's funny when theres an 'alien plant' in the background of a shot and it is a plant that grows in my neighbors yard#Like I know that fire coral succulent is alien looking. But to me it is familiar
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
a little while ago, we got in some bonsai starter plants, but it just came in labeled 'assortment' with no specific tags. the manager wants to accurately tag everything. there are approximately Way Too Many varieties of ficus in the world, but one of the ones we got in has thin leaves.
I referred to it as 'the willow-leaf ficus' in conversation with him and he was like, 'is that what it is? is that the name??' 'I don't KNOW but I've seen the term before and it seems fitting. I emailed the grower. they want photos so they can tell us what's what.'
well. they emailed us back. it's Ficus salicifolia. KNEW IT.
#salix is willow. yaaay cursory knowledge of plant genus names#there's also variegated Ficus triangularis but I figured that out on my own. <- STILL NOT THE HOUSEPLANTS GUY#the company we ordered from doesn't offer everything as individuals so they didn't show up in their availability list...#like. I also ordered a cactus assortment (from a different grower) but they sent a succulent assortment. do you have ANY idea#how many silvery-blue echeveria there are. or how many identical-looking graptopetalum hybrids there are.#their list is like: -echeveria mix. -haworthia mix. -succulents mix. and then that's IT. no individual ANYTHING AAA#waiting on an email from them too but idk if it'll ever happen. alas.#I don't like putting things on the table with no tags or with garbage 'x Mix' tags. the exception is the cactus mix. that I don't. HAVE.
1 note
·
View note
Text
I love naming plants after characters. I was just thinking about how I need to get an orchid pot for my new orchid, and then I muttered to myself, "I need to get new pots for Sasuke and Naruto, too." And then paused and laughed about it.
As is, I currently have plants named Makki (from haikyuu), Merrill (from dragon age 2), Taltana (my first dnd character), Izumi (from fullmetal alchemist), Wolfwood, Vash, and Knives (Ya Bois from trigun), Symbiosis (from iwatex), AND my new Naruto, Sasuke, and Sakura.
I just like it ❤️
#speculation nation#the symbiosis plant is a bonsai tree. get it. bc sym spent 400 years as a tree.#i also have Perserverance. Babybel. Merrill Junior (made from a piece of Merrill that broke off)(theyre succulents)#Asmodeus (the aloe plant). Emil (the money tree). i got them both from IKEA. different visits.#Naan junior named after Naan. the plant i had years back whose leaves were dappled like naan#Naan junior is a different kind of plant but has similar red highlights to the leaves. so i named her after her.#and... thats it! thats all my plants.#perserverance is named that bc i got it from a funeral and didnt expect it to live long. didnt wanna name it just for it to die#but then it just kept living. and it's been since 2018. nearly 6 years now. so it truly has perservered.#babybel named that bc it's like a little version of a plant i had before named Bell#which was actually short for um. Alexfapper Graham Bell. if u know u know lol#my only leafy plants are Perserverance Emil Naan Jr Wolfwood and now Naruto. also maybe Sym if u count it#also Sakura. orchid leaves though. all the rest of my plants are some kind of cactus or succulent.#love my plants. i name every single one. and they are so wonderful.#plants shit#i absolutely had a different tag for my plants than that. but im using that one now lol
1 note
·
View note
Text
Alternatives to Squishmallow
So as many of you have probably already heard, Jazwares, the company that produces Squishmallows, is donating to charities that support Israeli soldiers and the IDF. They’re also supporting Canary Mission, which has been doxxing people who speak out against Israel. BDS hasn’t called for a boycott against them, but I can’t in good faith spend my money on their products, and I would strongly encourage everyone who enjoys plushies to really think long and hard about if you want to give your money to a company that’s helping support genocide!
But the holidays are coming up, and lots of us enjoy plushies and were fans of Squishmallow, and were planning to give Squishmallows to friends and family this year.
Fortunately, there are a number of great plushie companies out there, and I want to promote some of my favorites in the hopes that folks will get their plushie fix from a source that doesn’t side with Israel. So without further ado:
Fluffnest
Fluffnest got their start on Kickstarter a few years ago, and I adore the round shapes of their PuffPal plushies! My favorite is Pete the Possum, which is probably the best possum plush I’ve ever seen. I’ve also got a beautiful moth from their Kickstarter and I’ve been wanting their bats for ages. They also recently had a Kickstarter for an Animal Crossing-esque video game featuring their plushie characters and it looks fantastic.
Squishables
I can’t get over the plague doctor plushies. They’re so perfect and cute, and they’ve released other variations of them called Alter Egos, like a ghostly version, an alien, or a really sweet cottagecore one! They’ve got a ton of variety, but what I like the most are the fantasy plushies. There’s a lich! There are dragons and demons! Cryptids! Biblically accurate angels! A lot of really fun stuff!
Also they do a lot of great charity work! Right now they’re doing an auction for the Food Bank of New York City.
AfternoonFika
AfternoonFika is a very small business of only three people, but their plushies are extremely cute. They tend to sell out fast, so I recommend following them on social media to stay on top of any restocks! They recently released a line of dinosaurs that are precious, and of course I love their iconic cactus cat and cinnamon bun bunny.
Jellycat
Jellycat has been around since 1999, so they’re the oldest of these companies. They’ve got great designs, a ton of variety, and a lot of their plushies are made to be cuddled on and not just displayed. All three of my tiny nephews sleep with a different stuffed dog from Jellycat. My mom has a sun and several succulents that she uses as decorations. There’s a little something for everyone who enjoys plushies!
If you have any other favorite companies I haven’t mentioned, feel free to add on! I’ve enjoyed Squishmallows for a while now and I’m sad to see their leadership coming out on the side that’s committing war crimes on a daily basis, but this is a good time to discover new favorite plushie companies! And remember, money speaks loudly. Even if BDS hasn’t called for a boycott of Jazwares, it sends a message when sales start dropping for companies that support genocide. It’s a small thing, but the little things we do can add up!
22K notes
·
View notes
Text
*ੈ✩‧₊˚ MILLION DOLLR BABY!
★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ⎯ for as long as you can remember, you’ve been friends with Satoru Gojo—just friends. Then why is now insisting that you’re the perfect woman to birth the Gojo clan heir?
★ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 ⎯ gojo x fem!reader, smut (mdni), implied experienced!gojo x virgin!reader, gojo clan au, breèding k⍣nk, best friends to lovers/f⍣ckers, implied s⍣xual tension, unprotected s⍣x, slight mention of size difference, mentions of passing out, slight cl⍣t play, slight t⍣t play, bigd⍣ck!satoru.
When Satoru had first proposed this..idea of his, you’d almost choked on the succulent dumpling you were chewing on. Your eyes widened and you looked over at the white haired, heaven sent man beside you, and while, yes, yes he was so fucking attractive, you just didn’t want to waste years of friendship for something you were both unsure of.
You knew that the Gojo clan was in dire need of an heir with Satoru’s ability, considering he himself was the clans one and only trump card. But, where you really the one that could carry out this oh, so important task? You simply couldn’t carry that burden on your shoulders.
“‘Toru,” you called out softly, swallowing the last remains of your food before you reached out and cupped his bigger hand in yours. The warmth of his hand alone had you ready to stutter out your whole sentence. “Look, I—“
But could you really continue speaking with the way his azure eyes bored into you as he stared, his free hand taking ahold of yours and holding it tight, practically engulfing your palm in his? You think not.
“Please. I’ve been being bugged all day, you don’t understand.” He pleaded, a pathetic whimper of your name leaving his lips as he pulled you closer to him by the arm. “You’re the only one I wanna do this with.”
“Please.”
And so was the escalation of how you ended up under your best friend of—how many years had you spent with him again? You couldn’t remember with how foggy your brain was as his lips slid across your neck while he peppered hickeys along your skin.
Your hands tangled in his soft hair, urging him to venture further down your neck to the valley of your breasts.
“‘Toru,” you mouthed, looking up to his lust-clouded eyes as you placed his hand on your tit, squirming as he immediately squeezed the flesh. His hands expertly groped at your mounds as his fingers moved around your already firm nipples, swiping at your sensitive nubs.
Satoru chuckled breathlessly, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’ll give it to you soon, needy girl.”
He then planted a deep, wanton kiss to your lips—a kiss that released all of his pent up feelings and sexual tension into one. Your body shivered as you felt his breath fan past your pulse point.
“Just know you’re leaving this room nice ‘n full, ‘Kay?” And with that he was latching his mouth to your breasts, making quick work of sliding his robe off with a swift pull of the bow holding it together. He sprang up, hard and excited to finally have the woman he’s been head over heels with for years.
Fuck. Your eyes widened at the sight—was he really hiding this from you all this time? Surely, concealing something this size would be a hassle, right?
Satoru’s grin only widened at the expression displayed on your face, feeling pride build up in his chest. He hurriedly grabbed at the base, pressing his tip right up to your aching and pulsing cunt.
“Y’ready?”
“Mhm hm!”
“‘M going in,” as he slowly wedged himself between your folds, watching as you stretched to accommodate his size and groaning at the view.
Was this what heaven felt like? Had Satoru Gojo finally tasted a slice of his own paradise?
He had, and there was no backing down now—no escaping from the seemingly endless ruts of cock into you, the hands harshly planted to your hips, and the feeling of being filled up repeatedly.
He watched you squirm under him, all the while burning with the desire to ruin you, but he knew with how tight you were clamped down around him—that this might’ve been your first time.
The thought made his ego skyrocket.
“You take it so well,” he praised, spreading your thighs further apart to gain a better glance of just how wet you were, gritting his teeth in resistance.
Satoru could, without doubt, have you pass out by the second round—if he wanted you to. But his goal now was simply to get you pregnant—to plant that million dollar baby into you.
However…a little sidetracking could do. It wouldn’t hurt to have a little fun with you.
“It’s so..deep inside me, ‘Toru. Are you sure it’s s’possed to be—“ your words came to a halt, a particularly hard rut of his hips shutting you up for good; only leaving room for cries of pleasure to leave your lips.
And, maybe, just maybe he should have proposed this idea earlier. Maybe he should have just made it known to you how good he could give dick.
With each movement into you, Satoru let himself go a little, let himself get a little rougher, let the head of his cock graze the just-right spots inside of you; spots you never knew existed.
He already knew your body so well.
His hand journeyed down to your thighs, letting go of its original place on your hips to your pussy, thumb drawing your clit in brain-fuzzying circles.
You mewled, back arching off the bed and your hips moving on their own to meet his thrusts, clawing at the bedsheets for anything that may keep you grounded—because everything your best friend did threatened to transport you to pleasure utopia.
“S’toru, feels like my—“ he cut you off once more, breathing hard against your lips after he finishes kissing you.
“You gonna cum for me?” he asked, smugly of course, knowing he’d be the first man to ever make you cum. You nod and Satoru took this as a queue to drive rougher thrusts into your cunt, reveling in the lewd squelches and the slap of your bodies resonating throughout the room.
You came to a crescendo, and your body fell limp. Your thighs shook around his waist as you climaxed, mouth falling open and face curling into a blissed-out look.
“Fucking pretty even when you cum,”
And while it would’ve taken him—normally—another round to finish, virgin pussy had him on a chokehold. Especially yours.
So, naturally, it wasn’t long—perhaps 3 or 4 more thrusts until Satoru Gojo—your former best friend—came inside you. Fully intent on knocking you up.
No, he didn’t have any intention of pulling out either, wanting to keep his seed deep inside you until he’s sure you’re pregnant.
He lay to your side, still inside you, not showing any signs of getting soft anytime soon. But, no matter what had happened, Satoru was still your best friend.
Just now a best friend that knew how your walls felt around him.
#ꔫ : ˚ ͙۪۪̥◌⎯ 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈’𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍#jjk fic#jjk smut#jjk x reader#gojo smut#jjk headcanons#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fanfic#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen smut#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x reader#satoru gojo#gojo fluff#satoru smut#jjk gojo#gojo x reader#gojou satoru x reader#gojo satoru#gojo x you#jjk satoru#satoru gojo smut#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo x y/n#jujutsu kaisen satoru#satoru x you
15K notes
·
View notes
Text
the very first night
summary: the search for a new place to live takes a turn for the worse when the only person willing to split rent with you is your ex-boyfriend.
⇢ pairing: kim mingyu x fem!reader ⇢ genres: romance, angst, smut, exes to lovers au, roommates au ⇢ word count: 19.7k ⇢ warnings: profanity, alcohol conusmption, explicit sexual content (oral sex, fingering, protected sex) ⇢ a/n: title is the very first night by taylor swift. reposted from my old blog.
ONE
You think that all the decisions you’ve made in your life so far have all boiled down to this one moment.
Karmic retribution, if you will.
Despite the six months for which you and your ex-boyfriend have been separated, Kim Mingyu looks the same. The same floppy hair that never quite sits flat on his head—though he’s let it grow a tiny bit, and now it curls behind his ears—and the same tight-fitting black shirt you swear you tried stealing from him once. Wire-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and warm brown eyes that peer back at you. Pink lips which beckon you with a small, yet welcoming smile.
“Hey.” The word drags from his mouth, and he extends the last syllable for a second longer than necessary. “You’re here early.”
Shit. Even his voice sounds the same.
You heft your suitcase and place it by your feet just so you can avoid eye contact. Under different circumstances, Mingyu probably wouldn’t have let you carry your suitcase all the way up the stairs to the third floor—the elevator has been out of commission since before you even met him, and that doesn’t appear to change anytime soon. He probably would have lugged the whole thing upstairs, despite your protests and claims that you’re strong enough to do it on your own. But now, you can only sense his gaze on your figure as you place it securely on the floor.
When you straighten up, he’s still looking at you. He has an eyebrow raised and his arms crossed over his chest, but his eyes are clouded, almost as if he’s built some kind of impenetrable fortress against you. You have your walls up, too—in the slight clench of your jaw and defiant raise of your chin—and it’s something someone else wouldn’t be able to notice, but you’re sure Kim Mingyu has.
“Yeah. Um.” You attempt to smile, pray it doesn’t visibly appear as a grimace, and gesture behind you with your thumb. “The packers and movers came by pretty early, so everything ended up moving faster.”
“I see.” He purses his lips, evidently running out of things to say. (Good for you, really, because there’s nothing for you to say either.)
You take the chance to glance behind him—a feat in itself, considering how broad his shoulders are—and observe the interiors of what is going to be your home for the next year. Beige walls, the ratty sofa he bought off a garage sale, the television set he originally used to play video games on but ended up using it to watch shows instead—and a potted succulent placed in the corner. That wasn’t there before.
Before you allow your lips to tug up amusedly, Mingyu speaks again. “Is that all? When’s the rest of your stuff coming in?”
“The movers said they’d have everything ready within two days. It might take me longer to get everything sorted out, though,” you reply, aiming your gaze downwards at your suitcase.
It’s an old thing, with fraying fabric and rusty wheels, but it currently contains a fraction of your belongings: Clothes, toiletry, a small pouch where you keep items that have a special significance to you. Only the bare essentials, really. Mingyu had assured you that the room was furnished, with a bed, closet and desk. His old roommate, Minghao, had moved out but left the furniture behind because he had no reason to take them with him—not when he moved in with his girlfriend in her own apartment. All that’s left for the movers to bring over is your bookshelf, your book collection, the rest of your clothes, the Ikea drawer you and your best friend, Park Jihyo, built together, and other smaller items like your desk lamp and office chair.
“That’s okay,” Mingyu says. “Take as long as you need.”
You nod, mumbling a “thank you”, then bend down to pick up your suitcase.
Mingyu moves aside, granting you enough space to roll it across the floor and head over to the side that leads to the Minghao’s old room. Right opposite you is the doorway that leads to Mingyu’s bedroom, and further to the side is the corridor that opens into the kitchen, the small space where he keeps a dining table, and the bathroom.
In a way, you’re glad your room is situated further away from those places. Ghosts of memories linger there, ones that you can’t bear to revisit.
No, it’s better this way; you’re away from everything that you used to consider a second home. Maybe if you close the door behind you, you can pretend like you’re in some kind of void where the only things that exist are you and the bed.
“Wait, Y/N.”
You pause, feeling… something. The way he says your name, so casually, as if it’s second nature to him (it used to be) and nothing has changed at all, has you on edge—not in the good way, but not in the bad way either.
You turn around. “Yeah?”
“Um.” Your ex-boyfriend hesitates for a second. “I’m… going out for dinner with Minghao and some others, is that okay? It might be late by the time I come back.”
“Okay.” Then, feeling the need to clarify something, you say, “You—you don’t have to tell me that. We don’t… owe each other an explanation for where the other is.”
Mingyu stays quiet, and you look away, teeth worrying your bottom lip. You wonder if he’s going to say anything—or even show any kind of reaction at all.
“Right. We don’t.” His voice is toned down with a kind of uneasiness that you don’t blame him for. Heck, even you feel a twinge of hurt rise up your throat at your own words. “I’ll… let you get some rest.” He nods once, places his hands in his pockets, and walks back to his room.
Your grip on the suitcase handle tightens. Once you enter your room, you let out a pained sigh. You shut the door and turn your back to the wooden blockade that separates you from the rest of the apartment.
This is not going the way you expected—but then again, what had you expected? That everything between you and Mingyu would just vanish and you could talk to him normally without feeling that tiny pinprick of bitterness stab your chest every time you address him? You and Mingyu have a history, filled with good times and bad times, and six months spent away from each other will do nothing to erase that.
You think of what your old roommate, Jihyo, would’ve said. He’s just a boy, Y/N. Make him clean the toilet all the time so he’ll automatically get sick of you.
You smile to yourself, unlocking your phone. Jihyo is probably too busy settling down in her new home in the city she moved to, so she can’t pick up your call. You decide to send her a text message instead.
You switch to the food app, order your favourite dishes from the Indian place a couple of streets away, and toss your phone onto the bed. Kneeling, you unzip your suitcase and unpack the few items you have with you. As you move around, you can already imagine how to decorate the place, how to make it feel more like a home and less like you’re an intruder. The closet is just enough for all the clothes you own—the ones you’ve packed and the ones stored in cardboard boxes yet to arrive. The desk placed opposite to the bed is perfect for when you have to work on your laptop late at night; if you place your lamp on it, you might even forget that you’re not in your old apartment. The bed already has a mattress with clean linen on the bedspread. You place your old Looney Tunes duvet on it.
Thirty minutes later, the doorbell rings. You pause your unpacking to get the door and thank the delivery guy for the food. Mingyu has already left, judging by the lack of noise in the rest of the apartment. You just hope he doesn’t come back home drunk and shit-faced—that would definitely ruin the rest of your night, and the much-needed sleep you require.
You decide not to use the kitchen table, instead opting to take the food containers into your room, where you can eat and watch a show at the same time. It’s lonely, but at least you can have your meal somewhere comfortable.
Your phone rings with notifications. You pick it up, carefully balancing the bowl of curry on your knee.
(19:47) Jihyo: hows the apartment??? did u make mingyu clean the toilet yet?
(19:47) Mingyu: hey, i’m at a thai place. do you want anything to eat at home? i could get something packaged.
You smile at the first text, tense up at the second one, and place your phone down next to you. Not replying to either of their messages might be a bad idea, but right now, all you want is to have your spicy curry and naan in peace—your best friend and ex-boyfriend be damned.
TWO
It’s only after you move in with Mingyu that your separation from Jihyo truly sinks in. Now, there’s no one you can wake up at two in the morning because your period started and you ran out of pads, or gossip about that one campus couple who broke up in public at your favourite boba place.
Not to mention the fact that living with your ex-boyfriend is mildly awkward at best and stupidly melancholic at worst.
It’s been a week, but you and Mingyu seem to have figured out a way to work in tandem. It appears as though neither of you want to see the other—just yet, at least. He goes for a morning jog at six; your alarm rings at six. He comes back reeking of sweat at seven in the morning; you’re getting ready to leave for work by then. You do the dishes on the days he vacuums the apartment and vice versa. It leaves no room for conversation, other than the occasional greetings and small talk when you happen to cross paths.
In fact, ever since you purposefully ignored Mingyu’s text asking if you wanted anything from the Thai restaurant, he’s made a conscious effort at avoiding you.
You nearly jump out of your seat when someone taps your shoulder. “Hey.”
You turn around and meet your co-worker, Lee Seokmin’s eyes. He smiles at you, eyes curving into little crescents.
“Hi,” you say, smiling back automatically.
If there’s one person you can count on to bring a smile to your lips, even if it’s eight o’clock in the morning—at work, no less—it’s Lee Seokmin. His cheerful nature and lively personality is infectious. His happiness radiates outwards in waves that everyone gets swept up on. You might even consider yourself envious of how easily he sways everyone, with that exuberant smile and those good-natured compliments he doles out to everyone like they cost him nothing. (Which they don’t, you suppose.)
“Something on your mind?”
Your smile turns into a grimace. “You could tell?”
He gives you a little half-shrug, still smiling. “You had a weird, serious, think-y face. And before you come at me for think-y not being a real word—I’m very aware of that, thank you—it’s the best way I can describe you.”
“You chose think-y—” you bite back a chuckle— “as the best word to describe me? Come on, Seokmin, you can do better than that.”
“I can,” he agrees, “but only when the situation is appropriate.” His face turns grave, and he continues, “But seriously, Y/N. Did you have a rough night?”
His eyes roam over your face, evident concern shown in the curve of his lips and the slight dip of his eyebrows. You control your wince, wondering if the swollen bags underneath your eyes aren’t as concealed by your makeup as you thought.
Rough week, more like. But you don’t say that to him. “Something like that,” you say.
“You moved out a while back, right? How’s the new place?”
“It’s… good. Close to the supermarket and all that. Everything is within, like, a ten-metre radius, so I don’t have to go very far to get things.”
“That’s nice to hear,” Seokmin says, and you can tell he really means it. “I bet you’re tired, though, with all that packing and unpacking and moving around.”
He bends closer, the front of his loosely tucked shirt just barely touching the back of your chair. This close, you can smell the faint scent of Seokmin’s deodorant and fabric softener. He taps his finger on the arm of your chair. “Do you want to get some coffee with me?”
“Um.” You look back at your laptop and the pile of binders next to it. Seokmin seems to know what you’re thinking, because he huffs and says, “C’mon, I’m sure Seungcheol wouldn’t mind if you took a coffee break.”
“I guess,” you return, flashing him a smile when he rolls your chair backwards to give you space to stand up.
Getting up, both of you weave your way to the third floor, where the only functioning coffee maker is housed. The elevator is too crowded and busy for you to use to get down from your position on the seventh floor, so you settle for using the stairs. Throughout the ten-minute walk (which effectively turns into a fifteen-minute one, thanks to him), Seokmin waves and greets every single fellow office worker you pass by. By name.
You roll your eyes and bite your lip to hold back your laugh when a young, female intern—probably still in college by the looks of it—flushes bright red because Seokmin complimented her barrette.
He catches your eye and grins. “What’s so funny?”
You shake your head good-naturedly. “It’s nothing. Carry on with whatever you were doing.”
“What was I doing?”
“Oh, you know,” you say airily, “making everyone fall head over heels for you because you’re just so nice.”
His grin only widens. “You make it sound as though being nice is a bad thing.”
“That’s not what I meant at all,” you protest. “I’m just— Greeting every single person you see? By name? How do you even know everyone in the building?”
“I just check their ID card,” he explains, shrugging slightly. “I read this WikiHow article that said if you speak to people using their name, it creates a good impression and makes you appear more confident than you really are.”
“Really?”
Humming, Seokmin nods, before adding slyly, “I’m not sure what you mean by making everyone fall in love with me, though.”
“Please,” you snort. “You’re way too charming for your own good—and I don’t mean that in a bad way.”
“You think so?”
You can hear the smugness in his tone and you roll your eyes again. “Yes, I think so.”
“Then…” He trails off, gazing at the handrail.
Seokmin’s voice turns softer, more serious. Contemplation bleeds into his features, and when he speaks again, he lacks the bravado he had with all the other people he spoke to on your way down.
“Guess I better work on charming the right people, huh?”
You blink, but before you can digest Seokmin’s words, he gives you another bright grin before rounding the corner and striding towards the coffee machine. You follow, the need for caffeine in your system overriding your instinct to mull over what your co-worker said. Unfortunately, it seems you and Seokmin aren’t the only ones who want coffee; a long queue runs ahead of you. Your coffee break might end up taking longer than you thought.
“So,” Seokmin casually drawls, one hand in his pocket and the other fiddling with his ID card’s lanyard. “Do you want to talk about your rough night?”
“I…” You pause and consider.
Should you tell Seokmin? You trust him enough—you’ve known him for as long as you’ve been working in this company—and he’s always been friendly to you, offering you a ride home when both of you work overtime and paying for your food on the occasional visits to a café or a coffee shop. Besides, he’s the closest person you have to a friend, now that Jihyo lives in a different city and you can’t call her up whenever you feel like it. You decide to tread the waters first, only telling him the bare minimum.
“Hypothetically speaking,” you begin, “if you move in with someone you don’t like but have known for years, what would you do?”
“That’s a tough one.” He scratches his chin, pretending to think. “I guess it depends on the kind of past you share, y’know? But either way, I would try to… make peace with them, I guess. Like a ceasefire. Offer them an olive branch. Hypothetically speaking, of course.” He grins knowingly at the last bit and you shove his shoulder.
What Seokmin said makes sense. You and Mingyu are living together; your past relationship shouldn’t come in the way of talking to each other. But it does, so much more than it should. Try as hard as you might, every time you think of Kim Mingyu, the first thing that comes to your mind is all the kisses you’ve shared, the way his arms feel around you, how both of you broke the promises you made to each other—all because you were too proud and he was too stubborn.
You still are proud. For all you know, Mingyu might still be stubborn.
What a pair, you think drily.
You and Seokmin shuffle forwards. He stays silent, allowing you to process your thoughts and wonder how, exactly, you’re going to get over Mingyu and talk to him without feeling like your stomach is twisting into a million knots.
Once you reach the coffee machine, Seokmin hands you a cup. “It’s hot,” he warns, before carefully handing you the styrofoam cup filled to the brim with the bitter brew. You cautiously take a sip, wincing when you almost burn your tongue and make a face at your co-worker when he chimes, “I told you.”
The walk back to your floor doesn’t take as long as the walk down. Before you part ways, Seokmin offers you a small smile and a pat on your shoulder.
“If you’re wondering how to approach your roommate,” he says, lowering his voice, “maybe start off by offering them food. Works like a charm every time.”
Food. Yeah, you can manage that. Dinner with your ex-boyfriend.
Should be a piece of cake.
THREE
Asking Mingyu if he would like to have dinner with you is decidedly not a piece of cake.
When he comes back home from work, Mingyu has only one trajectory: Travel in a straight line from the door to his bedroom, offering you a tight smile if he sees you along the way. His bag is always slung across one shoulder and his shirt is always untucked and his hair is always a wild mess. If his appearance wasn’t achingly familiar, you would probably laugh every time you see his unruly figure.
It takes a week for you to muster up the nerve to look Mingyu in the eye, after your conversation with Seokmin. He’s been pestering you incessantly, almost exactly like Jihyo. When you told her about Seokmin’s suggestion, she had been nothing short of enthusiastic. Your phone has been blowing up constantly with texts from her, egging you on and on and on to make a move first and raise the (hypothetical) white flag.
“If you keep putting it off, you’re going to be very miserable for the rest of your immediate future,” was her reasoning when you called and spoke to her on the phone three days ago. “But also if you don’t fucking ask him to have a meal with you within the next week, I will fly over and have you both sit in a room, alone, and force you to talk.”
Both the options are pretty much the same. You didn’t have the energy to tell Jihyo that.
It’s on a Monday evening that you catch Mingyu and pop the question. A Monday evening that’s insignificant, really. Almost laughable at how normal the evening is. Mingyu unlocks the door, closes it while toeing his shoes off, and gives you the same tight smile—one where it doesn’t reach his eyes, his jaw is slightly clenched, and his lips thin into almost straight lines.
“Mingyu.” Your voice comes out breathless, like you’ve been jogging for miles before coming to a stop in front of him. He pauses, wind-ruffled hair framing his face in cloudy wisps.
“Yeah?”
“I—uh—” you force the words to tumble out of your lips, before you can overthink— “I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me?”
Mingyu purses his lips, looking at you warily. He’s careful, cautious, when he asks, “Is… there any special reason?”
You swallow. “No,” you say honestly, not allowing your eyes to tear away from his. “There isn’t. But I tried making lasagne today, and I would like to share it with someone.”
For a minute, he doesn’t say anything, only lets his bag fall into the crook of his arm. “Okay,” he says finally. “Let me just change and wash up.”
You nod, making your way to the kitchen to bring out the casserole. You’re not usually one for cooking—you prefer ordering takeout because it’s easier and they make the food better than you, anyway—but simply ordering food didn’t sit right with you. Lasagne is a dish you’ve made a few times before, and you would rather make something you’re familiar with instead of trying to whip up something new.
When you go back into the kitchen, you find Mingyu already there, bent over an open cupboard’s door as he fishes out some plates and cutlery. He’s wearing a loose white shirt and grey sweatpants, fringe falling freely over his forehead and obscuring his eyes.
“Are our regular plates okay or do we need the china ones?” he asks, still bent over.
“Why do we need china plates? Wait, why do you even have china plates with you in the first place?”
He looks over at you and shrugs. “Dunno. Minghao had a china cutlery phase, I think.”
That does sound like a phase Xu Minghao would have.
“The regular ones are fine.” You don’t want to risk breaking Minghao’s precious cutlery.
While Mingyu wipes the plates with a dishcloth, you grab two mugs and pour orange juice from the fridge into them. You take one in each hand and follow Mingyu to the kitchen table, placing both of them on either side.
“Orange juice?” Mingyu’s eyebrows are raised.
“Yeah. So?” you challenge him, raising your eyebrows as well.
But he doesn’t say anything against your choice of beverage, only shrugs and mumbles, “We should really stock up on alcohol.”
Your lips twitch. You don’t allow yourself to smile.
Instead, you pull your chair back and sit down, steepling your fingers in front of you. Mingyu piles some food onto his plate. For some reason, you feel weirdly nervous. What if it’s not as good as you think? What if he doesn’t like it?
You shake those thoughts away. This is Kim Mingyu. Even if the food was bad, he wouldn’t tell you; he would only grin, compliment your culinary skills, and continue to eat despite everything.
“Is it… good?” you ask tentatively, after he takes a forkful into his mouth and chews deliberately.
He waits until he’s swallowed before answering. “It’s great. Really good,” he affirms, and you can hear in his voice that he means it.
Well, almost.
It’s the slight dip and intonation of his tone, but it’s one you’re familiar with. You narrow your eyes at him. Mingyu continues eating, oblivious to your glare. In fact, he shovels more lasagne onto his dish and eats with more gusto, pausing every now and then to gulp down some orange juice.
“Really?” you say casually. “I’m glad. Maybe I should try some too.”
Mingyu’s reaction is so instantaneous, it’s almost comical. His eyes widen by a fraction, and he immediately reaches for the casserole. “You should definitely try some,” he says. “But it’s so good, I wanna have some more.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, watching Mingyu stuff more food into his mouth before deciding to put him out of his misery.
“Mingyu. Tell me the truth. How’s the food?”
He pauses, swallowing the food in his mouth and answering with a subdued, sheepish smile:
“It’s too salty.”
FOUR
“Why are you leaving so early?” Jihyo’s voice crackles through your phone placed on your bed.
“Seokmin said he wanted to try out the croissants at the new bakery that opened nearby,” you reply, fiddling with the buttons of your shirt. “He also said he wanted to buy a baguette so that he could whack his roommate with it. Something about going all the way to Paris to buy it but his roommate used it to hammer a nail into the wall and broke it.”
A pause, and then, “Is his roommate okay in the head?”
“Good question.” You grin at your reflection in the mirror, pat down the hair at the back of your neck, and grab your phone. “I’m heading out now. I’ll text you later.”
“’kay,” your best friend says. “Tell Mingyu I said hi.”
“I will,” you say, but you already know you’re not going to greet him on behalf of her.
Things between you and Mingyu are… still pretty much the same, honestly. After that dinner fiasco, you’ve been too embarrassed to properly address him, and he’s not made much of an effort on his part. Or maybe you’ve been consciously avoiding him so much that he doesn’t get a chance to put his foot forward. Either way, your cheeks still burn up whenever you think of that night’s dinner, so for now, hiding in your room is quite possibly the only way you can prevent yourself from catching fire completely.
Stupid logic. You’re a grown adult, with the ability to make good judgements and make decisions. Unfortunately, your decisions are mostly borderline idiotic.
Shouldering your bag, you leave your room and head to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. There’s a Post-It note stuck on the refrigerator. Peeling it off the fridge’s door, you read it curiously.
Got some cookies from Minghao’s friend’s bakery. I’ve kept them in the pantry. Enjoy! :)
Mingyu’s familiar scrawl is branded into your head, and seeing the yellow square of paper makes nostalgia bubble inside your chest like a bath bomb dropped into a bathtub filled with water. You pocket the note, and smile so widely, your cheeks hurt.
Maybe he’s put his foot forward, after all.
Seokmin is already waiting for you outside your apartment building by the time you go out. He grins at you, his eyes crinkling in the corners and teeth flashing happily.
“Hi,” you greet him. “Did you wait long?”
“No.” Your co-worker shakes his head, still smiling. “I just got here, actually.”
“I’m glad.” You return his smile. “Should we head out?”
Seokmin nods. “Of course,” he says, and you fall into step with him.
He has a never-ending list of topics to talk to you about—and for the most part, you’re glad that he’s so outgoing. In twenty minutes, you’ve learnt almost everything there is to know about his roommate, Jeonghan, his older sister, his fear of ladybugs (you snort out loud at that particular anecdote), and his favourite anime (Haikyu!! and One Piece). In return, you tell him about that time you and Jihyo accidentally walked into the wrong restroom at a bar, and how you got dumped by your high school crush because he thought you were better than him at playing basketball.
It’s comfortable. Talking to Seokmin always is.
But you still don’t talk about Mingyu. You try hard to stop thinking of him, but he’s always there at the back of your mind, an unopened gift that you don’t unwrap.
Finally, you and Seokmin round a corner and find yourselves standing in front of the just-opened bakery. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafts through the open door. An array of different types of breads and other desserts is placed carefully on a display at the counter, and the owner greets you with a welcoming smile.
“What do you want to have?” Seokmin asks, holding your elbow and leading you in.
You eye the basket of croissants. The buttery confection looks delicious, but so does the tray of muffins placed next to it. And the bagels placed beside the muffins. “I can’t decide.”
“How about one of everything?”
You glance at him to see if he’s joking, but Seokmin looks completely serious. “You’re kidding, right?” you say, grabbing his arm. “There’s no way I’m going to let you buy one of everything in this store!”
“I would,” Seokmin admits, a flush creeping up his neck, “if you asked me to.”
You groan. “Seokmin. Please don’t.”
“Alright, alright.” He raises his hands in defeat. “I’m just saying, if you wanted me to—”
“One croissant, please,” you interrupt, addressing the owner. “To go. And he will have…”
“Make that two croissants,” Seokmin finishes. “I’ll have whatever the lady’s having.”
“How gentlemanly of you.”
“I know.”
Seokmin pays for his croissant, and you pay for yours. The owner wraps them up and hands them to you, asking you to visit again. Once you exit, you unwrap yours and take a small bite. The bread is soft and melts in your mouth, leaving a sweet aftertaste. You take another bite, and it’s only then that you notice Seokmin looking at you, a corner of his lips turned upwards in a crooked smile and one hand in his pocket.
“What?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious. “Do I have crumbs on my face?”
“No,” he replies. “I just… I would really love to do this again, Y/N.”
Oh.
Seokmin looks at you so hopefully. Like he’s been waiting for this opportunity for a long time. Like he needs to get something off his chest. Like he never wants this moment to end.
“...I’d like that, too,” you say.
Somehow, the words leave a bitter taste in your mouth, one that even another mouthful of the sweet snack can’t erase.
FIVE
It’s getting late, and yet Kim Mingyu is hellbent on getting you to keep him company. The worst part is that it’s working—though you would never admit that to him.
Being friends with your ex isn’t that uncommon. You and Mingyu can be friends. But how long are you willing to put up with this ruse before it all blows up in your faces? Friendship between two people who used to date isn’t that much of a big deal—but that’s just it, isn’t it? You and Mingyu weren’t just two people who used to date.
How did you even let him talk you into spending time with him? Or maybe that’s all on you; you’ve never been able to say no to him. One minute you’re looking at his face and remembering the lasagne gone wrong, the next he’s asking if you want to watch a movie with him. Except neither of you have updated your Netflix subscription, so this was a bad idea all along.
Maybe talking to Mingyu is a bad idea.
Maybe you should go back to your old ways, locking yourself up in your room and only acknowledging his presence when you happen to cross paths.
But the socialite in you nags, what if he thinks you’re some kind of hermit who only comes out to eat and drink? Besides, he’s here now, right next to you on the sofa—keeping a respectable distance between your bodies—as he watches a rerun of America’s Next Top Model because it was the least shitty thing playing on all the channels you scrounged through fifteen minutes ago.
Normally, you would be elated at the idea of poking fun at random reality shows, expressing your exasperation at the poorly-written scripted drama and the even worse acting. But even if the showoff between two aspiring models both named Jessica and sporting the same colour of fake tan and bleached blonde hair was somewhat interesting, you find your gaze keeps wandering to your ex-boyfriend.
You trace the contours of his face with your eyes—the cheekbones that jut out only slightly, the furrow created on his forehead as his eyebrows kiss, the way his honey-brown eyes stare at the screen in front of him with a focused intensity. Even the way his lips curve ever-so slightly upwards, despite him pressing them together, has you recalling just how soft they felt against your own.
His warm, soft skin. The prominent collarbone that you used to press small kisses to whenever you wanted to get his attention. The moles scattered all over his body, creating a canvas for you to paint on by tracing them with your fingers. The flex of his fingers as he bunches them into a loose fist.
Everything about him is so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time.
Even this semblance of friendship that has bridged the drawn-out distance between you both feels strange—as though somewhere in the back of your subconscious, you recognise that this camaraderie is either a really good thing or could go extremely wrong. You’re in the middle of that bridge, trying your best not to lean too much to the right or to the left, but even a slight misstep could lead to everything going downhill.
“Are you rooting for Jessice H. or Jessica C.?”
“Huh?” You blink, escaping your haze of thoughts. “I’m sorry—which one is which?”
Mingyu glances at you with a deadpan expression. “We’ve been watching them trying to one up each other for the past ten minutes.”
“Sorry.” You smile sheepishly. “Both of them look the same to me.”
“Fair enough,” he acquiesces, before returning his focus to the show. “It’s the fake tan, isn’t it? Although the hair is similar too… No wonder they’ve been arguing about who put on their mascara better—it looks identical.”
You play along. “Or maybe it’s the supposed Gucci belts. I had no idea Gucci made handbags with fake crocodile skin.”
“The more you know…”
You laugh at that, and Mingyu looks at you—really looks, the same way he used to when you made a bad joke and giggled at it yourself. He looks at you with adoration written all over his face, in the upward twist of his lips and the crinkling in the corners of his eyes.
You clamp your mouth shut immediately, feeling a sense of nostalgia, longing and wistfulness seep into your skin, through your flesh and settle deep into your bones.
Too much. It’s too much, and it’s way too early, and you don’t want to dwell on anything at the moment. So you do what you do best: You hide.
You tear your gaze off him and rub your palms on your old jeans. You hear Mingyu’s sharp intake of breath, but you force yourself not to look, not to think about him.
“Hey, uh—I was supposed to call Jihyo right now,” you lie, and even you think it sounds lame coming out of your mouth, so there’s no way Mingyu can’t see through it.
“Y/N,” is all he says.
You hate the way your chest clenches—just because he said your name—but what can you do? Escape the situation and never bring up the obvious elephant in the room?
Yeah. That’s exactly what you do. Making decisions isn’t your forte, but you’ll deal with the consequences of your actions later. Much, much later, if you can avoid it for as long as you’re living here.
You get up and make a beeline for your room, and Kim Mingyu doesn’t say anything to make you stop.
SIX
Whenever you faltered, Jihyo was your voice of reason. She would help you back to your feet, give you a solid nudge on your shoulder and list out the pros and cons of everything, allowing you to formulate your own opinion and come to a decision.
She isn’t being very helpful right now.
“Think about it,” she reasons. “Before, he was your ex. Now, he’s the guy you live with. You have to talk to him, no matter what.”
She’s right. She knows you know she’s right. You still refuse to acknowledge it, because pride comes before a fall, but you haven’t fallen yet. It’s more like you’re dangling off the precipice.
“How’s Jaehyun?” you say instead, referring to the guy she’s been crushing on ever since she moved to the new city.
Jihyo lets out an unimpressed sigh, the grainy image of her face on your phone screen contorting slightly. “Don’t think you’re being super smart by changing the topic, Y/N. And he’s fine. We went out for boba the other day.”
“Yeah?” You play with the fraying edge of the duvet thrown over your body. “That’s nice.”
Jihyo hums, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. “And then he asked if we could hook up.”
You guffaw. “Really?”
“Yeah.” She nods vigorously, affirming her statement. “I said no, obviously.”
“Why? Afraid he’s too much to handle?”
“Please,” your best friend snorts. “Have you seen him? I think I’m too much for him to handle. He couldn’t even pay for the boba without tearing his pocket because he was too enthusiastic in getting his wallet out.”
You smile thinly. Jihyo might be poking fun at the man, but you can tell from the twinkle in her eyes and the way her voice is filled with infectious joy that she’s enamoured by him. You wish you could meet him in person. Instead, you have to settle for checking out his Instagram profile.
“Anyway,” she continues, stifling a yawn, “it’s late and I have to head out tomorrow. I’ll call you later.”
“Okay,” you say. “Good night. Don’t dream of Jaehyun.”
She flips her middle finger at you and you roll your eyes, pressing the end button. Just when you’re about to fluff your pillow so you can lie down, you hear a knock on your door.
“Y/N?” Mingyu sounds remarkably active, considering the fact that it’s currently fifteen minutes past midnight. “Are you awake?”
Curiosity compels you to answer honestly, “Yeah. Is everything okay?”
You tread over to the door, swinging it open. Mingyu is in his sweatpants—a pair you know he only wears for bed—and a loose graphic T-shirt. You’re wearing pretty much the same attire, except your shirt is an old one, worn-out from your high school days, and it doesn't fit you that well anymore. You tug the hem over your hips consciously.
“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Yeah, everything’s okay. I was just…” He pauses, raising a hand and ruffling his hair. “Do you wanna get some ice cream?”
Of all possible things you expected Mingyu to ask you, this certainly wasn’t one of them. You blink, bemused.
“Or—or we don’t have to,” he backtracks, when you don’t say anything immediately. “I was just craving something sweet, that’s all—”
“Okay,” you say, surprising yourself with your answer. Mingyu is trying to extend the olive branch you placed in between you both, and you have to appreciate that. Regardless of your personal feelings. Besides, Jihyo was right—he’s the guy you live with, and you need to be able to spend time with him. As friends. Nothing more.
“Okay.” He exhales, relieved. “It’s right across the street.”
“I think I know the one you’re talking about.”
The ice cream parlour is a ten-minute walk from your apartment, but walking with Mingyu makes time fly. He says something about mint chocolate being an underrated flavour, and you insinuate that it deserves to be, and just like that, conversation flows between you both as though your past is some kind of a fever dream.
Where Seokmin is a bright ray of sunshine lighting up your way on a cloudy day, Mingyu is moonlight, skittering over your figure and providing solace in the dark. Seokmin is infectious laughter and gleeful smiles; Mingyu is whispered jokes and shared silence.
Perhaps it’s those very qualities that made you fall so hard for the man next to you. You know for sure it’s those very qualities that still have you in his grip, even though he doesn’t know it. Maybe that’s why talking to him is awkward—because how do you move on from someone who captured your heart and kept it for safe-keeping but know that there’s one big, gaping hole in your chest where his heart is supposed to be? Even now, a small part of you belongs to Mingyu, like a little token which he’s kept locked up and hidden the key.
Six months is a long time, but neither you nor Mingyu seems to be able to bring up what happened. Maybe it’s for the best, you think. You would rather have a small bit of this domesticity that feels familiar than have everything blow up in your face because of the harsh words you exchanged.
You ignore the tightening in your chest and focus on the warmth pooling in your stomach when Mingyu grins and offers you a chance to redeem yourself when it comes to good ice cream flavours. You say mint chocolate is tolerable, but only because Mingyu likes it.
SEVEN
Seokmin drops by your cubicle almost every day now. He offers to drop you back home, too.
Each time, you smile but decline politely. You still feel guilty about saying that you would like to spend more time with him as well—but in your defence, you didn’t really lie; you do want to spend more time with him, but only as a friend. Seokmin didn’t specify how exactly he wants to go out with you.
It’s getting harder to say no, however. Seokmin is everything if not persistent, and his determination to take you out has you crumbling under his forlorn gaze and pleading words.
He doesn’t make your heart beat faster, or make butterflies erupt inside your belly. Being with Seokmin doesn’t come with bright fireworks or flashy songs. It’s finding the extraordinary in the mundane, and laughing yourselves silly over jokes that aren’t even that funny.
So. It’s not Mingyu, but Seokmin is nice and friendly and stable, and you think you can fall for him. You and Mingyu aren’t going to cross the threshold of friends ever again, anyway. There’s nothing stopping you from going out with Seokmin.
“Okay,” you say when he asks you again, a half-resigned look on his face when he assumes you’ll just say no again.
The way his expression morphs to elation is worth it, you think. He surges forward, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in for a tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispers into your ear, and the joy he feels is infectious—as most good things with Seokmin are—so it’s no surprise that your cheeks are already hurting from smiling too hard.
When you update Jihyo about the latest turn of events, she tuts disapprovingly and says, “Have you told Mingyu?”
“No,” you say, feeling defensive. “I don’t have to tell him, do I?”
Your best friend waits for a beat. “You don’t, I guess.”
Mingyu interrupts your call then, and you quickly tell Jihyo you’ll text her later. He stands in the living room, holding up a pair of button down shirts, one in each hand, forehead creased and mouth downturned.
You lean against your doorway, amused. “You called?”
His face clears as he looks at you, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “I have this work event I need to attend tomorrow, but I don’t know what to wear.”
You observe the shirts he’s holding up. One is cream in colour, long-sleeved and ironed neatly. The other is black, with a thin white stripe along the collar and sleeves.
“The black one,” you say immediately. And then feel your cheeks heat up with your quick answer. In your defence, Kim Mingyu has always looked alarmingly handsome in black. Objectively speaking.
“I haven’t worn this one in a long time.” He brings it close to his face, squinting at it. “It probably stinks.”
“Smell it, then,” you say, chuckling at the mortified look on Mingyu’s face. “What? You’re telling me you’ve never worn your underwear inside out because you forgot to do the laundry? This isn’t that different.”
“I have never done anything of the sort.” He sniffs petulantly at you, before his eyes narrow. “Wait. Does that mean you’ve worn your underwear inside out?”
You wrinkle your nose. “Gross. I thought you knew me better than that.”
Mingyu tenses up at your offhand comment, and you look down, wondering why that even slipped out of your mouth in the first place. Of course you screw everything up just when things are going decently well.
“I do,” he mumbles. “I do know you better than that.” When you look at him, he has a wan smile on his lips. “Which is why I’m going to trust your judgement and wear the black shirt. Even if it’s musty from sitting in the back of my closet for so long.”
“Oh, shut up,” you huff, walking over to him and grabbing the cloth out of his hand. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
He only raises a single eyebrow at you.
That’s what prompts you to sniff at it. At his goddamn shirt. Like you’re one of those police dogs they use to find missing people.
It… doesn’t smell unpleasant. A little bit musty, like Mingyu said, but that can be attributed to him not wearing it often. Mostly, it smells of faint fabric softener and deodorant—and underneath it all, a scent that is solely Mingyu’s. (Pine and citrus and lavender, all mixed together, in a way that only Mingyu can pull off.)
“It smells fine,” you say, shoving it into Mingyu’s chest. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m not the one who grabbed it and shoved my face into it,” he says, “so who’s the real dramatic one here?”
“I didn’t shove my face into it!” You swat at his shoulder, but he laughs and dodges, eyes twinkling with playfulness.
“If you say so,” he returns, still chuckling to himself.
“When is this event?”
“Tomorrow evening,” he answers.
“Both of us won’t be at home then,” you say, and he raises an eyebrow. “I… have a date tomorrow,” you explain, and regret it almost instantly. Why are you even telling him that? He doesn’t need to know.
“Oh,” is all he says, followed by a quieter, “Have fun.”
EIGHT
Seokmin picks you up at exactly six o’clock, wearing a loose button down shirt and slacks, and his hair styled carefully. He perks up as soon as you wave at him, jogging over to you with a smile.
“Hey,” he greets you. “You look good.”
You return his smile, tugging at the edge of your blouse and smoothing out your skirt. “Thank you. So do you.”
Seokmin’s grin brightens, which you didn’t even think was possible. “Thanks,” he says, and then gently takes hold of your elbow. “So… the plan for today is to take you out for dinner, and then a movie. How does that sound?”
“It sounds… good,” you say, letting him lead the way. It’s basic, yes, but you’re a firm believer in clichés—there’s a reason they become popular, after all.
He doesn’t stop talking, and neither do you. Throughout the entire half an hour dinner in some hole-in-the-wall diner that Seokmin discovered a month ago and serves the best blue lemonade mojitos you’ve ever tasted, and the entire two hour movie that’s way too boring for you to focus on the screen anyway, you and your co-worker keep up an endless stream of banter and silly anecdotes and you find yourself enjoying it more than you thought you would.
It’s refreshing, and when you and Seokmin finally make the walk back to your apartment, you find it difficult to let go of his hand. He pulls you to a stop in front of the building, rubbing his thumb gently across the back of your hand.
His smile is as bright as ever, albeit tinged with slight disappointment. “So. I’ll see you on Monday, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you confirm, nodding. “Thank you for today, Seokmin. I had a lot of fun.”
“Me too,” he returns. “Listen, I—”
He’s interrupted by someone stumbling across the sidewalk—not someone, you realise. It’s two people, tightly coiled around each other in a manner that is entirely indecent for the public eye. But as they trip around one another—still holding each other tightly—your heart sinks deep into the pit of your stomach.
One of them is Mingyu.
The other person is some girl, hair falling loosely across her face, Mingyu’s fingers tangled into her tresses, while his other hand bunches up the material of her dress at her waist. They kiss and kiss and kiss, and you don’t tear your eyes away until Seokmin makes a noise of disgust.
He turns around, blocking your view of them and takes both your hands in his. “I… I’ll call you. Okay?”
You nod numbly. “Okay.”
Seokmin leaves with a bright smile and a lingering kiss on your cheek. You plaster a smile onto your lips until he moves out of your line of sight, after which you begin the arduous trek back to your—Mingyu’s—apartment. Normally, the three floors you climb aren’t much of a strenuous task; tonight, however, every step you take makes you feel like your legs are made of lead.
You fumble in your purse for your key, the image of Mingyu kissing that girl not leaving your mind. It’s not supposed to hurt, you’re not supposed to be bothered by it. But it stings, like the biting cold on a freezing winter morning, making your fingers stiff and your ears chilly.
You hear footsteps right when you twist the key into the lock.
The last thing you see before you enter the apartment is Mingyu clambering up the staircase, clearly drunk but surprisingly upright. He has a lipstick stain leading from the corner of his mouth to his cheek, his hair is tousled—no doubt from someone running their hands through his silky locks—and his shirt is untucked and wrinkled.
He opens his mouth to say something, but you grab the door handle and step inside, because the last thing you want to confront is the fact that your feelings for Kim Mingyu might not be as forgotten as you believe.
Which is fine, all things considered, except Kim Mingyu doesn’t give a damn.
You let the door slam shut behind you before Mingyu can get in. Technically, it’s his house. Technically, he’s the one who has the right to lock you out.
Technically, you’re acting like a child throwing a tantrum, and technically, Mingyu is allowed to kiss whomever the fuck he wants.
You wish Jihyo was here. She would ground you, make you see everything calmly and rationally. But she’s been having boy problems of her own (Jeong Jaehyun, who is decidedly not as romantic as Jihyo was led to believe), and the last thing you want is to dump your boy problems on her.
Besides, it’s no big deal. Right?
Mingyu lives here. He should have his own copy of the keys. He’s also drunk. (Drunk and half-laid, your mind helpfully reminds.)
Before you start overthinking about letting the door close behind you, you decide that what you really need is a warm shower. So you let your feet lead you to the bathroom directly, and don’t allow thoughts of ex-boyfriends and overly friendly co-workers to enter your brain.
You don’t hear the sound of keys turning in the lock the entire night, but you shove down the guilt that bubbles up your throat. It’s Mingyu’s fault for not carrying them with him wherever he goes; you’re not his caretaker, anyway.
Your phone pings with a text message from Seokmin, and you pick it up.
(19:47) Seokmin: I had a great time today. Thanks for coming with me :)
Despite the fact that you only have a towel wrapped around your body, and the fact that your hair is dripping wet, you feel a tingling warmth creep up your chest.
NINE
Monday is a horrible day.
You woke up half an hour later than usual, which led to you rushing through your morning routine. Your clothes aren’t ironed, which is fine usually, but the shirt you pick doesn’t tuck in quite right and you don’t have the time to change it. You almost tripped over the curb in your rush to get to work and nearly spilled a cup of coffee—which is far too sweet for your liking, due to the dollop of sugar you added by accident—all over yourself. Your manager, Choi Seungcheol, doesn’t approve of the project portfolio you compiled, and the deadline is fast approaching, which means more late nights for you.
And to top it all off, your car engine won’t fucking start.
You’re really not in the mood for Seokmin and his exuberant enthusiasm, which is something he probably catches onto, considering the fact that he stands silently next to you, waiting for you to finish cursing the piece of metal you call a car. Once you’re done resisting the urge to burn down the automobile, Seokmin places a placating hand on your shoulder.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, training a concerned gaze over your figure. “I can drop you back home.”
“No, it’s fine,” you mutter sullenly. “I’ll just call a cab or something.”
“Y/N, please. It’s no trouble.” He pauses, and you glance at him, at the sympathetic crease of his forehead and the genuinity reflected in his eyes. It’s touching, and Seokmin flashes you a small smile. “I was gonna head over that way anyway—I wanted to get some stuff from that bakery we went to.”
“I—” You hesitate, and he takes the chance to slide in.
“You call the mechanic. I’ll wait for you in my car, okay?”
He scurries away, leaving you biting your lip and staring at your phone. You should probably call Mingyu; he can help. Knowing him, he would probably want to help, regardless of who was asking him. Instead, you search up the nearest mechanic shop and dial in their number, giving them the details of where you are. They arrive a couple of minutes later, and you watch as they hook your car onto their big tow truck and drive away.
Seokmin waves you over to his car, a sleek Hyundai that's probably a few years old but still looks brand new. He opens the door to the passenger seat with a smile before grabbing the stack of folders you had kept clutched to your chest. You let him take them. You’re far too tired to argue.
Briefly, your mind wanders to Mingyu—what he would do if you had told him. Probably run all the way here, your brain supplies, prompting a wry smile to form on your lips. You press them together when you think of Mingyu with that girl immediately afterwards.
The drive to your house is silent, only the rumble of Seokmin’s car and the soft noise of some interview playing on the radio filling the silence. He pulls to a stop near your apartment, bundles up your work folders in his arms and gestures for you to lead the way to your flat.
The door swings open before you get the chance to pull out your key. Mingyu stands opposite you, dishevelled—just woken up from a nap, it seems. His mouth parts when he sees Seokmin standing behind you.
“Who’s this?” he asks by way of greeting.
You shift uncomfortably, wanting to say something, but the words stick to your throat like you’ve swallowed chewing gum. Seokmin reaches out from next to you, and you don’t need to see him to know he’s positively beaming.
“Hi, I’m Seokmin,” he says. “I work with Y/N.”
Mingyu shakes his hand, eyes roaming quizzically between you and Seokmin. “Nice to meet you,” he says distractedly. “I’m Mingyu, Y/N’s… roommate. And ex—”
“Come on in, Seokmin.” You glare at Mingyu. He only raises an eyebrow in retaliation. Seokmin coughs slightly, blows out a puff of air, and follows you inside.
“You can just…” You wave your hand around vaguely. Gritting your teeth does nothing to bring you out of your haze. It only exacerbates it.
“Did something happen?” Mingyu moves aside, but you feel his eyes on the back of your neck.
“Y/N’s car broke down,” Seokmin supplies. “It’s at the mechanic’s right now, so I offered to drop her back home.”
“I see.” His next statement is directed at you. “You could’ve called me. I would have come.”
It’s only then that you turn around and face him. He doesn’t move, gaze locked unwaveringly on your hunched-over figure. It’s almost like he’s challenging you to say something.
“I know that,” is all you say, voice low.
Mingyu nods. “Good.”
You avert your attention to Seokmin. He appears lost, gaping at both of you as though he can’t quite catch onto what’s going on. “Let’s go to my room, Seokmin. You can leave my stuff there.”
“Okay.” Seokmin nods, giving Mingyu a hesitant smile. “It was nice meeting you, Mingyu.”
“You too.”
It’s a tiny exchange, but it’s enough to cause a fissure inside your heart. Seokmin is always so nice. He gives out niceness like he’s handing out free candy to toddlers. The only time you’ve ever seen him get remotely angry was when another co-worker of yours forgot a pen drive containing a crucial presentation to an important client—even then, all he did was level a glare at her before calmly asking for a backup drive to be brought.
Mingyu, on the other hand, is like a burning ember. Calm one minute, and angry the next—and it’s the reason you love him, but it’s also the reason you broke things off. You and Mingyu are far too similar, hot-headed and careless to a fault, like two candle flames competing to see who can burn their wick the fastest. You didn’t burn the wick. You ended up burning each other instead. Let it not be said that playing with fire isn’t one of your specialties.
Seokmin lets out a breath that sounds like a huff and a sigh simultaneously as soon as he enters your room. “You can leave the stuff here,” you say, pointing at your desk.
He obliges, carefully placing the stack on the table. “That’s your roommate, huh? Y’know, when you said that you were living with someone you didn’t like, I didn’t think you meant your ex-boyfriend.”
You look away, biting the inside of your cheek. “It’s… difficult. I needed a place to live and he was the only person who offered on short notice. It just happened.”
Seokmin nods understandingly, lips pursed in thought. “He seems like a nice guy.”
“He is,” you agree. “One of the nicest people I know.”
“Yeah?” Your co-worker lifts one corner of his lips in an amused half-smile. “What does that make me?”
The answer is on the tip of your tongue. You know Seokmin is expecting it. Hell, you’re expecting the words to just come out. The nicest guy of them all. That’s all you have to say.
“You’re… Lee Seokmin.”
The words are flat on your tongue. Seokmin’s expression falls—just the tiniest bit, a crack in the foundation—but you feel a terrible weight in your stomach, pulling you down, down, down until your head sinks below the surface of the metaphorical waves and the water erases your existence.
Seokmin is a nice guy—you know that, and you’ve reiterated it so many times. The only thing stopping you from being in a proper relationship with him is your ex-boyfriend, only separated from you by a wooden door and cement walls. Mingyu doesn’t like you anymore, not in the way he used to, and it’s clearly time for you to stop dwelling on what you had.
You swallow, looking at Seokmin directly. “And…” You take a step closer to him. “I consider myself lucky to have met you.”
Seokmin looks at you, his gaze unsteady, but he takes one of your hands in his. “Yeah?” His throat bobs when he speaks, and that’s how you know he’s nervous.
“Yeah,” you confirm, letting his fingers slip in between yours.
He shuffles closer to you, and you can smell his woody cologne intermingled with sweat. You can count the moles on his face, see your reflection in his pupils.
“Y/N, I really want to kiss—”
There’s a knock on your door, and you and Seokmin jump away from each other like a pair of schoolchildren getting caught doing something you’re not supposed to. Seokmin looks down at his feet; you clear your throat before letting out a hoarse, “Yes?”
“You left your phone outside,” Mingyu calls. “The mechanic just called.”
“Oh, um. I’ll be right there.” You turn back to Seokmin, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Of all possible times for Mingyu to be a cockblocker, why now? “S-sorry about that.”
“No, it’s—you’re fine,” he stammers out, clearly as out of it as you are. “I should probably leave too, I still need to stop by the bakery.”
“Oh, yeah!” you say. “I forgot. Do you want me to come with you?”
“It’s alright,” he says. “It’s getting dark outside and you need to get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay?”
“Okay,” you murmur. “Thank you for today, Seokmin. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
“Cursed your car to oblivion, probably,” he teases.
You flush, heat creeping up the back of your neck and ears. “That—you didn’t have to see that.”
“I thought it was cute,” he returns easily, corners of his lips twitching.
Against your will, your lips twitch upwards too. “Okay, okay, I get it.”
Seokmin opens your door, and you follow him out of your room. He gives Mingyu a grin, says, “See you around,” and lets you close the door behind him.
Mingyu crosses his arms over his chest. You glance at him. His eyebrows are knotted together, lips pressed into a stoic line. You bite the inside of your cheek, suddenly feeling awkward.
“Hey,” he begins, voice soft, “is that… your boyfriend?”
You raise your eyebrows. “Does it matter?”
He huffs, shifting from one foot to the other. “Yes—no. No, it doesn’t matter. I was just curious, okay?”
You open your mouth, then close it, at a loss for words. Are you and Seokmin together? Not really. Both of you haven’t done or said anything to define your relationship—if there is one in the romantic sense, at least. Seokmin wanted to kiss you, but Mingyu interrupted before anything could even happen—it’s your irritation at the day being shitty, and Mingyu being an asshole after everything he did that makes you roll your eyes at him and snap at him. “It’s none of your business.”
Mingyu’s face turns stony, a hardness to his features that you’ve only seen a few times before—it was directed at you the last time, too. “Okay. Fine. Sorry I asked.”
“Are you?” you retort, and before he can say anything to retaliate, you storm back into your room and lock the door.
Your heart feels like it’s been split into two, one half yearning for the comfort and familiarity that comes with still liking Mingyu, and the other excited to explore what Seokmin could offer you—and what he already has offered. But for now, you decide to get some sleep. Your heart can wait.
TEN
Jihyo is back.
Jihyo is fucking back, and she’s standing in your—Mingyu’s—living room, arms wide open and a grin on her lips so wide, her eyes crinkle in the corners. It takes all of your willpower not to launch yourself into her arms. Instead, you slow down, toe your shoes off, let your bag drop to the floor, and then launch yourself into her arms.
She laughs at your overzealous demeanour, and you giggle into her hair. God, you’d missed her. Texting every day and video calling every weekend can only do so much, and it’s nothing compared to seeing her in person.
“Hi,” she says, pulling back enough to escape your cage-like hold around her body.
“Hi,” you greet back, smiling so wide and so hard, you can feel your ears pop. “You’re back.”
“I’m back.” She confirms your statement by nodding. “Only for a week, though.”
“Ah.”
Your best friend lets out a sheepish chuckle, and you take a step back. Her suitcase is on the floor next to her, and she’s kept her backpack on the sofa. “Are you gonna stay here?” you ask.
She winces. “No, there isn’t much space here. I booked a room at a hotel nearby. It’s, like, ten minutes by walk from here and it’s not very expensive either,” she assures.
“Okay,” you say, a little deflated. If Jihyo stayed with you, at least the awkwardness between you and Mingyu might be reduced by a small fraction. Her overbearing nature and ability to make conversation with literally anyone would be a lifesaver, given the situation you’ve dug yourself into.
A situation that she knows nothing about.
You haven’t had the time to keep Jihyo updated about the latest turn of events—not when she was busy juggling a relationship with her sort-of boyfriend, Jeong Jaehyun. She doesn’t know about Seokmin, and she doesn’t know about your lingering feelings for Mingyu.
“Hey, you’re back already.”
Speak of the devil.
You turn around and find Mingyu leaning against the doorway, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. You feel your breath hitch. He continues, “I guess Jihyo already beat me to it, huh?”
“You knew she was coming?” you ask him, almost accusatory.
“You didn’t tell her?” Jihyo echos, a curious tinge to her tone.
He lifts his shoulder in a half-shrug, lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile. “Wanted to surprise you, that’s all.”
Against your will, you find yourself grinning at him. Mingyu dissolves in the slightest—a small hint of surprise—before he grins back at you, teeth flashing and eyes crinkling. Jihyo lets out a small huff from next to you, but you know nothing can put a damper on your mood right now. Not even your resurfaced feelings for Mingyu, nor your newfound ones for Seokmin.
Your best friend squeezes your arm. “I have some time before I need to check in at the hotel. Do you wanna check out our old place?”
You turn to her and nod. The prospect of going back to the place where you created cherished memories with someone so dear to you is enticing; then you remember your car is still at the mechanic’s. “My car is out of commission.”
Jihyo only turns and stares at Mingyu. He sighs resignedly, pushing himself off the doorway and heading inside his room. “Let me grab my keys.”
“Might as well stop for ice cream along the way,” Jihyo calls out gleefully to his retreating back.
You gulp. This… might not be a good idea. If Mingyu tags along with you, this would be the first time since last week where you’re speaking to him normally, making conversation that isn’t just along the lines of “Did you do the laundry?” or “I bought some vegetables”. Of course, if you told Jihyo what happened, she would immediately make sure Mingyu doesn’t come. You chew on your bottom lip, but before you can come to a decision, Mingyu emerges from his bedroom, car keys dangling off his fingers.
“Ready?” he asks.
Jihyo grabs onto your arm, excitement so visible on her face that it prompts the tension in your own features to melt away. You let yourself get carried away by her giddiness, not noticing the fond glances the only male in the group keeps giving you whenever he’s sure you’re not looking. If you’d met his eyes once throughout the drive to your old place, you’d see the way his eyes still twinkle at you with the same intensity as they did months ago, but you’re too busy catching up with Jihyo to notice.
Mingyu pulls to a stop in front of your old apartment building—a dilapidated structure that’s not half as modern as the current building you stay in. At least the elevator is still functioning; you purse your lips to contain your laugh when Mingyu looks at it, eyebrows raised in visible astonishment. Jihyo grips your hand tightly when you reach your floor. You tighten your hold on her hand as well, feeling a sudden burst of emotion erupt inside your chest like lava escaping from a volcano.
You and Jihyo round the corner to the apartment that used to be yours, Mingyu following closely. The door is the same dull brown it was back then as well, but someone has put in the effort to redo the varnish. There’s a potted fern next to it as well.
You let out a shuddering breath. Jihyo wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close; you aren’t sure if it’s just the wind rattling through the open window, but you hear something like a sniffle.
This is the place you lived in when you had your first boyfriend, when you had your first heartbreak, when you cried your lungs out at some stupid TV show that you were invested in at the time but can’t possibly remember the name of now. This is the place where you and Jihyo bonded over crappy supermarket deals and made a mess of the kitchen whenever you tried to learn how to cook something new.
This is the place where you first met Kim Mingyu.
You tilt your head at him, watch as he stares resolutely ahead of him, like if glares at it strongly enough, he can bore two holes straight through the wood. Eventually, his eyes land on yours.
His lips part but no words come out. He offers you a small smile instead, one so tender and heart-warming and achingly familiar. You blink, and the moment is gone. You’re left with the same sense of wistfulness and longing that you always feel around him.
Jihyo squeezes your shoulder, eyes shining. “Should we ring the bell?” she asks, and then presses the doorbell before you can respond.
A muffled “Coming!” from inside, and the latch is pulled open to reveal a college student—a few years younger than you, perhaps, with sleep bags underneath his eyes and a cup of coffee clutched to his chest. He looks confused—as anyone would be, you suppose, when you see a random bunch of strangers standing on your doorstep—but his expression clears when Jihyo explains who you are and why you’re here.
He says he’s living here with his boyfriend and their pet cat—a beautiful Siberian who coils itself around his legs, tail upturned—and you feel your heart swell with the knowledge that your old haven is being taken care of well. Jihyo consistently badgers him with questions and he answers each one patiently, to his credit.
A flicker of uncertainty crosses your mind, however. Does Mingyu not remember this? He was looking for apartments in this building, too, when you met him. Doesn’t he remember the old landlady conversing with you? Doesn’t he remember the way people constantly asked if you two were together, which is what even prompted him to ask for your number in the first place?
You’re shaken out of your thoughts when you feel a slight pressure on your shoulder. Mingyu’s hand is on your shoulder. Your gaze flits over to him.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, ducking his head. “There was a mosquito.”
He’s lying.
He remembers.
ELEVEN
“Spill.”
“The… tea?” you ask cautiously, looking at Jihyo. She’s holding a steaming mug of tea in her hand.
“You think you’re so funny.” She rolls her eyes.
“I know I am,” you quip, and she rolls her eyes again, taking a sip of the beverage.
“You’ve been distracted since yesterday,” she states matter-of-factly. “Since we went to our old place.” Her voice quietens, “Is it Mingyu? Did he do something?”
You eye her warily, sitting down on the plush armchair opposite her. “No,” you say.
“Then what is it? Did—did you not want me here?”
“No.” You’re quick to alleviate her concerns. “Of fucking course I wanted you here. I missed you. So much.”
Your best friend smiles at that, swirling the tea in the mug. “But something’s bothering you.”
“...Yes.” You admit it slowly, playing with your fingers splayed out on your lap. “It’s not important. You’re here only for a few days, we should do something fun.”
“Y/N,” Jihyo says slowly, enunciating every syllable of your name like she’s speaking to a troublesome child, “if you’re worried about me feeling bad or anything, please don’t. I want to help you.”
You wave her away. “You have your own shit to deal with.”
“What, you mean Jaehyun?” She snorts. “I’m over him. I was over him ages ago.”
“Are you sure?”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Just.” You look down at your feet. “You really liked him, didn’t you?”
Jihyo cocks her head to the side, studying you carefully. “Yes. I did. What about it?”
Your shoulder slump, dejectedness seeping into your figure. “How… did you do it?” You glance up at her, note the way she observes you carefully. Your voice is almost pleading when you continue, “How did you get over him?”
Your best friend’s expression clears, comprehension dawning on her face. She places her mug down, leaning forward and clasping your hand with hers. “It’s Mingyu, isn’t it?”
You shake your head miserably. “Not just him.”
“There’s someone else?” She doesn’t sound surprised, only intrigued and concerned.
You take a deep breath, lock gazes with her—and everything comes spilling out of your mouth like the tide receding into the ocean. You tell her everything, about Mingyu and Seokmin and how conflicted they make you feel; how one is like the living personification of sunlight on a gloomy day, and the other reminds you of clouds providing shade on a hot afternoon. You tell her about how guilty you feel, as though you’re leading Seokmin to believe that you’re ready for a committed relationship when a part of your heart still belongs to Mingyu. You speak until the words end up garbled and slurred, and your breathing turns heavy and salt water streaks across your cheeks, your best friend rubbing them away with the pad of her thumb.
When you don’t know what to say, Jihyo pulls you into a hug—it’s an awkward position, your elbows locked around her arms while your neck is bent at an odd angle, but it’s comforting, and you let your eyes close tiredly.
“Y/N,” she says, rubbing her thumb on your shoulder soothingly. “I know it’s hard for you to decide, but you have to know: What do you want?”
The question makes you contemplate. What do you want?
“I don’t know,” is all you can get out, slumping further into her arms.
She hums softly. “But you’ll figure it out. I know you will.”
Will you? You’re not so sure. Maybe when the time is right. But for now, you rest your chin on your best friend’s shoulder and let her rub circles onto your skin.
You pull back when the position becomes too uncomfortable—you can already feel a crick in your neck—and Jihyo wraps her fingers around her discarded mug. She raises it in a half-hearted toast. “To sexy girls who don’t need men in their lives.”
You giggle, rubbing your eyes. “Men are pieces of shit, anyway.”
“Damn right they are,” she croons, falling dramatically back onto the couch. “We should just get married instead.”
“If you propose to me the right way, maybe I’ll consider it.”
Jihyo grins at you, and it’s infectious enough to make you grin back at her. “Consider it done,” she says. “I have a ring in my nightstand drawer with your name written on it.”
“If it’s not pure diamond, I won’t accept.”
“Tsk. So greedy.”
TWELVE
Introducing Seokmin to Jihyo was not a part of your agenda for the week.
But it’s Seokmin and it’s Jihyo, so really, what else did you expect? Both of them integrated themselves seamlessly into your life, and they have no plans of leaving anytime soon. Might as well get the introductions over with.
Ironically, it happens when you go to collect your car from the mechanic’s, and once they’ve exchanged names and small talk, Jihyo and Seokmin are inseparable. The former regals him with tales of your college shenanigans, while the latter listens enthusiastically, eyes flitting between you both amusedly.
“Okay, that’s enough,” you hurriedly interrupt the conversation, right before Jihyo can go into the messy details of how you wanted to marry the toilet when you were drunk once and Mingyu had to physically carry you out of the house because you were convinced the white ceramic was proposing to you.
“You and Mingyu were together for a long time, huh?” Seokmin asks you quietly, once Jihyo is finished with her sulking at you interrupting her story. She’s at the side, conversing with someone on the phone, leaving you and your co-worker alone in front of your car.
You’re so startled by the question, you nearly drop your keys. “I—why do you ask?”
Seokmin licks his lips, a seriousness to his figure that you haven’t witnessed many times before. “Just… curious, I suppose.”
You look down once, see how he’s twisted his fingers together—even the Lee Seokmin gets nervous, after all—and look back up at him. “Yes,” you admit softly, voice hitching slightly, “we were. We… were in love, I guess you could say.”
He’s silent for a minute, tongue darting out to lick his lips again. “And now?”
“I don’t know, Seokmin,” you answer him honestly. Your heart flutters inside your chest, while your stomach twists into tight knots—two reactions you didn’t think would go hand-in-hand, yet here you are, leaving your heart bare for Seokmin to take while gatekeeping a part of it to yourself.
He raises his head, warm eyes capturing yours. You see the smallest flicker of hope and sadness, two thin wisps of emotion dancing in his eyes—but even then, his lips are turned upwards, because it’s Lee Seokmin.
“But you could try?” he asks, so softly you can barely catch the words.
You push down the emotions that threaten to swallow you whole, swirling around your entire body like the blood that flows through your veins. “I don’t know,” you say again, no less honest than the first time.
He opens his mouth, but Jihyo walks back to you both, mouth downturned. “My company said they need me back as soon as possible.” She says it calmly, but disappointment and bitterness seep into her voice.
For a moment, you freeze, and then ask, “When do you need to leave?”
“Tomorrow,” she answers with an apologetic shrug of her shoulders. “They’ve already booked the flight.”
“Okay.” You nod. “I’ll drop you to the airport.”
“I’ll come with,” Seokmin chimes in, and adds, in true Seokmin fashion, “Make sure Y/N doesn’t drive us all into a ditch or something.”
You shove his shoulder, muttering an “asshole” under your breath, and his smile only widens. Jihyo glances in between you both, lower lip caught between her teeth, before she sucks in a breath and smiles. “Good to know my best friend is in good hands.”
“The best hands, actually,” Seokmin teasingly corrects.
You roll your eyes at the two of them. “Can we go home now, or not?”
“Home it is,” Jihyo agrees, “but first, I demand Taco Bell.”
“Fine,” you concede, letting her grab the keys from your outstretched palm.
Seokmin grabs your hand once she clambers into your fixed car. His palm is broad, skin warm, and his fingers wrap around yours with ease. He squeezes your hand once, gently, and it feels like a promise and a farewell at the same time.
Seokmin asks you out again three days after Jihyo leaves.
This time, he takes you out to an Italian restaurant. He’s dressed up in a suit and a bowtie—and actual blue velvet bowtie that sits snugly at the hollow of his neck—and he’s the perfect gentleman, pulling your chair out for you and pouring champagne into your glass like a professional. (When you compliment him on his drink-pouring skills, he just mutters bashfully about how his dad taught him that to please a lady, you need to be good at pouring drinks; it does nothing to ease the quickening pace of your heart.)
Lee Seokmin compliments your dress, says that that specific shade of pink looks beautiful on you. He recommends you try out their vegetable lasagne, says it’s one of the dishes the restaurant is famous for. He laughs about his favourite show, tells you he would love to rewatch it with you someday. He asks if you like gardens because his neighbour is trying to convince him to grow a rosebush outside his house, but he can’t look after plants even if his life depended on it. He wants to go out for ice cream afterwards, but the night is too chilly for the cold dessert so you opt against it.
Throughout, you play someone who’s on her first date, who thinks this is all there is and everything she’s been dreaming of has come true.
You would like to think you’re a good actor.
Kim Mingyu has seen you in nothing but sweatpants and old t-shirts and he used to whisper praises against your skin, flushed with sweat and sweet words. He ate the shitty lasagne you made without complaining, no matter how bad it tasted. He watched whatever was playing on television with you, just because he enjoyed your company and wanted to be wherever you were. He’s not particularly good with plants, but he has a little succulent named Spurt, making sure it gets enough sunlight and water. He likes mint chocolate ice cream, and would defend the flavour with his life.
Kim Mingyu and Lee Seokmin: Two sides of the same coin.
Jihyo’s question resonates in your mind as you and Seokmin walk back to your car.
What do you want?
As you near your vehicle, Seokmin puts a gentle hand on your arm. “Y/N,” is all he says, and you hate the way your chest clenches at that—just because he said your name.
“Did you have fun today?” he continues, eyes roaming over your features like he’s committing you to memory. Like a soldier leaving his wife before he heads out to the frontlines.
“I did, Seokmin. I really did.” You place your hand over his, tracing the veins on the back of his hand, pressing lightly on his knuckles; you need him to know that you truly enjoyed today—desperate for him to know, because it’s the least you can do for him after everything he’s done for you.
“Good,” he says. “I—I had fun today with you, too. I always have fun when I’m with you, Y/N.”
He bends down. You can feel his breath fan out on the shell of your ear and it makes you shiver. He turns his head, and his lips brush against your cheek. A small, soft farewell.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t—” you begin, feeling your voice begin to wobble.
“Don’t be sorry,” Seokmin whispers, but he sounds firm. “We’re still friends.”
Your heart plummets deep, deep down, a free fall that isn’t orchestrated by gravity. You think you know the answer to Jihyo’s question now.
“Thank you,” you whisper back to Seokmin.
THIRTEEN
The light is on when you enter the apartment. Mingyu’s figure lies hunched on the sofa, head in his hands, a half-empty beer can next to him. You quickly shuck off your heels and drop your purse onto the shoe rack.
Your ex-boyfriend looks at you when pad over to the living room. “You’re back.” He sounds hoarse, tired.
“Have you been drinking?” you say in return, raising an eyebrow.
Mingyu glances at the can in his hand then back at you. “Yeah. Long day.”
“Me too,” you admit quietly.
Perhaps it’s the quiet ambience of your shared home—silent, despite the noise of the city outside—that compels him; or maybe it’s the idea of coming home to someone you think you know better than the back of your own hand. Either way, when Mingyu pats the cushion beside him, your feet move automatically and you sit down, letting out a weary sigh.
It’s quiet, but not in the awkward sense. Not like back then, when Mingyu thought you and Seokmin were dating. Not even when you visited your old apartment. Exhaustion makes its home in your bones, and you suspect it’s taken over Mingyu too; there’s no way this shared piece of night can be so comfortable otherwise.
“Want some?” he asks after a few minutes.
“No thanks.”
Mingyu shrugs and puts the can down on the coffee table. “Wanna talk about it?” He leans back against the sofa, arms crossed behind his head.
“No,” you answer, and then, “Do you?”
“No.” He clears his throat, glancing sideways at you. “Were you with… Seokmin?”
“...Yes.”
You don’t have to look at Mingyu to know he’s clenching his jaw. It’s a pure rush of adrenaline that makes you ask, “Why does it bother you so much whenever I’m with him?”
Silence.
You turn your head, cheek brushing against the back of the sofa. Mingyu’s eyes are closed, hair falling in loose strands around his forehead and neck. You wonder what he’s thinking.
His answer excites you—in the rawest form possible. Anticipation builds up in your chest, threatens to explode through your windpipe. You don’t know what he’s thinking, but when he opens his eyes and meets your gaze, there is nothing you can do to stop your heart from rabbiting inside your rib cage.
“It doesn’t,” he says finally, an air of decisiveness about him.
For the second time that night, your heart plummets, and you tear your eyes off him. “Okay,” you say. “That is, um, good information to have.”
“Isn’t he your boyfriend?”
“How does it matter to you?”
Mingyu crosses and uncrosses his ankles, this time staring resolutely at the floor. “I don’t know. It just does.”
You purse your lips. He isn’t being fair to you. “What about you?” you demand. “What about that girl you almost brought back home, huh?”
His mouth twitches. “You saw that.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.
“I’m not blind, Mingyu,” you retort.
Your roommate lets out a sardonic chuckle at that, slowly dragging his eyes up. “I highly doubt that.”
“What do you mean?” You scowl at him, feeling your chest begin to heave. “You—you’re like some kind of a riddle, Mingyu. I can never tell what you mean by anything, and it’s even worse now that you’re drunk and—”
“I’m not drunk, Y/N,” he interrupts.
“I don’t care if you’re drunk or not—” you don’t realise your voice is caving in, growing softer and softer by the second— “stop saying things you don’t mean.”
“I want to kiss you,” he says finally. “I want to kiss you and I may be slightly drunk, but I don’t fucking care. And I mean it.”
You swallow, blood pounding through your veins. “Say that again.”
“What?” he says, sounding genuinely confused. His gaze never leaves your face, every ounce of earnestness and honesty written plainly on his features.
“Say it again,” you repeat.
“I want—”
You surge forward, capturing his lips with yours, pressing them firmly against his even when he lets out a muffled gasp. He doesn’t kiss back immediately, but his hands find their way to your waist, gripping tightly and crumpling the flimsy material of your dress. He kisses you back then, mouth jutting insistently into yours, tongue sliding against your lower lip. You arch your back, scramble to find some balance in this precarious position, and your hands end up tangled in his hair. He tastes like beer and aftershave and something that’s so distinctly Mingyu, you want more.
You pull away when air becomes a necessity, blinking even as Mingyu’s arms pull you closer to him.
“This isn’t over,” you manage to get out in between huffed breaths.
“Tomorrow,” he promises, but his eyes are glazed. He looks at you like a man starved, and tilts his head and kisses you again, kisses you like he might never see you again.
You let him. It’s Kim Mingyu, after all, and you’ve always been a little weak for him.
You don’t think of Seokmin; don’t let him come out of the tiny pocket you’ve preserved in your heart just for him. Instead, you wrap your arms around your ex-boyfriend’s neck, leaning into his chest and kissing him back with equal fervour, letting him know that you need him as much as he needs you.
God, you’d missed him. Way more than you thought. You’ve memorised his touch, branded it into your mind, but it still feels new. Like the first time you were with him, kissing like two teenagers with reckless abandon.
His cold fingers find their way underneath your waist, hitching up the loose material of your dress around your thighs. You kneel on the couch cushions in front of him, almost straddling his lap but not quite. His fingers brush against your sides in a way that sends shivers down your spine.
He nips at your lip, asking for entrance to your mouth to which you accept, parting your lips enough for him to get a taste. As he moves his tongue around yours, exploring your mouth in every way possible, you can’t contain the slight whimper that escapes your throat.
Mingyu groans, leaning his weight onto you as you both start moving together until you’re laid flat against the couch. He’s impatient, you can tell; his fingers dig into your skin, and he groans again when you bite down gently on his lower lip. He pulls back and moves downwards, kissing your jaw and behind your ear, suckling gently on a sensitive bit of skin with expertise. ���Tell me to stop,” he says, whispering the words against your skin.
All you do is moan in response, rubbing your thighs together to get some friction with the way he’s moving his mouth against your skin.
“Tell me to stop,” he says again, more firmly this time.
“Shut the fuck up, Gyu,” is all you reply with, the nickname falling out of your lips with familiarity.
Maybe it’s the use of something that used to be your thing—something the two of you shared, the shortened version of his name—but hearing it come out of your lips again does things to Mingyu that he isn’t sure he’d ever be able to put into words for you. Trailing his movements down to your neck, he stops at your chest, a small smile spreading on his face. “Forgot how much I loved it when you called me that.”
Looking down at him, you hadn’t realised he’s moved further down your body and his fingers trace the edges of your underwear. Your dress is bunched up above your thighs, skin exposed to the cool air. “Gonna make you feel so good,” he mumbles, pressing a tiny kiss to the inside of your thighs. He toys with the elastic of the waistband, chuckling when you shoot him an irritated glare.
He stares down at your clothed core, mouth watering while his hands move faster than you can comprehend. It takes him two seconds to hook his slender fingers underneath the waistband of your panties before he pulls them down to your ankles and tosses them onto the coffee table.
You feel a wave of shyness overcome you—with the way he’s looking at you, desperate for your taste—and you try to close your legs, before his hands land on your thighs, halting your actions. “So pretty,” he murmurs. “I want to see all of you.”
Heat burns your cheeks and flows through your body. You turn your head to avoid his burning gaze as you feel him part your legs. He readjusts himself, laying as flat and comfortably as he can with what little space he has on the couch until he’s face-to-face with where you need him most. He tests the waters, leaning in with his tongue out, letting it graze your clit. You stifle a moan, biting your lip so hard, you think it might bleed.
He smiles, loving how you’re holding back. “So quiet, baby. Wanna remember how I used to make you feel.” Laying his tongue flat against your clit, he gives you slow and soft strokes—so gentle that it drives you insane.
“You’re such—such a tease,” you gasp out, right when he swirls his tongue around the nub.
Mingyu only raises an eyebrow at that. “You haven’t changed.” But all the same, any plans he had to be patient with you go straight out the window; he wraps his arms around your thighs to pull you down further to his face. The sudden pull surprises you, and you gasp a little while searching for something to grab onto. He indulges in your pussy, tongue exploring your pulsating hole that clenches around everything and nothing all at once. He relishes in the way you feel on his tongue, groaning against your folds while bringing a hand up and rubbing his thumb on your neglected clit.
You’re a mess under his touch, squirming on the sofa, loud groans and soft mewls escaping your lips wantonly. Your fingers find their way into his soft locks, pulling gently on his hair and scratching against his scalp. He lets out a moan against your pussy, lapping at your juices as if you’re his last source of water. “F-fuck, Gyu, ‘m gonna—” a gasp— “‘m gonna cum.”
This only encourages him to work his mouth harder, wanting to watch you fall apart just by his mouth alone. You tug harder at his hair, moans growing louder and more desperate by the second, and your thighs shudder around his head, feeling the rush of your high come so close, you aren’t prepared for it.
With two final sucks to your clit, you come undone on his tongue followed by a string of moans with broken pieces of his name somewhere in between. Mingyu looks up at you with bright eyes and a satisfied grin, as if he didn’t just eat out your pussy like he would never get the chance to again. The mixture of saliva and your juices dripping down his chin makes your eyes widen even as you squint down at him.
With careful, deliberate motions, he moves away from you, the grin on his face replaced by a more serious expression. You sit up, leaning on your elbows. The aftermath of your passionate actions catches up to you; reaching over, you snatch your panties from the coffee table and swing your legs over. Throughout, Mingyu doesn’t say anything. He only watches, in that quiet, observant way of his, swiping at his mouth and chin with a tissue he grabbed from the tissue box next to the couch.
You glance at him. Is he going to say something? Or is he going to let you walk away again, with all the words you want to say to him lying on the tip of your tongue, always there but never released?
“Y/N.” He scrambles to his feet when you stand up, clutching your underwear in one hand and adjusting your dress with the other. He sounds… uncertain. Completely unlike the Mingyu who cockily asked you if Seokmin was your boyfriend, or who joked around with Jihyo like it was second nature to him.
You bite your lip. “Yes?”
“Do you… do you want anything? Water?”
You melt a little at his words like an ice cream left out for too long. Kim Mingyu, always so kind, always so caring—you know that better than anyone.
He can be cruel too, in the way he chips away at your already broken heart. He doesn’t know it but he does—lift your hopes only to let it all crumble down. Like how he broke the promises you made to each other, and how you broke the words you’d sworn to say to him alone.
It hits you again, how you and Mingyu were meant to be, and how lonely it was when he left. You wonder if he feels the same way—did he spend sleepless nights in bed, thinking of you? Did he ever think that if he could travel back in time, he’d do it all over again?
You shake your head no at him. He doesn’t say anything after that, but his lips part slightly. He watches you as you walk over to grab your purse and head inside your room.
That night, you don’t sleep at all—despite wrapping yourself up in your Looney Tunes comforter and the comforting weight of your pillow beneath your head that usually puts you to sleep instantly.
Instead, it feels like the very first night you and Mingyu broke up all over again.
SIXTEEN
You don’t tell anyone about what transpired between you and Mingyu. It remains hidden between you both, a secret neither of you are willing to bring up.
Jihyo is back to work at her new city, now completely devoid of boy problems of any sort, since Jeong Jaehyun has shifted his affections to another co-worker. (“It’s better this way,” she tells you, “he didn’t want a committed relationship, anyway.” You can tell she’s truly not bothered by it, so you grin and agree.)
Seokmin doesn’t come around to your cubicle the way he used to earlier, either. Your days at the office are dreary and boring, now that your co-worker’s sunshine smile isn’t there to keep you company. In fact, the only person who still talks to you voluntarily at work is your boss, Seunghcheol, but even then it’s mostly just a sympathetic smile he offers you followed by a new deadline or a project.
You and Mingyu are back to whatever it was you had when you first moved in, before the lasagne fiasco. Not talking to each other, but not not talking to each other either. You swerve around each other in tandem, finding more and more excuses to avoid whatever happened in between you both. He lied when he said he would talk to you about it the next day, after he ate you out on the couch.
You can’t blame him completely; you’ve made no effort to reach out to him, either.
Weariness seeps into your skin with every passing second. You rub at your already half-closed eyes and hide a yawn behind a closed fist. The letters on your laptop screen swim in front of you. The stack of folders next to it drags a tired sigh out of your lips.
You’re so tired. Not just physically, but emotionally you’re drained out, all the liveliness sucked out of you like someone vacuumed up the inside of your heart. The lack of sleep is getting to you; the lack of someone to brighten up your days is getting to you more.
If you and Seokmin were still on a talking basis, he would have sauntered over to your desk by now, hands in his pockets and the same question on his lips: “Coffee break?”
He’s not here now, probably tucked into his corner of the floor. Maybe his smile is directed at someone else. Maybe he’s taking someone else on the daily ritual that you used to consider yours. Maybe it’s time you get out of your fucking swivel chair and get some coffee.
You’re not doing it alone, of course. No, coffee at the office—no matter how shitty the machine is and how long the line for the coveted caffeine is—is yours and Seokmin’s thing. Besides, he said you’re still friends; it’s time for you to step up.
Stifling another yawn, you blink slowly before pushing yourself off your chair. It occurs to you that you don’t know exactly where Seokmin’s cubicle is—he’d mentioned it was by Seungcheol’s room once. You decide to start there.
It doesn’t take you long to find Seokmin. You walk into him—literally walk into him. A startled gasp leaves your lips when you collide into someone’s chest, an apology already on the tip of your tongue.
“Are you okay?”
You blink once. The voice is familiar. You direct your gaze at the person you bumped into.
“Seokmin,” you breathe out weakly.
He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “The one and only.”
“I-I’m sorry I bumped into you,” you quickly apologise. “I was on my—”
“It’s okay, don’t apologise,” he interrupts. “I should’ve looked at where I was going too.”
“How… have you been?” The question spills out before you notice, and you realise that you’re genuinely concerned about his wellbeing. You’ve missed him, missed his companionship.
Seokmin looks briefly surprised that you’ve asked him. He clears his throat, once. “Oh, um. I’ve been fine—y’know, the usual. Work, home, sleep and then repeat. How—how about you?”
“I’ve been better,” you admit. “You look tired, though.”
He lifts his hand and rubs his cheek with an accompanying embarrassed chuckle. “You could tell?”
He has bags underneath his eyes. His shoulders sag ever-so slightly. His usually perfectly styled hair isn’t as neat as it used to be. You nod. “You look exhausted.”
“Ah.” Another embarrassed chuckle; you can tell he doesn’t know how to respond to that.
“Coffee break?” you offer, a small, lopsided smile gracing your lips.
This time, the smile Lee Seokmin gives you lights up his eyes.
SEVENTEEN
“This is ridiculous!” you call out for the nth time, glaring at the door with as much intensity as you can muster.
“Jihyo’s orders!” Seokmin calls back, from outside the room. “I have proof that she asked me to lock you two up in order for you to talk it out.”
Mingyu huffs out a breathless laugh from behind you. He’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, sheets crumpled and pillow on his lap. You turn around to level your glare at him.
“Give it up,” he advises.
“Don’t even.” You pinch the bride of your nose, closing your eyes in exasperation. “This is all your fault.”
“My fault? No one told you to tell Seokmin everything!”
“Well, how was I supposed to know he would go and tell Jihyo?” you splutter out, opening your eyes and bringing your hand down. “I didn’t even know they’d exchanged numbers!”
“Might as well get it over with,” Seokmin’s voice travels through the barricade once more. “The sooner the better.”
“I didn’t ask you, Seokmin,” you mutter.
“He’s right, you know.” Mingyu pats the space next to him, inviting you to sit down. “If Jihyo hadn’t forced him to do it, I would have found some way to do it myself.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” you retort. “You’ve been avoiding me since the day we—since the day we kissed.”
“I would have tried,” he reasons. “But since you’re here now, can you at least please listen to what I have to say?”
“Oh, so now you have things you want to say,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest. Regardless, you sit down next to him. You’re curious, you will admit. This conversation could potentially break your heart, or it could also change the trajectory of your relationship with Mingyu.
Your ex-boyfriend takes a deep breath before beginning.
“The other day, when I said I wanted to kiss you—I wasn’t lying, Y/N. I truly meant it. I’ve wanted to kiss you the minute I laid eyes on you again. I wanted to hold your hand, to take you places around the neighbourhood, to come back home to you.
“I thought we were making progress. I thought we were friends again, and I could somehow win your heart back.” A wry smile crosses his lips. “But then Seokmin came by, and you both just seemed so close. He—he brought back this life in you; your eyes sparkled whenever he was around, and you were always smiling when you were with him. I never saw that after we… after you moved in. You were always so jittery with me—understandably so—and I… I let my jealousy of seeing you with Seokmin get the better of me.
“That day, when I—” he pauses, glancing at you; his eyes are imploring, and you sense that he’s laying himself bare for you— “when you saw me kissing that girl, I did it on purpose. To make you jealous. And then I saw the look on your face, and even when I was drunk, I knew I’d fucked up. So I left her, and I followed you back inside—you closed the door just as I caught up with you. I called up Minghao, spent the night at his place. I think that’s when I realised completely that I—that I still love you.”
Your breath catches in your throat at his words. Your heart is hammering inside your chest. You can’t believe you’re actually hearing these words.
Mingyu swallows. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. Even after we broke up, even after all the things we said to each other—some part of me knew that I shouldn’t give up on you. I have loved you throughout. I will continue to love you throughout.”
He looks down, staring at his hands. In that instant, he looks so small. Vulnerable. As if giving his entire heart to you on a silver platter isn’t enough. As if he’s giving all of himself to you, mind, body and soul.
You need to tell him that your mind, body and soul have always been his.
“Mingyu,” you begin, watching as his eyes travel over to yours uncertainly, “you absolute fucking idiot.”
His lips twitch up briefly. “Wha—”
“I love you, too, idiot.” The words rush out breathlessly. “I never stopped.”
Mingyu’s eyes widen and his mouth opens imperceptibly. You continue, “I knew this would happen. The minute I stepped foot into your house, I knew I would fall for you all over again.”
You reach out and grip his hand, needing something to tether you against him. “And I did.” A watery laugh escapes your mouth. “I fell in love with you all over again.”
A pause, and then Mingyu’s free hand cups your cheek, skin warm against yours. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
Mingyu smiles at your confession—a full smile, with his eyes crinkling in the corners and his lips turning upwards. He leans forward. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
You beat him to it, covering the distance between you both with one swift swoop. You capture his lower lip in between yours, hands resting on his shoulders to steady yourself. He kisses you back with equal fervour, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you impossibly closer. You close your eyes and slide your tongue across the seam of his lips, smiling when he lets out a silent groan.
He only pulls away once he needs air, but even then he doesn’t let you go. He pulls you forward, making you straddle his lap as he kisses your cheeks, your nose, the column of your throat. You relish in his touches, tangling your hands in his hair and tugging gently at the silky strands.
“We should probably stop,” you whisper, when a particularly sharp nip at your neck elicits a soft moan from you. “Seokmin’s standing outside.”
“Fuck him,” Mingyu says. He presses another kiss on your jaw, looking up at you like you’ve hung up all the stars in the universe.
You roll your eyes affectionately at him. “C’mon. I don’t want to scar him for life.”
“Who cares?”
“I care,” you say, slowly getting off his lap. Already you can feel the absence of his warmth.
“Fine,” he agrees, once you stand up fully and brush yourself off. “I love you.”
Warmth shoots up your chest and onto your cheeks and neck. Your heart swells, and you find yourself grinning involuntarily. “I love you, too.”
“Good.” Mingyu stands up and pecks your cheek. “Now let’s go save Seokmin from his misery.”
(Later, if you find Seokmin with bright pink ears as he pointedly avoids yours and Mingyu’s gaze, that’s no one’s business but his.)
EIGHTEEN
Mingyu sucks on a sweet spot right underneath your ear and you can practically hear his smirk when you let out a whine. You fist your hand in the sheets, feeling the soft material crinkle underneath your fingertips.
“Such a tease,” you whisper out.
He lowers his head, nips at your neck and then runs his tongue over the spot, soothing it. “So you’ve mentioned.”
Your retort dies on your lips when he moves lower and lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses on your collarbones and shoulders. You whine again when his fingers find your nipple, pinching the bud lightly in between his thumb and forefingers. He moves lower, breath ghosting over your abdomen and belly button, until he finally comes face to face with your clothed pussy.
He hooks his finger into the waistband of your panties, nails scraping against your skin. You squirm under his touch, lifting your hips to help him pull the flimsy garment down your legs and toss it to the side. Mingyu sucks in a breath sharply when he sees your exposed cunt—despite already having seen it before, and you feel a rush of pride at the fact that you still have this effect on him. “So pretty,” he murmurs, eyeing your folds hungrily.
Mingyu works on your clit expertly, thumb rubbing against the nub, eliciting a loud moan from you. He licks a stripe up your folds, grinning when your hand automatically finds itself in his hair again. When he finds you’re wet enough, he slides a finger in. You inhale sharply, hole clenching around the digit. He circles his thumb around your clit once more, before sliding another finger in.
You gasp at that, tightening the hand in his hair. Mingyu leans forward, swiping at your clit with his tongue one more time and pulling both his fingers out at the same time. He relishes in the sounds coming out of your mouth, feeling proud that you’re not trying to hide anything from him. You’re completely under his mercy, as is he when it comes to you.
He slides both the fingers back in, hissing when your walls contract against them, pumping the digits in and out a few more times. The way you moan—because of him—makes him finger your hole faster, enjoying the way your moans increase in pitch. When he sees your eyes beginning to cloud over, Mingyu quickly withdraws his fingers. You whimper at the loss of his touch and he chuckles. “Patience, baby. Don’t want you to cum just yet.”
Your head falls back on the pillow and you mutter a string of incoherent words under your breath. “Look at me,” Mingyu tuts.
You lift up your neck curiously. Mingyu waits for your eyes to land on his lips before he slowly, deliberately puts his two fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digits and licking your juices off. He doesn’t fail to notice the way you bite your lip at the sight.
Once he pulls his fingers out, Mingyu bends down and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Are you even gonna fuck me, Gyu?” you grit out, and his eyes widen.
“Call me that again,” he orders.
“Fuck me, Gyu.” Your voice is borderline a whimper, and, well—who is Mingyu to prevent you from getting what you desire? After all, he’s always been a little weak when it comes to you.
He gets on his knees, holding his throbbing cock in his hand. He pumps it a few times, groaning softly, before positioning himself at your entrance. “You’re on the pill?”
“Yes.” You nod almost desperately, waiting for him to slide it all the way in.
Mingyu enters you slowly—the pace is almost unbearable—but he shudders when he feels your walls against his dick. You grab onto his shoulders, nails digging into the flesh. A loud moan escapes your lips when he jerks his hips forward, his cock pressing into your cervix. Your eyes screw shut, and Mingyu grunts, pulling out and thrusting back inside with more force. Almost unconsciously, you wrap your legs around his hips, granting him more access to your hole and allowing him to push himself deeper inside you.
He leans down and captures a nipple in his mouth, rolling his tongue around the pebbled bud. You gasp out moans wantonly, and it spurs him to thrust faster and faster inside you. He watches you fall apart on him, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips when your moans become interspersed with chants of his name.
Your grip on his shoulders tighten and the muscles flex under your hold. Your cries reach a crescendo with one particularly sharp thrust; Mingyu can tell your climax is approaching.
He speeds up, pumping into you with as much strength as he can muster. Your nails leave white-hot trails along his back, his shoulders—you try to hold onto him as best as you can. You cry for more, beg him to keep going. A bit redundant, in his opinion—he has no plans of stopping until you’ve orgasmed.
Mingyu thrusts into you one last time, throwing you over the edge. Your walls clench around his cock tightly, black stars floating in your vision as you cry out his name. He pumps into you weakly, letting you ride out your orgasm while chasing his own high. He buries his face in your neck, breathing heavily, and when your walls tighten around him, he comes inside you, his movements coming to a pause.
You stroke his sweaty bangs away from his forehead, both of you catching your breaths. He remains sheathed in you, even as he pulls you onto your side so both your chests are touching.
“Feel good?” he asks, one hand carding through your hair gently.
You let out a tired, but satisfied hum, smiling softly at Mingyu.
You spend the night curled up in his arms. He sleeps soundly next to you, eyelashes brushing against his cheeks and hands wrapped protectively around your figure. The steady thrum of his heartbeat sounds against your ear, and you smile, even in your sleep.
NINETEEN
“You have your thinking face on.” Your boyfriend saunters into the kitchen, a knowing smile on his lips. You roll your eyes at him.
“You can’t tell me you don’t see it too,” you say pointedly, waving your wooden spatula at him.
Mingyu chuckles, moving over and wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. He presses a sweet kiss to your shoulder. “What, that Seokmin and Jihyo are meant to be? That smells amazing, by the way, love.”
“Yes,” you huff out, stirring the soup inside the pot boiling on the stove. “And thank you.”
From the living room, you can hear your two friends laughing over something you couldn’t possibly begin to comprehend. Jihyo still lives in another city, but she comes over to visit whenever she can. You and Seokmin remain friends, and he often comes over whenever you, Mingyu and Jihyo decide to hang out—though, you suspect his enthusiasm to join you three has more to do with one particular person rather than the entire group.
“If you say so,” Mingyu agrees. “I think they’re just friends.”
“Friends don’t look at each other that way,” you say matter-of-factly.
“Really? I seem to recall him looking at you the exact same way not too long ago.”
“That’s different, Gyu. Here, can you taste some? I don’t want it to be too salty.” Grabbing a large spoon, you dip it in the pot and offer it to Mingyu.
He obliges, letting you shove the spoonful into his mouth—and yelps almost immediately. “Ouch! You didn’t tell me it was hot.”
You only raise an eyebrow at him, but a small hint of amusement dances in your eyes. “How does it taste?”
Mingyu rolls his eyes at you but rests his chin on your shoulder; his hair tickles your ear. “It tastes amazing as always, love.”
“You’re sure? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”
“I’m offended you think I would lie to you.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you deadpan, and it makes Mingyu giggle.
“I’m serious, it tastes good.” He smiles at you, peeling himself away from you. “Let’s go join the other two.”
“Coming.” You put the stove on simmer and grab Mingyu’s extended hand. His fingers slot in between yours easily. Your lips curl upwards on their own accord, and your heart feels so full, it’s close to bursting.
You’re there, in a room with all your favourite people, and it’s perfect.
The very first night you and Mingyu broke up is pushed to the back of your mind, never to slip out of the corner you’ve tucked it into. The nights after made up for it, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. You rebuild the promises you made and make new ones along the way.
You’d write it in the sky if you could, but you and Mingyu don’t need that.
#mingyu x reader#seventeen x reader#mingyu smut#seventeen smut#mingyu imagines#seventeen imagines#mingyu x y/n#seventeen x y/n#mingyu x you#seventeen x you#svt x reader#svt smut#svt imagines#svt x y/n#svt x you#seventeen#svt#kim mingyu#mingyu
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ gooning to your instagram page was a regular occurrence for stepbro!rafe, but getting caught? that’s something that didn’t happen everyday..
warnings: stepcest, reader is bit of a bimbo, male masturbation, rafe is super pervy and kinda icky in this lol, name calling, handjob, messy kissing, oral (f. receiving), praise, mutual pining (?), dirty talk, pussy slapping, overstimulation, unprotected sex, rafe is a loser so premature ejaculation, marking, cock warming, multiple orgasms, creampie
wc: 2.0k
“such a fucking slut, ‘posting shit like this.” rafe cursed under his breath, his phone in one hand and his cock in the other. jerking off to your slutty instagram account had become a part of his daily routine. he hated that you were so active on it, but then again, if it wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t have so many pictures and videos to keep him sane while he fantasized about fucking his bratty little stepsister. pathetically enough, rafe knew he had to keep his grimy hands off of you, and fuck, did it piss him off. to have something so close, yet so far out of his reach.
your story highlights alone was enough to hold him off for the next year, but your actual posts? he swore anyone who came across your page was in gooning heaven. he’d never admit it, but he once spent two entire hours jerking off to a video he had secretly took of you two having a ‘whoever could eat their cone the fastest’ contest, his cock raw and aching to be left alone by the time he decided to give it a rest. he was mesmerized, watching you lick and lap at the icecream, the sweet succulence dripping down your chin, and eventually your tits when you couldn’t keep it from melting.
his eyes screwed shut at the memory, the video currently playing on his phone not being any different. instead of icecream dribbling down your chin, it was whatever alcohol your best friend had just poured in your mouth, the excess liquor running down your neck and chest. you had squealed when you swallowed the burning substance, your tits bouncing as you jumped excitedly with your friends. rafe groaned at the sight. you couldn’t be that oblivious, right??? at some point you had to know what you were doing when you posted this for everyone to see?
your micro bikini top did nothing to support the weight of your tits, a nipple peeking out before you innocently tucked it back underneath the poor excuse of pink material. he clicked out of your story and immediately blew up the image of your recent post. you were on all fours, face down and ass up as your skin sparkled underneath the neon lights of the party you had went to earlier tonight. you looked like you were straight out of a playboy magazine. rafe groaned, his chest heaving as he teetered the edge of cumming all over himself.
he thought about manhandling you out of that bikini and fucking you stupid for wearing it out in the first place. he’s had to watch you whore yourself out for nearly a year already, his life becoming a living hell since the day you first moved in and introduced yourself with that stupid faux innocent look in your eyes. the mini skirts you never failed to bend down in front of him in, the tube tops that basically had your tits spilling out of them, fuck, there was so many things about you that made him horny out of his mind. “oh, shit!” rafe dropped his phone, his door opening just as his orgasm washed over him.
“what the f-fuck?!” he was trembling underneath the covers, his eyes widening as you quietly shut his door behind you. “what are you doing?” he whispered, fumbling around as his high still had his hips stuttering. you giggled, watching as his face morphed into one of full blown pleasure before he turned away from you. “i just wanted to check on you since i heard noises, that’s all..” you sat down on the edge of his bed, biting your lip as his back muscles rippled beneath his skin, your eyes moving to the phone next to him. “oh, well you couldn’t have picked a better time?” rafe scoffed.
you flipped the device over, gasping softly when you saw your instagram illuminating the screen. “hey, that’s me!” you laughed, taking his phone in your hand and holding it up to him before he lunged for the thing, taking you down with him. “rafe!” you yelped his hand coming up to clasp over your mouth. “shut the fuck up! you’re gonna get us in trouble, dummy!” he cursed, his face just centimeters away from your own. you swallowed thickly, nodding as he slowly moved his hand down. “why am i on your phone?” you asked, noticing the way his pupils blew wide at your question.
“what?” he faltered, watching as a smile formed on your lips. “oh my god—” the realization hit you when you looked down, his bulge prominent in his boxers. “were you touching yourself?” rafe’s eyebrows knitted together as he backed away, looking at you as if you had just insinuated the most offensive thing he’s ever heard. “a-are you serious? of course not—” you trailed your hand down, cupping him through the thin material, “it’s okay if you were.. i do it too.” rafe froze, inspecting your face for any kind of hint that you were joking. you weren’t.
“what the fuck are you talking about?” he said through gritted teeth. you peered up at him innocently, batting your eyelashes at him as he made no attempt to move away from you. “i touch myself and think about you, ray. all the time.” you whispered against his lips, placing a soft kiss there before letting your head fall back against his pillows. “i know it’s wrong, but i can’t help it..” this was rafe’s wet dream coming true. “whenever you walk around shirtless i just imagine riding your abs. you’re so strong, rafe, i think about you choking me with these arms.” you ran your nails up the skin of his forearm.
holy fuck.
rafe didn’t believe he could ever be this turned on in his life. “yeah?” he let himself relax, your fingers slipping underneath the waistband of his boxers as you gripped him at the base. you felt the sticky residue from his previous orgasm in your palm, a hum leaving your lips at the revelation. “did i make you cum already?” the man above you groaned. how you sounded so sweet asking the most dirtiest question was beyond him. “fuck— yes, you did,” he nodded, his mouth parting once you started stroking him, “may i pleaseee make you cum again?” rafe nodded frantically, his hips thrusting into your palm.
taking your lips in a searing kiss, rafe didn’t hold back from slipping his tongue in your mouth, the sensation making you moan as you two practically drooled over one another. he wasn’t gentle in the slightest, his teeth nipping your bottom lip when you ran your thumb over his throbbing tip. “oh, god,” he hissed, pulling away momentarily to inspect your outfit.. or lack thereof. you laid underneath him in nothing but a sheer night top, your g-string sitting perfectly between your puffy folds. “you look so fucking hot.” rafe breathed out, cupping your tits before rolling your nipples between his fingers.
you gasped, spreading your thighs so he could lay between them. “i need to taste you, please let me,” he pressed a sloppy kiss to your chin, both of your lips glossy with spit. you moaned, whimpering a ‘yes, please!’ as he snaked down your body. when he got to eye level with your soaking cunt, he teased you by slowly moving your sorry excuse of ‘panties’ aside before spreading you open. you shuddered, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as you waited for his next move. pinning your thighs to the tops of his shoulders, rafe kissed your sensitive bud before diving in.
immediately, your back arched off of his mattress when his tongue attacked your poor clit, the back of your hand muffling your scream as your thighs clamped around his head. you were squirming, nails digging into his skin for dear life as he ate you like a man starved. “if only you knew,” rafe spoke, “i’ve been losing sleep over this pussy, ‘been wanting to do this since day fucking one.” you cried out at his words. you’ve wanted him for yourself the second he helped you with your moving boxes, that smug smirk on his face drawing you in since the very beginning.
your hips unintentionally chased his mouth, his hands pinning you down in place. “feels so good!” you whined, propping yourself up on your elbows so you could watch him. the tip of his nose was glistening with your slick, his tongue poking your entrance as lapped away at your juices. he was so good at this, you felt jealousy pooling in your tummy for any other girls who might’ve seen this sight, and felt his skilled tongue. “you taste so fucking good, this is unreal.” he marveled, sucking your clit before rolling your sensitive bundle of nerves between his lips. you gasped sharply, a scream sitting on the tip of your tongue.
rafe continued like this until you attempted to move away from him again. grabbing a pillow from your side, you smothered your face with it as he pushed you over the edge, a high like never before washing over you in waves of pure ecstasy. rafe watched you shake and thrash underneath him, his pussy drunk gaze raking down your trembling form. you moaned, sobbed, and cried until all you could do was whimper in sensitivity. “no more,” you sighed, your body jolting as rafe flicked his tongue continuously over your clit. black dots spotted your vision, your heart beating in your ears.
“..can’t take it, rafe!” you sobbed, tears welling in your eyes as he dismissed your cries. “yes, you can, you’re gonna have to..” just as you were going to ask him what he meant by that, he kept your legs on his shoulders as he stood up, slamming into you without warning. you couldn’t conceal the sound this time, your shriek bouncing off of the walls of rafe’s room. turning his head to see if the door was locked, he cursed under his breath when he saw it wasn’t. “you just want us to get caught, huh?” you shook your head, your nails digging into the flesh of his stomach.
rafe covered your mouth, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when you felt him pinch your clit. “just give me one more, baby, that’s all. ‘wanna feel this pussy squeezing around me when i fill you up with my cum.” you had tears running down your cheeks now. embarrassingly enough, rafe felt his climax approaching fast, his cock still aching from cumming not even twenty minutes ago. overstimulated and hysterical, you were spasming around rafe’s length in no time, every ridge of his cock bringing you to your final orgasm of the night, rafe following suit.
he leaned down, grunting praises in your ear while he painted you white inside, your thighs shaking uncontrollably against his chest. not daring to remove his hand away from your face yet, he sucked bruises into the skin of your neck, marking you as his own. you laid limp like on his bed, taking the last few of his thrusts before he stilled completely. you were a fucked out mess to say the least. gently placing your legs down, rafe stayed nestled inside of you as he pulled you against him. unintentionally, you had started tracing shapes into his skin, a sheen of sweat coating his forehead as you two kissed.
“this just made a lot of shit complicated.” he stroked your chin, your glassy eyes flickering over his face. “not really,” you started, “we’ll just be sneaky.” rafe blinked slowly, a groan rumbling from his chest as you clenched around him. “look down, i want you to see something.” you did as he said, a small whine leaving your lips as he pulled out, his cum dribbling out of with ease. “i’m the only one who can have this pussy, you understand?” you nodded, pecking his cheek before wrapping your arms around his neck. “come on, let’s get you back to your room before world war three breaks out in this house.”
#❤︎₊ ⊹ works#outer banks#outer banks smut#outer banks fanfiction#outer banks imagine#rafe outer banks#outer banks rafe#obx#rafe obx#obx smut#obx fanfiction#obx imagine#obx x reader#rafe cameron#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron blurb#rafe cameron prompt#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron imagine#stepbro!rafe#rafe fluff#rafe x you#rafe fanfiction#rafe smut#rafe x reader#rafe imagine#drew starkey
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Their Little Nest
In which MC reorganizes their house over time and Sylus, because of an offhand comment from the twins, thinks she's nesting.
Sylus x fem!MC fluff
Pregnancy thoughts and talk.
-0-
It started with the little things.
Tiny potted plants sat prettily on his shelves, the many side and coffee tables in the manor, their little pops of green and brightly colored petals brightening what once was a corner of shadow.
It wasn't like Sylus didn't keep plants in the house, no. It was just he didn't pay them any mind besides making sure the staff was taking care of them.
So it really came as a surprise when he suddenly found himself watching you and the twins hauling boxes into the house, chattering about plant growth and such as you took out several lamps.
"Kitten," he said from his position by the doorway, strong arms folded over his chest as he leaned against the frame. "With that much light, you're going to start to photosynthesize."
You turned, smiled at him as you tilted your head up to nuzzle into his chin when he strode towards you. You held up two different types of lamps for him to see. "They're lamps."
"I can see that."
You chuckled, leaned against him when he reached over to fiddle with the lamp in your hand. "I didn't know if I needed sun lamps or grow lamps for the plants so I got a lot of both."
"Mm." Sound logic enough, he thought. He patted her head. "Let's set them up, then."
And so they did.
(Even though both of you did bicker about adding a grow lamp - not the sun lamp - in his office for that tiny desk succulents you graciously added to his massive workspace.)
(He conceded, of course.)
But it didn't stop there. Not that he expected it to stop, knowing you.
It was a rough day. A negotiation that Sylus needed to get done didn't pull through as the moron representing the offending faction decided to get flustered and pulled out a gun at him, voiding the deal and thus resulting in a gun fight.
The situation was dealt with easily enough, but the cleanup needed his attention particularly because they had several protocores that he was aiming to acquire and wasn't going to leave without them. Alas, as they refused to make it easier for everyone involved, they had to waste not just his time but his ammo as well as his perfectly cut suit.
Sylus landed on the couch with a groan, relief finally flooding his bones as the tension in his body started to dissipate. He wasn't bleeding any longer, but the aches remained, a dull thrum consistently buzzing so much that it prevented him to experience the relief of sleep.
While the fog enveloped the N109 Zone to obscure it from the wrath of the sun, the instinctual yearn for daylight annoyed him. The mere ghostly memory of the sun on his skin made him purse his lips, the mere thought of it sapping his already drifting energy.
He turned his head, buried it into the pillow-
He blinked, propped himself on his good arm as he stared at the pillows. Gone were the hard blocks of stone that posed for a pillow that he just never bothered to replace, seeing as he was in pain often enough that the uncomfortableness of them barely registered to him anymore. What sat under and beside his head were soft, the slight fur on the covers lightly tickling his cheek as it cradled his head, rapidly easing his throbbing headache.
Long fingers flexed, his brows furrowing when softness once again surrounded his senses.
There was a thick blanket beneath him, separating his battered body from the worn and cold leather of the couch.
Now, Sylus is a perceptive man. Being observant of his surroundings and having the ability to react accordingly is part of his job description, his lifestyle. One misstep, a single moment of carelessness, and he could end up dead.
He was sure these pillows and blanket were not here before he left the house no less than eleven hours earlier.
"Sylus."
He turned, alert eyes softening at the sight of you, drinking up the image of you in one of his long-sleeved button-ups that hung over your significantly smaller frame, your hair mussed in multiple directions.
A lazy, crooked smile adorned your face as you hummed his name, your eyes still drooped with sleep. The adorable crow plushie was cradled lovingly in your arms.
You took your time to cross the room, loved the way he settled back onto the couch as he watched you, those wonderful scarlet eyes not once leaving you. You accepted his outstretched hand, your laugh softly lilting in the air when he pulled you into his embrace.
"Hi," you purred, your body molding perfectly into his.
"Good morning." There was a tenderness in the room, blanketing the both of you as you cuddled on the couch. You cherished moments like this. It's not so often that Sylus would get home when you wake, and while you know that your beloved wasn't all too fond of the mornings, you also know that the man made sure to make time for little moments like this despite his busy schedule.
"You changed the pillows," he muttered, his deep voice rumbling as he nuzzled into your hair.
"Did I?" You kissed his exposed clavicle, trying to hide your smile.
"You did."
"Maybe the twins did it."
He snorted, his fingers digging into your hips before massaging it as his other hand fiddled with the leather that held your knife strapped to your thigh. "They would've have bought a vibrating couch before they get to the pillows."
You laughed. "That's true."
A beat of silence. Just two lovers laying on a couch, sharing whispers and secret laughter as the sun rose far beyond the N109 Zone.
It was peace.
Oh, if only that peace lasted.
It's been a few weeks since that little moment on the couch, and Sylus couldn't fathom how they went from there to where you were at this moment.
He sat on a stool on the kitchen, watching you clean what seemed like the eighth room in the manor and you didn't have any indication of stopping soon.
None of them knew why you were in such a frenzy to clean, but you knew it was important do it Right Now. He offered to help you, of course, after having a quick round with him arguing that you should just leave all the cleaning to the staff, seeing as that's one of the primary reasons why he hired them in the first place.
"Sweetie," he said, exasperation leaking into his usual smooth voice. "If you keep at it any longer, I'm gonna have to clean you up from the floor."
You scoffed, hissed when he tried to grab the mop from you. "You better sit your ass down before I dismantle all of your guns again."
"Oh?" His voice, sickly sweet, as he trailed the tip of his fingers up your neck, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "Will you, now?"
Your eyes glinted, lips curling into a menacing smile as you passed the mop to your other hand, completely dodging his attempt to take it from you as you pressed your body sensually to his. Deft fingers from your now free hand lightly tapping playfully against his chest. You crooned. "You know I will."
A stare down. Something not too uncommon between the two of you. A pair of strong, stubborn people unwilling to yield.
Most of the time.
"Alright," he conceded. Sylus knew, even without peering into your desires, that you will not budge on this matter. So he sat, admitting full well that this isn't an issue that's worth having an argument over.
It only took one look from him to shut the twins' guffaw from the other side of the door. He could ignore the snickering, however.
"This is like the third time she cleaned this room," Kieran whispered to his brother.
"Fourth," supplied Luke as he enjoyed the way their boss was sulking at the counter. He didn't look like he was sulking, Luke knew that full well, but he just had that feeling. "You were too busy buying detergent when she cleaned this last Monday."
"Ah."
"Hm."
"Maybe she's nesting or whatever."
Luke hummed, shrugged. "Maybe."
Sylus was a man of composure. Not even the most lethal of situations are able to get a rise out of him, and even if it did, no one would be able to tell from his perfected poker face.
That was the only reason why he didn't fall out of his stool.
Could you be pregnant? But you two have been so careful, so sure that the both of you have done the necessary things to have safe sex. But it wasn't impossible, he knew. It was also possible for non-pregnant women to exhibit nesting behavior. Surely, you'd tell him immediately if something was amiss or... if you were experiencing some symptoms.
Children, huh? He didn't think he'd be a great father. If anything, he'd be a horrible one considering the simple fact that he brought danger with him anywhere he went.
He was hard lines and violence, bloodshed and death. The sins that he's committed - and will commit - was unfit for a father. A good father.
But... he supposed it would be nice to have children running across the house. His and your kids. A physical manifestation of your love.
It's not that he needed to have a mini version of himself. As far as he knew, he never had any inclination of even desiring to have them. That avenue of conversation hasn't opened up between you too, either. He didn't know if you even wanted to have children.
Children with him.
And he wouldn't mind it if you didn't want them. They were a commitment, not just some playthings to be discarded once the novelty wore off. It would take a lifetime.
Yet... It's a nice thought.
"Darling?" It was well into the night. You and Sylus were already snuggled up in bed but you knew something was off. Ever since your little event in the kitchen, Sylus has been drifting, sometimes zoning out into space. It was very uncharacteristic of him.
So you waited. He'd tell you eventually.
Yet you have to admit to yourself that you can be impatient.
Those eyes of his, momentarily dazed, focused on you. The room was dark, the steady thrum of the air conditioner droning in the background. And still you felt his eyes on you, focusing, focusing, his arms pulling you in closer to his body.
"Yes?"
"What's wrong?"
Of course you'd see it. Not that Sylus even attempted to hide it, seeing as you'd peer through him eventually. You waited for him to speak, frowned when you felt the spiking of his evol. "Sy?"
"Are you pregnant?"
You sputtered, pushed up from your position on the bed. Your hand quickly tapping the button for the lights.
Warmth illuminated the room as you stared into his eyes. You thought he was joking, thought he was pulling your leg, but the emotion that stormed his eyes moved you, surprised you.
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Sy." There was distress in his voice, something that you thought you'd never hear. "My period finished a few days ago."
He closed his eyes as he let that information sink in, nodded. Released a breath. "Okay."
"Sylus." You nudged him, urged him to open his eyes. "Sweetheart, what brought this on?"
Sylus sighed, feeling as though the energy was tapped from him. Well, there was no reason to beat around the bush on this. "Kieran mentioned you might be nesting."
For all the time you've spent with Sylus, you knew that man rarely blushed. But the pink that dusted his cheeks and ears endeared you, the heartbeat that you loved listening to spiking.
"I'm sure, Sy."
"Right."
He didn't know if it was relief he felt as he held you, fingers kneading into the dip between your hips. He sighed. Gave you the smile that was only reserved for you.
"Why did you change the pillows?"
You tilted your head, smiled back, leaned down to kiss his nose. So it came back to the pillows.
"I wanted you to be comfortable whenever you collapse on the couch."
"The plants?"
"This place is stuffy without them."
"And the cleaning?"
"I don't like the way the staff cleaned our house."
He stared at you, those gorgeous garnet eyes of his looking at you with a mix of adoration and complete and utter confusion. He blew a breath.
"I was overthinking, then."
"You think so much all the time, I'm surprised it's taken you this long to short circuit."
"I didn't short circuit."
"You don't have access to seeing your expressions, darling."
You laughed when he pinched your sides before your hands slip up and cupped his face. "I love you, you know that?"
"I know." His voice dropped down an octave as he trailed open mouthed kisses from your shoulder to your neck. "I guess that's why you're making me insane."
You snorted. "You never needed my help with that, dumbass."
He nipped your neck, nuzzled. "I love you, too."
"Mm." But you took his hand, pressed it to your stomach, stared deep into his eyes. "Do you want to have children with me, Sy?"
Your eyes were impossibly deep that he couldn't look away. Couldn't even think of attempting it.
"Yes."
Straightforward as ever, Sylus is. You blew a breath.
Swung your legs over him and straddled him in one swift move.
"Maybe we can start trying now, then?"
-0-
this has been running in my brain for days and i just had to write it asfsdg
check out my other sylus fluff fic!
and another sylus fic but with a cat :>
#love and deepspace#love and deepspace sylus#lads sylus#love and deepspace sylus x reader#love & deepspace#love & deepspace sylus#love and deepspace sylus fluff#pregnancy talk#pregnancy#sylus x reader#sylus x you#not proofread lmao goodluck#atoltia writes in deepspace#my writing
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
what calms you down?
what’s something you’re excited for?
say three nice things about yourself (three physical and three non-physical).
what song makes you feel better?
what’s your feel-good movie?
what’s your favorite candle scent?
what flower would you like to be given?
1) box breathing is my go to when I'm anxious. really any rhythmic breathing works best for me, but I don't feel like keeping track of multiple numbers so everything being 4 is great :) 2) I'm excited to go to the bookstore today! It's independent bookstore day today, so they're having an event with raffles and sales and my family is going! I think this is the 3rd weekend in a row we've gone to the bookstore 3) Physical: I love what I've done with my hair, how my boobs look in low cut tops, and the character my skin-picking scars/scabs/marks give me. Non-physical: I love how much I care for other people and try to positively impact them, how much I enjoy learning and strive to continue to learn, and the effort I've put in and continue to put in to be a better person. 4) Depends! I rotate through songs a lot, so at any given point in time I'm listening to a different one on repeat. For example, the Plastic Doll remix by Lady Gaga, Ashnikko, and Oscar Scheller has been on loop for a while. But a couple that've pretty routinely stuck around are: Superkid by Livingston, Cosmic Love by Florence + the Machine, and Mouthwash by OSTON (along with others) 5) Answered this one here! It's Pan's Labyrinth, but another movie I like is A Monster Calls. 6) I'm not sure, I don't use a lot of candles. There was this one Honey Pear scented one I found once that was pretty nice, and of the common scents I like the cinnamon/apple/spice ones. But I don't have strong opinions on it--except that Sandalwood isn't my favorite. Unfortunately it's my mom's favorite scent and she loves buying sandalwood incense 7) I don't have a specific flower in mind, but when being given flowers, I prefer them to be potted. I don't like being given cut flowers because they just die. But potted plants? 10/10, even though I'm not the most plant savvy person
That was many questions, but very fun to answer, so thanks!
#ask game#quil's queries#sunsplatteredfeathers#i got cut flowers yesterday. mass distribution so I know it wasn't personal I'm just like. :( they're gonna die#not that potted plants have guaranteed survival but like. you see the difference?#oh shit i've got a few plants I need to repot uh oh i keep forgetting and putting it off#but i've got a rotting cactus i need to cut and let callus to replant#and the soil on the poinsettia is old and loose and not holding water#and I think the bamboo needs a liquid fertilizer#and there's this tiny succulent who has VASTLY outgrown his pot#damn i'm a neglectful plant parent...#maybe that one other plant could use a shift as well it's not sitting properly in the soil#tumblr let me post this challenge#sorry if the formatting ends up being odd tumblr's being difficult abou tit#long post#hehe...abou tit...
1 note
·
View note