#like they would get together still i think but like | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fxstpace · 3 days ago

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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

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whatifitis · 2 days ago

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♡ Cursing The Daylight - LN 4 ♡

Summary: Lando hates knowing you never sleep well so when he believes he's figured out why, he makes it his mission to save his sleepy girlfriend from sleep deprivation.

Author's note: A little blurb thing I wrote at 2 am. I tried my best 😭

WC: 1045

CW: Lando being a bit dumb and the sweetest person ever, fluff

You were currently cursing the daylight, watching as a blue bird flew past your window.

Fucker

It was yet another sleepless night in your apartment. You continued to stare at your alarm clock, waiting for it to go off, a little reminder that if you were capable of sleeping properly, you’d still have 5 more minutes of sleep.

For most of your life, especially in recent years, you’ve never been able to get a full night's rest. You’d always end up tossing and turning for hours, as well as waking up about 7 times a night. Every day you would feel irritated and restless due to your lack of sleep.

However, whenever you slept over at your boyfriend's house, you always managed to get a good night's sleep. You and your boyfriend, Lando, have been together for about 5 months. The first night you two had spent together, was the first time you’d been able to sleep well. You woke up bright and early and you felt amazing, like nothing could stop you.

Over the course of your relationship, Lando came to be aware of your inability to sleep well most nights. Whenever you would sleep in your own apartment, Lando would receive mass amounts of texts from you, all about how you slept terribly and that you either needed a nap or many coffees.

Lando, being the ever so lovely person he is, picked up on something. The only times you would get a good night's sleep, waking up and not needing to complain about anything and everything, was when you slept at his place.

The mattress! The boy thought, she sleeps better at mine cause my mattress is fucking mint.

Upon realizing this, Lando goes and orders the same exact mattress he has, and has it sent to yours. He thought it’d be a nice surprise for you so that you can get a goodnight sleep every night. Another plus would be that you guys are coming up on your 6 month anniversary, this counts as a gift right?, thinks Lando.

The day Lando gets an email stating that the mattress was out for delivery, he books it to your place, wanting to be there to see your reaction to his gift and so that he could help you bring it in and set it up.

Lando arrives at your apartment, greeted by you with a massive smile and sparkling eyes. He wastes no time in pulling you to him by your hips and wrapping his arms around your torso. As you wrap your arms around his neck you say, “As much as I love seeing you, what are you doing here? I thought we were going to meet up later tonight for movie night.”

As Lando pulls away to look at you, the postman has just arrived. “That’s why.” he says, smiling cheekily and pointing to the truck behind him.

The both of you watch as the postman begins to unload the mattress from the vehicle, before Lando jumps in and helps the man drag the mattress to the door of your apartment.

Whilst Lando and the man bring the mattress into your apartment, you stand there dumbfounded.

What the actual fuck is going on? The only thing I’ve ordered to my apartment is a new book and I don’t think the book is that big? Wait, did I order the right thing?!

As soon as the box is in your living area, you confront Lando, “Lan, my love, my gorgeous boy… what the fuck?” you ask, pointing at the big ass box in your living area.

Your Lan stands there next to the box, all but swaying as he stands and gives you the biggest smile he could plaster on his face.

The cheeky fuck.

“It’s a mattress!” he says as he poses next to it, adding a pose for effect.

“A mattress?” you ask.

“A mattress.”

After a moment of silence, where you contemplated whether to strangle him or take his credit card away from him, you ask “Why?”

“Cause, you’re always tired and you never sleep well unless you’re at my place. So I figured out why! It’s because you find my mattress to feel so much better and comfier. I even ordered the same bed sheets I have, but I got yours in green since it’s your favorite color. They should be here tomorrow though so for tonight you can spend the night with me or we can use your old sheets.” he proposes, smiling so wide it makes your heart melt from the sweetness that you don’t deserve.

He gets you the same mattress he has in his home, for your home.

“I sleep better at yours because you’re there. Not because of the mattress, you muppet!” you exclaim.

You watch as Lando’s face immediately drops, “what?” he asks. He’s truly been stunned with this information, “What’d you mean it’s not because of the mattress? You mean to tell me I haven’t helped solve your sleeping issues?! I thought I was smarter than all the doctors you’ve seen for this issue!”

You can’t help but laugh at your boyfriend's statement.

“Gorgeous, you thought that of all the doctors I’ve seen… that none of them have thought that I was sleeping on an uncomfortable mattress?”

Lando just stood there silent, blankly staring at a wall, likely contemplating all his life choices.

“Fuck. So, do you not want the mattress? Seems like a hassle to return.” he states as he scratches the back of his neck, wondering how he’s going to return the heavy ass box. “Wait, you sleep better when you’re around me?” he looks at you, somewhat shocked.

You walk up to him, taking his hands in yours and making him look you in the eyes, “Gorgeous, in the time we’ve been together, we’ve slept on couches and several different mattresses. And I always sleep well no matter where or what we are sleeping on. I sleep better because I’m with you, I feel safe with you.”

“Oh… oh!” he giggles a bit. Red starts to lightly color his face, he’s blushing, “That’s nice.”

You don’t think you’ve met anyone more awkward than this man, but you love him because of that, not in spite of it.

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ja3yun · 1 day ago

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Devil's Corner || S.JY

racer!jaeyun x rival's sister!reader warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, oral (f.rec), food play - lollipops, exhibitionism (kinda), terribly described racing scenes, mentions of past trauma, anything else lmk! wc: 18k synopsis: jaeyun goes by a lot of names - leader of the lucifers, your brother's biggest rival, the number one racer in the south&west, and your non-boyfriend. on his birthday, you go to the grit track to wish him luck, not knowing your relationship is going to change forever. a/n: hi! i am not officially back, i'm still taking a break but it would be so wrong of me to miss the loml's birthday (although i'm early) <33 this isn't exactly how i wanted this to turn out so i'm sorry if it's shit 😮‍💨 anyway, i'll be back soon hopefully bc it's almost my one year anniversary. comments/feedback/reblogs are all appreciated and i love you all so much! happy jake day when it comes <3

“You know I can’t be here, Ireh,” you say, casting a wary glance around. “If Yeonjun sees me, he’ll lose his mind.”

“Will you just relax for like half a minute, please?” Ireh sighs, her voice tinged with lighthearted frustration as she tugs you closer to the grit track, the sound of revving engines growing closer. “He’s probably busy preparing for the race. You know how seriously he takes this.”

You dig your heels into the ground, stopping both of you in your tracks. “Girl, please be serious. We’re practically on the track! He could spot me in a heartbeat.”

Avoiding your older brother isn’t really in your nature; you’ve always been inseparable. You and Yeonjun are like two cubes of ice that no matter how much you whack them, they stay glued together. He always protects you, teaches you the ropes on how to navigate life even though there is only 3 years between you, and you would probably class him as one of your best friends.

Yet, he never wants you to come to his races.

Yeonjun is one of, if not the best illegal drag racer in the city. He’s built respect around his and his crews name - Thursday’s Children - TC for short. Initially, he loved bringing you along to the races, but that quickly changed the moment you caught the attention of the one rival he despises.

Ireh turns to you, exasperation etched across her features as she crosses her arms. “So, do you want to see your boyfriend or not?”

“He is not my boyfriend, Ireh,” you retort, huffing the words out for what feels like the millionth time. But she isn’t wrong - you are here to see the boy, and though typically you wouldn’t risk coming to the tracks and getting caught by Yeonjun, there’s a reason for the risk tonight.

“Oh? So what do you call a guy you’re so hopelessly in love with that you’re willing to betray your brother and sneak behind his back?” she counters with a teasing lilt in her voice. “Because you wouldn’t do that for a casual hookup.”

That’s also the kicker of this whole thing; since that day when you bumped into Yeonjun’s rival and the ban was put in place so that you never have to come into contact with him…you’ve actually been seeing him almost every day for the past seven months. Your boyfriend who isn’t your boyfriend? That’s Sim Jaeyun - the leader of The Lucifers, and your brother's arch nemesis.

It makes you recoil every time you think about betraying your brother, especially when someone slaps you over the face with it so blatantly the way your best friend does. It’s worse because as much as you downplay the relationship, you can’t deny that there is something so real between you both. As soon as you met him, you were instantly drawn to him - like a moth to a very dangerous and reckless flame.

To be honest, you vowed to stay away from any and all racers. Each of them is arrogant and too prideful, your brother included, but the more you spoke with Jaeyun, got to know him and all his quirks, you realised quickly that he’s the exception.

Jaeyun is ripped straight from the pages of a romance book. At first glance, with his sharp smirk and the swagger that comes with being one of the city’s top drag racers, he gives off that classic fuckboy vibe - a bit reckless, untouchable, with that unbothered arrogance he uses to get under other crew’s skin. To a lot of people, he’s just the arrogant leader of The Lucifers, quick to brush off his competition like they’re nothing.

But that’s only half of who he is.

When it’s just the two of you, you get to see a side of Jaeyun that he guards closely - trusting you with something he doesn’t share with the world. He’s patient and tender, his words soft and careful, and it’s almost startling how different he can be. He’s not performing or putting up walls; he’s just there with you, completely and wholly, in a way that’s so real it takes your heart a minute to stop making more space for him. If you were to say this to anyone else that knew him, or of him, they would laugh in your face - and Jaeyun would deny it in a heartbeat.

It wouldn’t be fair to say he hides his ‘real’ self from others because being the racer everyone perceives is also part of him. The intensity he brings to the track is genuine - it’s a part of his soul, he’s clearly passionate about it, loving the thrill and heat that comes from burning some rubber and shouting a big fuck you to his opponent. But with you, Jaeyun allows himself to be something more. He only shows the loverboy side of him in your company, being with you gives him a moment to embrace a side of himself that he sometimes forgets about.

Of course, he’s still cocky and boastful - he’s allowed to be; he’s really fucking good - it’s the main reason why he and Yeonjun are rivals in the first place. While TC rules the North and East of the city, The Lucifers hold ownership of the South and West, but both of them want to be on top - the best in the city, not just their turfs.

In Yeonjun’s eyes, the only one who could be deemed better than him is Jaeyun, and that’s a bitter pill to swallow. So he won’t swallow it, he’ll use it as motivation instead, to beat Jaeyun in ever way possible.

Shifting your focus back to Ireh and ridding your mind of the thoughts of the leaders, you shake your head and let out the fakest laugh you think you’ve ever heard spit from your mouth. “In love with him? I am not in love with him. We’re just, seeing one another, casual, y’know?”

Ireh holds that knowing stare on you as you stand there, your mind battling with itself like it usually does in moments like these, justification and excuses bubbling up. “Listen, you can keep him as your ‘not boyfriend’ all you want,” she adds with a smirk, “but you know that label isn’t hiding your feelings. It’s written all over your face - even now.”

You’re an open book, what your mouth doesn’t say, your face certainly will and you’re more than sure it’s telling the story of your heart that you refuse to admit. For both your sake and Jaeyun’s.

“Whatever, let’s just go find him.” Rolling your eyes, you take her arm and lead her further into the pit of people.

It’s heaving with racers, pit lizards, and those just looking to have a good time and smell the fumes. The floodlights guide you to the edge of the track while you thread your and Ireh's way through the crowd, moving closer to the edge, where you get a clear view of the grit track. Out of all the places Yeonjun and Jaeyun race, this track has a special place in your heart. There’s nothing too fancy about it, but it does have one element that outdoes all the rest; Devil’s Corner.

Devil’s Corner is infamous, a steep turn that has racers pushing their cars to the limit. They either conquer the bend or be conquered by it. It’s a sharp, merciless curve that rises slightly before plunging down at a nearly impossible angle, leading straight into a narrow stretch and to the finish line. So many have tried to beat it or show off on it - you’ve seen more than one car flip or crumpling like a smooshed tin can.

Luckily, both your brother and Jaeyun know exactly how to handle it, masters of their art being proven each time. You never have to worry about them too much when it comes to this track, they’re usually way ahead of whatever chump tries to race them, but a little flutter of anxiety will always be there.

You squint against the harsh glare of headlights, raising a hand to shield your eyes as you scan the crowd. Among the bustle, you spot Heeseung and Jongseong leaning casually against a car with the devil printed crudely onto it, looking entirely at ease in the chaotic scene. They’re two of Jaeyun’s closest friends and crewmates, so wherever they are, he’s usually not far behind.

Heeseung is the first to notice you, nudging Jongseong with a mischievous glint in his eye as he shoots you a welcoming look. The two of them are more than just members of The Lucifers - they’re practically family to Jaeyun, and in turn that makes them your number one hype men and the only others to know about your secret fling.

Squeezing her arm, you guide Ireh across the track and into red territory, smiling brightly and suddenly forgetting about the possibility of Yeonjun spotting you.

“Hi, boys!” you greet them warmly, letting go of your friend to hug them tightly. “How are you feeling?” Both of them have races tonight, though you could never tell with how nonchalant they both look. Going against TC always has higher stakes, but they don’t seem fussed.

Jongseong pats your head and smirks. “We’re chill, it’s only Gyu and Soobin, hardly competition.”

“We are shocked to see you though, doesn’t little Junnie usually keep you in a cage when it comes to TC Lucifer races?” Heeseung nips in.

“Well, I had to come and-”

“Support the number one racer on his birthday,” a fading Australian accent interrupts your sentence, his hands gripping your hips and instinctively pulling you back into him, your ass pressing against one of your favourite parts of him.

Jaeyun’s touch is intoxicating, a magnetic pull that has you leaning back into him without a second thought, any anxiety about Yeonjun’s lurking eyes now vanished. His hands drift up and down your waist, lingering over the curves he knows so well, savouring the feel of the skintight dress you’ve slipped into just for him. You can feel his gaze, possessive, admiring, and utterly absorbed into you as his fingers press against the sheer fabric at your sides, the warmth of his skin teasing yours through the thin material. He loves it when you dress up for him because he knows it’s only for him, not one of these other fuckers at the grit track gets to touch you the way he does, gets to see you the way he does.

Instinctively, he dips his head, his lips grazing your shoulder, trailing upwards in a slow, lazy path that sends a pulse straight to your core. His mouth follows the line of your neck, leaving a trail of heat that makes you feel like the two of you are alone in the world, past all of the noise and chaos around you. When he reaches your ear, he nibbles down and whispers, “Hi, Princess.” It’s a greeting as much as a claim, you’re his princess.

You’re aware, somewhere in the back of your mind, that this is probably the most reckless thing you could do. Yeonjun could be here any second, his protective instincts would be kicking in if he caught even a speckle of Jaeyun’s hands on you. And yet, the thrill of it only makes you want to sink deeper into Jaeyun’s touch. He holds you firmly, his grip the only thing holding you up right now.

However, you need to let go, scared of the repercussions. It’s bad enough you’re even on this side of the track, let alone in the arms of The Lucifer’s leader. So you spin around, gathering your bones and standing upright, although they almost turn to jelly again as soon as you see him.

His hair is bouncy, parted down the middle with two strands falling effortlessly on his face, pointing straight to that perfect nose that you’ve had the pleasure of riding one or ten times. His lips are curled up in a small smile, so subtle only you can see before it turns into a full-blown smirk, his kissable lips so inviting as he bites into his bottom one. You love his mouth, everything about it; how it looks, the way it tastes, it’s magical skills when it’s in between your legs, all of it.

“Happy birthday,” you murmur, smiling so fondly at him that you know Ireh is going to have something to say about it later.

“Thanks. What did my girl get me?” he asks, leaning forward and ghosting his lips over yours, his bottom lip begging to be bitten and sucked on. Every time he calls you his girl, you swear you almost get down on your knees and begin to worship him.

Maybe you’re starting to see what Ireh and his friends mean about your non-existent label and what it should be.

You resist the urge to just devour him in a kiss as you speak. “I can’t show you it right now, not here,” you tease, poking your tongue out to wet your lips.

“Yeah? What if I ditch this race and we go somewhere that you can show me?” His voice is low and inviting, every word dripping with promise. Jaeyun leans down, his lips hovering just inches from yours, his eyes gleaming playfully. His hands roam up your back, his fingers pressing just hard enough to make you shudder, his nails grazing your skin ever so slightly - a subtle incentive to consider his tempting suggestion.

Before you can even nod, though, Jongseong clears his throat pointedly, a slight smirk tugging at his mouth. “Actually, mate, you really can’t skip this one,” he says in a language you can’t understand, his tone heavy with meaning meant solely for Jaeyun.

Jaeyun’s grip loosens slightly as he pulls back, and you seize the moment to break from his hypnotic gaze, turning to face Jongseong with a raised eyebrow. “What’s so special about this race?” you ask, voice laced with curiosity. “What’s at stake this time, a car?”

High-stakes wagers are nothing new. Racers love to have some form of motivation and it’s not unusual for bets to involve money, cars, or something like territorial rights over parts of the city. And while you don’t know exactly what’s in play, the tension between Jongseong and Jaeyun suggests this isn’t just any race.

“Not a car,” Jaeyun begins removing his hands from your waist, and just in time too, because over the racer's shoulder, you see someone walking over with raw fury and intensity over their features.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Y/N?” Yeonjun spits as he approaches, his aura red. The last time you saw him this angry was when you accidentally mistook his MSCHF boots as funky vases and put the tulips that Jaeyun had got you inside them. Of course, he didn’t know they were from his rival, but you did just ruin his £300 shoes.

Truthfully, they looked better as a vase.

Jaeyun’s hand still rests on your waist, firm and possessive, but you reluctantly take a step back, putting as much space as possible between you. You will yourself to look unfazed and relaxed, praying Yeonjun hadn’t seen Jaeyun practically dry-humping you just moments before.

Thinking on her feet, Ireh steps in, tossing a casual arm over Jongseong’s shoulder with a bright smile. “Actually, it’s my fault, Yeonjun,” she chirps, doing her best to sound apologetic yet unbothered. “I wanted to see Jongseong race, and I dragged Y/N along for moral support.” Her voice drops, filled with mock affection. “We’re dating.”

Everyone looks confused except Ireh, who is putting all those years bluffing to her parents about her whereabouts in the middle of the night to the ultimate test. They are easily fooled, but Yeonjun is not.

Glancing down at his ‘girlfriend’, Jongseong wears a look of uncertainty but also…happiness? You always suspected his crush on your best friend, this just confirms it. Like breathing, he slips into the role, slipping his arm around her waist and kissing her temple lovingly - he’s clearly taking this as an opportunity to be close to her.

Yeonjun’s lip curls as he looks Jongseong up and down with a mixture of disgust and disbelief. “Slim pickings around here, I guess. I didn’t think you’d settle for a shit stain on the sidewalk.”

Jongseong’s easygoing expression hardens as he holds Ireh close, offended and possessive. “Watch your fucking mouth,” he growls, his tone a warning.

Amidst the brewing tension, Jaeyun’s hand sneaks to find home on your ass, his grip firm and reassuring. He’s careful though, keeping his touch just out of Yeonjun’s line of sight, but you can tell he also doesn’t care, not really. He would fight your brother in an instant if it wasn’t for you asking him to keep it in check. No one ever tells Jaeyun what to do - not the authorities, not family, no one - but he’ll make the exception for you.

“Get off our side, Yeonjun,” Jaeyun finally interjects and pausing the bickering, his voice low and steady, clearly unbothered by the confrontation brewing. He removes his hand from you and he regrets it almost the moment it happens, wishing he could glue himself to you and always feel your warmth.

“Not until I get my sister back,” Yeonjun retorts, the words hang thickly in the air as the rest of The Lucifers gather around.

Even the mere suggestion of you being taken away stirs something in Jaeyun, a slight tightening of his jaw, a flicker of protectiveness in his eyes. Now that he has you by his side, on his side both physically and literally, he doesn’t like you too far away.

But Jaeyun’s lips twitch into a mocking smile as he crosses his arms and hides his true feelings, eyes never leaving Yeonjun’s. “Take her back then,” he scoffs, tilting his head with an air of nonchalance that only stokes the fire. He turns to you, smirking and hiding that beautiful boy you know behind the arrogance of himself. “If that’s what she wants.”

The ball is in your court and you hate when people do this to you - making you choose - and this is the worst choice of all. Jaeyun is giving you the opening to stand up for yourself, something he’s been slowly but surely trying to help you do throughout the seven months of seeing him, but it’s so much harder than he realises.

Betraying Yeonjun feels like tearing a piece of your soul away. The thought of hurting him, of driving a wedge between you twists in your gut. It’s not easy to reconcile the love you have for your brother with the undeniable connection you share with Jaeyun.

As the silence stretches, you take a deep breath, your heart racing. You glance at Jaeyun with sorrowful eyes, knowing you’re disappointing him with what you’re about to do. You take a step forward and stand by Yeonjun, looking down shamefully. You don’t dare look at the hurt in Jaeyun’s eyes.

And it’s there, only for you to see. He had truly hoped that this would say a big ‘fuck you’ and rid yourself of the shackles of Yeonjun’s overbearing brotherly role and claim the independence he’s been encouraging you to reach for.

In all honesty, he has been respecting your wishes and he’s content with that, but he hates to see you battling with it so damagingly. Your anxiety gets the better of you sometimes, your brain whispering insults and what ifs while Jaeyun’s lips are on yours,l. It’s gotren so bad in fact that half of your secret meetups have consisted of you sitting in his lap while he strokes your back, whispering petal soft reassurances to calm you down from turmoil.

Not exactly a five star date.

In some way, he wonders if the weight of it all is pressing harder now because you’re both crossing into a deeper territory of emotions that you can’t step back from.

“Ireh, don’t you dare bring Y/N back here again,” he warns your best friend, stepping in front of you, his way of protecting you but really he’s just locking you in the cage that he built. You can feel the heat of anger surrounding him and you feel ashamed. Not only are you in trouble but now your best friend is getting the blame for it. All because you can’t tell Yeonjun the truth.

Jaeyun pokes his tongue in his cheek and laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. He doesn’t say anything, but that’s enough to make Yeonjun tense once again, narrowing his eyes.

“You want to say something else?” your brother grits out, hoping that Jaeyun will bite his bait.

Yet, Jaeyun simply raises his hands in a gesture of mock surrender, a playful smile on his face. “Nah, mate. I’ll save all my talking for out on the track, yeah?” The tone of his words is light but there’s an underlying tension simmering as he stops himself from saying what he really thinks.

What he really wants to say is how fucking ridiculous it is to watch Yeonjun try to control not just your life but also those who have no obligation to bow to him. It’s clearly a trait of his - one he can’t get on board with.

However, the phrase ‘save all my talking for out on the track’ strikes you as oddly significant. You then suddenly remember Jongseong’s earlier cryptic warnings to Jaeyun about how he should stick around for the race and it all clicks into place.

Your eyes widen as you search Jaeyun’s expression for confirmation, but he remains locked onto Yeonjun’s fierce glare, the two of them engaged in a silent battle of wills.

Pulling at Yeonjun’s wrist, you draw his attention back to you, though his gaze never wavers from Jaeyun. “You’re racing each other tonight? Why?” you ask, concern creeping into your voice.

Of course, it’s not uncommon for leaders of rival crews to face off in races; it happens all the time. But the stakes feel particularly high tonight, and a knot of worry forms in your stomach. They haven’t battled it out since that night you met Jaeyun and that almost ended with Yeonjun crashing and Jaeyun turning upside down.

They have no limits when it comes to racing one another, and at the grit track, that can only mean bad things.

“Because Jaeyun here decided he wants this track to himself,” Yeonjun explains half-heartedly.

The grit track is TC territory, placed technically within the east side of the city, but its location on the very edge of the west makes it up for grabs - if they can win it. For years, The Lucifers have wanted this spot, the leaders well before Jaeyun took charge could never do it. TC leaders make sure this is the one track they’re masters at, no one is ever able to beat them on it.

Jaeyun’s smirk widens, and he steps closer, closing the space between them. “The track belongs to whoever can handle it, not whoever sticks their name on it and hopes everyone just plays nice.”

“I’ve been handling it, in case you couldn’t see that,” he chides back, not appreciating the jab. “Your old leader Mingi couldn’t handle it against me, that’s the reason you became leader, right?”

Yeonjun’s smirk is cold, knowing that mentioning the former leader will get the reaction he wants from Jaeyun - and it does. Jaeyun’s easy smirk falters for a split second, his eyes darkening with a flash of barely concealed rage. Mentioning Mingi was a low blow, they both know it.

Mingi is Jaeyun’s best friend and the night he tried to stake claim on TC turf, he ended up crashing the car, paralysing his body from the waist down. In truth, it’s the only reason Jaeyun is standing in the position he is right now, and he hates that fact.

He always admired Mingi as a leader.

Jaeyun’s voice drops, dangerously calm. “Say his name again,” he warns as the muscles in his jaw tighten. “But make sure you remember that if he hadn’t crashed because of your pathetic excuse of a trick, he would have this track, easy.”

Yeonjun’s smug grin only widens, feeding off the frustration simmering in his rival. “Is that right? Funny, because as far as I remember, it wasn’t foul play, he just couldn’t handle Devil’s Corner, and we all know what happened after that. Or maybe you’d like a reminder?”

The tension is suffocating, an invisible line drawn in the dirt between them, and everyone around senses that one wrong word could send it spiralling out of control. Jaeyun takes a step closer, closing the gap so that they’re nearly nose-to-nose. “You better watch your fucking mouth, you know what you did.”

You don’t know much about that night, neither of the men in your life wishing to utter a word about it, but all you’ve gathered from the rumours is that there are two sides to believe; one in which Mingi was simply reckless on the corner, a freak accident due to his negligence, the other? Yeonjun and his crew planted a spike trail on the road that caused him to flip over and roll down the hill.

The rumours were never settled because the car took such a tumble that it eventually got engulfed in flames, the tyres melting and any evidence gone. It’s one of the biggest mysteries amongst the crews and only TC will truly know the truth, not that they would ever admit it.

Do you think your brother could do such a thing? Not in a million years, but you also know his competitive streak can cloud his judgment. Either way, you’re nervous about his and Jaeyun’s safety tonight.

Yeonjun’s expression hardens, dropping all pretences of mockery. “Prove it. I did fuck all, your pathetic excuse for a leader was just a shit driver that couldn’t handle the heat.”

The words are enough to push Jaeyun to the edge. His fists clench at his sides, but before he can lurch forward and connect his knuckles with your brother’s face, Heeseung pulls him back with a firm grip on his shoulder, speaking low and steady. “It’s not worth it, Jae. He wants you to lose it.”

“And I fucking will, the prick deserves it,” you hear him argue with his friend. It’s moments like these you wish you could just walk over to him and settle his nerves. Not in the Joey King in Kissing Booth way with the cliche ‘look at me, look at me’ vibes, but let him know that you’re there for him, that this urge to win and prove something might end up even more disastrous than Mingi’s fate.

While Heeseung and Jongseong tend to Jaeyun’s flaring temper, Yeonjun shifts his focus to you, his rebellious sister. “Seriously, Y/N, I told you to stay the fuck away from these races,” he has venom in his voice but that’s still lingering from the spout with Jaeyun. Towards you, there is affection and concern, his usual feelings towards you.

“I just…Ireh wanted me to come,” you lie, using the dark night and shadows from the floodlights to mask your growing nose.

“Okay, fine. You still should have said no,” he rebuts, suddenly giving you a quick glance over, “And why are you dressed like that? You never dress like a track hopper.”

It’s a little insulting, considering what you wear is none of his business, and that you actually do feel good in it.

You square your shoulders, meeting Yeonjun’s scrutinising gaze. “I wanted to dress up for once, alright? Is that such a crime?” you snap, your voice sharper than you initially intended. But something about his tone, so quick to judge, grates on you.

Yeonjun’s eyes soften just a fraction, and he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, Y/N,” he begins, his tone shifting to something gentler. “I don’t mean to give you a hard time. I just don’t want you getting dragged into this, especially tonight.” His eyes flick to the track, the pits where engines roar to life, and the crowd of people buzzing with dangerous energy as they wait for the next race. “You’re above all of this.”

A small pang of guilt tugs at you, but you hold your ground. “I’m not here to cause trouble, Yeonjun. Let me just stay to support you,” you lie again, stomach twisting as the truth sits, heavy and hidden.

Yeonjun narrows his eyes, not fully convinced but willing to let it go - for now. “Alright, but stay out of the pit. And if anything happens, you leave, got it?”

“Got it. I’ll keep my distance.”

Satisfied, he gives a brief nod, but as he turns back towards his car, guiding you over to the right side of the track, where you belong. You look back as you watch Jaeyun eye you up, saddened at your sudden removal, but expecting it nonetheless.

You guess you’ll just need to see him once this is all over, and both of them finish this race safely.

You hope.

_____

The sound of engines revving fills the night air as you stand on the edge of the track, patiently awaiting Jaeyun and Yeonjun’s arrival. Your nerves are unsettled and your mind is very much being represented like that one scene in Spongebob where he forgets his name and the little sponges in his brain scramble for the answer.

It’s been a long time since you felt this tense, you thought coming here and hiding would be the thrill of your night, turns out that was the most mundane - and unsuccessful part.

The crowd is bigger now, all revved up - no pun intended - for the race. The stakes are high, like really high and you can’t imagine what the outcome could possibly be.

A thrill courses through the crowd, the anticipation tangible as Jaeyun’s car pulls up on the east side of the track - your side. While most of the TCs around you murmur, assuming he’s just trying to throw Yeonjun off, they couldn’t be further from the truth. Jaeyun’s tactic isn’t about intimidation; he just wants a final glance at you before the race begins, to see you in that dress that Yeonjun hates oh so much, and use it as motivation. He doesn’t want to show off per say, but if you’re impressed, it’s a bonus.

The intensity in his eyes across the crowd is unmistakable, and when he whistles, a slight, beckoning tilt of his head makes it clear he’s calling you over.

You look around to see if anyone noticed, and once you’re convinced they haven’t, you check your brother. Sure enough, he’s deep in conversation with his crew, oblivious as he checks his car’s setup.

Is it stupid to go over and risk getting caught? Of course. But Jaeyun has a persuasive smile and dreamy eyes to match. So the next thing you know, you take a deep breath, slipping through the sea of people, and make your way towards Jaeyun’s car. His smirk widens as you reach him, his hand already extended to brush your arm.

But you swat it away, half playfully, half serious. “What are you doing?”

“What?” he asks, eyes glinting with amusement. “Can’t a guy get a good luck kiss from his girl?”

“Jaeyun, are you fucking crazy? Look who’s right next to you!” you hiss, gesturing towards Yeonjun, who’s still unaware, thankfully. You really appreciate his attention to detail in these moments.

“Princess, you’ve been sneaking around and bouncing on my cock for seven months now. If he hasn’t caught on by now, I doubt he’s going to. He probably doesn’t even care.” He says it so easily, like all of this has just been in your mind and not a real threat.

“Yeah? Tell that to the way he glared you down not two hours ago. Or did you miss the part where he wanted to tear you to pieces for even breathing next to me?”

Jaeyun barely flinches at the mention, a hint of a pout replacing his smirk. “Come on, it’s my birthday. Don’t you think I deserve at least one little kiss?”

“Didn’t you already use the birthday excuse to get me here?” you counter, eyeing him with a playful twinkle.

“That’s for attendance,” he teases, leaning closer to you, practically hanging out the window just for a taste of you. “Kisses are part of the package.”

Unable to resist the temptation in his eyes, you check over your shoulder one last time before leaning in, brushing your lips against his in what should be a quick peck for luck, but he turns into so much more.

Jaeyun’s hand slides up to cradle your cheek, his touch warm and possessive. His thumb brushes softly over your skin as he deepens the kiss, ignoring the chaos, this stolen moment is the only thing that matters. His fingertips, rough from years of racing, contrast with the gentle way he holds you, drawing you further into him.

His tongue sweeps over your lips and you can’t help but groan and grant him access to your mouth, praying to the gods to get a taste of him. You’re greedy for him, ravenous almost, and he mirrors your need. If he wasn’t in front of at least one hundred people, including your brother, he would be dragging your pretty ass into this car and watching your tits clap in his face.

But then, like a bucket of cold water, reality hits as Jungwon steps between the two cars, flag poised for the start. You pull away reluctantly and savour the last few pecks Jaeyun plants on your puffy, lipgloss-smudged lips.

Yeonjun snaps to attention suddenly aware of your appearnce and his voice cuts sharply through the revving engines. “Y/N! What the fuck are you doing?” he shouts, his tone edged with disbelief and frustration. “I told you to stay off the pit!”

You jump, instinctively retreating from Jaeyun’s side as you stammer out a response, just thankful that he didn’t seem to notice how seconds prior you were getting your tonsils tangled with Jaeyun. “I was just…I was wishing you good luck!” You walk quickly, rounding Jaeyun’s car, trying to ignore the lingering sensation of the kiss. But Yeonjun’s face is a mask of exasperation as you approach his window.

“Y/N, get back!” he orders, eyes widening as he glances at Jungwon, who’s counting down without a care in the world.

Only then do you realise you’re directly between the two cars, and neither Jaeyun nor Yeonjun seems willing to delay the race.

“Three!” Jungwon’s deep voice booms, the crowd roaring as the tension builds.

Your feet feel glued to the ground, panic swelling in your chest. You know that chances of you getting hurt are slim, but you’ve never been this close to the race, so close that you can feel the heat from their motors swirling your leg like those snakes on Lucy Grey.

“Two!”

Jungwon raises the flag, ready to unleash it. The cars tremble with power, the engines growling, but your brain’s too scrambled to make a move. Jaeyun sees your tense frame and panics for you, scared of even a scratch on you.

“One!”

Suddenly, you feel a jolt - a car door bumps against the back of your legs, and before you know it, strong hands grab your waist, pulling you backwards in a quick, fluid motion. You land on something soft, but before you even realise what’s happened, Jaeyun’s arm reaches across to steady you in the passenger seat of his car.

“Go!”

With a salute to Yeonjun that’s equal parts taunt and triumph, Jaeyun hits the gas, and the world blurs as he speeds off, leaving your brother gaping in stunned disbelief behind you.

The wind whips through the open passenger door as you scramble to sit upright, barely processing what just happened. You feel like you’re suddenly on a rollercoaster, the car's oomph causing you to stick to the seat like the Sticky Wall.

“Can you shut that, Princess? You’re letting a draft in,” he smirks, too pleased with himself.

But all you can do is stare back, aghast. “What the fuck, Jae?! This is not funny.”

“It’s not, you could have got fucking hurt,” he tries to play it off as a joke but you hear the seriousness in his tone. When you look at him, you also see the slight fear in his eyes.

Jaeyun knows it was stupid to drag you into his car, but he panicked, what else could he do? All the possibilities swam across his mind like a reckless current. You could have gotten scratched up by the grit, swooped under the tyres with the sheer power of the acceleration…or worse.

Not all of these scenarios make sense, but the fear of losing you makes him think even the impossible. So if he can save you even from probabilities, then he will.

You reach over and such the door, the wind making it difficult as he rounds a corner. Once it clicks into place, you relax a little, breathing out. It happened in such a blur that you can’t even figure out where on the track you are. All you know is that Jaeyun is first, and you’re stuck in this race whether you like it or not.

Without taking his eyes off the road or his foot off the accelerator, he reaches over you and grabs the seatbelt, fiddling with it awkwardly to secure you in. You hate to say that you’re looking at the veins on his hands as he unravels it, but you are. You could be helping him and saving him the struggle but it’s just too fucking delicious to look at.

That distraction is the only thing stopping your heart from leaping out of your throat.

“Did you really think dragging me into your car, going a million miles per hour and having to survive the grit track safer than me standing on the starting line?” you question him, disbelief and mockery in your tone.

Jaeyun furrows his brows and lets your words sink in. “Well…when you put it that way, it’s dumb,” he agrees, mentally cursing himself. “But if you think about it, now your brother won’t pull any of his tricks. Not with his precious sister in the car.”

Now that embarrassment for his rash decision is turning into pride. Maybe subconsciously he pulled you into his car as a safety measure, after all, can’t be too careful around a bunch of TCs; not when there is so much at stake.

“Really? I’m a reassurance? What if he’s already planned something and you’ve just brought me to my demise?” It hurts you that Jaeyun truly believes your brother is capable of dirty tricks, but then again, you don’t have one hundred percent faith that he wouldn’t pull something.

Jaeyun looks into his rearview mirror and sees Yeonjun hot on his tail, probably filled with enough fury to power his car without an engine. It makes Jaeyun nervous, both your words and Yeonjun’s gaining speed, but he masks it under a laugh.

“At least we would die together. What’s that song? To die by your side-”

“Is such a heavenly way to die, yeah, yeah, it’s one of my favourite songs,” you admit, heart blushing that he even remembered it considering his playlists contain an abundance of Justin Bieber and other generic pop acts - he’s not really one to appreciate the Smiths. “But I would rather listen to the lyrics than live it out, Jaeyun.”

“I don’t see a double-decker bus,” he looks at you for a split second but it’s long enough that you see the teasing glint in his eye that masks his genuine concern, and weirdly, it puts you at ease. He would never let anything happen to you, you know that deep down.

You let out a genuine laugh and whack his arm playfully. “You know what I mean, Jaeyun.”

“Princess,” he intertwines his fingers with you, a chuckle escaping his lips, “I promise, okay? You will get out of this car in one piece.” Jaeyun kisses your knuckles and it’s both stomach fluttering and impressive how he can handle a car going 80mph and still have time to dote on you.

The romance doesn’t last too long though, because he has to lock in and focus. Behind him, Yeonjun’s car looms closer, headlights glowing like the eyes of a predator. He’s tailing Jaeyun so closely that any error, even a slight miscalculation, could end it all in a brutal collision. Jaeyun glances at his rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Yeonjun’s face, fierce and determined.

He figured your brother wouldn’t be in the best of moods with his act.

“You think that little gap’s gonna stop him?” you mutter, gripping the seat as Jaeyun expertly rounds another bend, tyres squealing against the track’s rough surface.

“Not a chance,” Jaeyun replies with a grin. “But it’ll take him a few seconds longer. Enough for me to play with.”

He shifts gears, feeling the engine’s deep growl as he powers down a straight stretch, his speedometer needle pushing higher. Yeonjun matches his pace, but Jaeyun, ever the strategist, swerves slightly, throwing up a cloud of grit in his rival’s direction. The dust storm is thick enough to obscure Yeonjun’s vision momentarily, forcing him to fall back by a hair’s breadth.

Jaeyun accelerates, barely missing a pile of tyres on his right. Just as he slips past, Yeonjun veers to the inside lane, attempting to pass on Jaeyun’s left. The corner’s coming up fast - a sharp, unforgiving turn with no forgiveness if they misjudge. Jaeyun catches on immediately, not giving Yeonjun the satisfaction. With a calculated flick of the wheel, he forces Yeonjun to either fall back or risk veering straight into the barrier.

Yeonjun, however, isn’t about to let him off easy. He falls back just enough to avoid a crash but quickly cuts to Jaeyun’s other side, inches away, daring him to swerve first. Their cars glide nearly side-by-side, matching each other’s pace in a tense, furious dance.

It’s so scary, being in the passenger seat of a car that’s almost buckling under the pressure of how fast it’s going. Of course, you knew this was not going to be like overtaking someone on the M8, but you sure as fuck didn’t expect this. The world is flying by you so fast that you can’t begin to comprehend how either of them even drives like this.

Your brother’s car pulls up beside you both and making eye contact with him is the worst thing in the world you could do.

“Y/N, what the fuck?!” you lip read, unable to actually hear him over the roar of the engines. He blames you so easily - even if it is 60% of your fault because you answered Jaeyun’s beckon - but it still makes you a little mad.

Did you want to be dragged into this? Absolutely not. All you wanted was to kiss your pretty non-boyfriend good luck on his birthday, you didn’t need all these dramatics with it; you get enough fireworks in your belly from his pretty mouth alone.

The sound of the engine thunders louder, Jaeyun accelerating and pushing his car beyond its threshold as he glides through the race. It’s all pretty intense - and oddly fun - but it’s not about to be in roughly one minute.

“Devil’s Corner’s up,” you murmur as if Jaeyun even needs the reminder. But he only nods, that familiar smirk dancing on his lips, a spark of something almost wicked in his eyes.

“I know,” he says with a determined grin, shifting gears smoothly as he sets up for the turn. “This is where your brother won’t risk it. He’s too careful with the track; it’s got him wrapped around its finger.”

“Everyone is careful around this part of the track…” you half express as a statement while also hinting that it could be a question, inquiring what Jaeyun could possibly do next.

Your trail-off sentence steals his attention and he sees the query in your eyes. He inhales deeply before addressing the elephant in the car you’ve somehow given birth to.

“Princess, do you trust me?”

“Of course, it’s the track I don’t,” you confess.

“Me either, but I gotta pull all the punches here; for the track, for the Lucifiers…for Mingi.” His voice cracks a little as he thinks of his friend, and the damage it caused him.

Jaeyun's gaze hardens, fingers gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles whiten, as though he’s holding not just the car but every ounce of the Lucifier’s pride and promise he’s made as their leader. His mind is as sharply focused on Mingi as it is on the wheel, almost as if his friend’s presence is woven into every inch of the track ahead. There’s a weight he feels, a determination to make his best friend proud, to take the track that cost Mingi so much.

"Trusting me means sticking it out," he adds, almost like a dare. “You ready?”

You swallow, nerves bubbling as you nod, barely managing a steady breath. “Just…don’t do anything stupid, okay?” But even as you say it, you know Jaeyun’s already got a strategy, one as risky as it is relentless. He could fucking kill you right now and yet, you’re ready to put your life in his hands, because you know he’s never going to snap it.

Kind of like your heart.

Ahead, Devil’s Corner yawns open like a waiting trap, and Yeonjun knows it. You can feel the weight of your brother’s stare from the other car, his eyes sharp with worry and rivalry. He’s fought this corner countless times and knows that going at it full throttle will never end well. You catch the fleeting look on Yeonjun’s face - a mixture of fear, anger, and an unspoken warning. He’s petrified for you, not knowing how far Jaeyun will go to secure the win.

Yet, you couldn’t be calmer.

“Hold on, yeah?” Jaeyun instructs and you immediately obey, watching as the dial hits it’s peak, his car flying even further in front of Yeonjun’s.

“You need to slow down, Jae…” you warn.

“How about you put that trust into action yeah?” he snaps back, though his anger isn’t directed at you, he’s just nervously tense. Who wouldn’t be in a situation like this? So you don’t hold it against him. If anything, it just makes you want to take his hand in yours and offer him some semblance of comfort.

But that would be silly right now considering there’s a death corner with you and his name on it.

As Jaeyun steers into Devil’s Corner, the entire car seems to tighten, every movement rippling through you as though you were an ant, squashed under the tyre. The pressure outside is immense, like a wall of wind trying to shove the car off the road. Inside, it’s nearly as suffocating, the tension compressing everything around you, even your heartbeat syncs with each vibration of the engine.

The curve is sharp - even sharper than you’d realised watching from the stands - and you feel the pull of gravity as Jaeyun doesn’t so much follow the turn as he cuts through it, daring the edge. Gravel spits and clinks against the sides of his precious baby.

Yeonjun is somewhere far back, but you can’t even think about him or his safety. The only thing consuming your mind is Jaeyun’s grip on the wheel and the creeping dread and exhilaration fighting for space in your lungs.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you convince yourself that it’s less scary to face it if you can’t actually see it - using the ‘if I can’t see you, you can’t see me’ childlike tactic to feel brave. And in the midst of it all, as the car feels like it’s on the edge of its control, you hear Jaeyun’s voice over the noise - a steadying presence cutting through as he senses your apprehension.

“Nearly there, Princess,” he mutters through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched and his heart holding still within his chest. Although he’s fighting the battle of fear and hope inside of him, his voice anchors you just enough to brace yourself.

The car rockets through the tightest part of the bend, wheels practically skating on the track's very edge - the same edge that caused Mingi his loss of legs. You grip onto whatever you can as Jaeyun’s knuckles whiten, his hands firm and controlled on the wheel. The tension in the car mounts like a coiled spring ready to snap, the corner pulling both of you, testing how far it can go before either you or the car breaks under pressure.

At last, you feel the tail end of the car swerve slightly as Jaeyun gives just enough leeway to keep control, and you can sense him gaining ground, just barely escaping the grasp of the turn. Devil’s Corner spits you both out onto the straight stretch and for a heartbeat, there’s only the muted sound of your breathing, mixing with Jaeyun’s, heavy and relieved.

Finally, you open your eyes to see the road unwinding ahead, straighter, safer, and almost welcoming after the chaos of the corner. Your pulse is still racing, but the danger feels like it’s finally behind you - or so you hope. Jaeyun throws you a quick, side-glance, his usual cocky smirk returned but softer, almost a silent acknowledgement of the risk he just took with you by his side.

He doesn’t need to say anything, but as he shifts gears, pressing down harder on the accelerator to widen the gap between him and Yeonjun, his smirk says it all: That was for Mingi, and for you.

Once he sees the finish line in sight, he breathes out and slaps the wheel harshly. “Fuck, yeah!” he hollers, a shit-eating grin plastered all over his face, victory secured and only a long stretch away.

“Holy fuck…” you breathe out, chest heaving and eyes glued to the road in front of you.

“And you doubted me,” he feigns an upset pout and tilts his head in your direction.

“Well, you still have Yeonjun to deal with.” The reminder of your brother fast approaching doesn’t rock him, instead, he laughs.

Shaking his head as if Yeonjun’s trailing position is as much of an inconvenience as a bird shitting on his windshield, Jaeyun places a hand on your thigh and squeezes. “He’s still there because I let him be there. Can’t humiliate the guy completely y’know? He’ll be my family in the future.”

Your mouth opens as you process his words, unsure if he even realises what he just said. It’s a pass-away promise of commitment, and considering you aren’t even officially dating, you would say it’s thrown you off of Everest and has your mind tumbling down after your body.

It’s probably best to bring it up later though, you don’t want to throw him off, especially considering he’s still going 50mph.

He smirks and revs the engine once more, pushing the car just shy of its limits. “Why so worried? I’ve got a perfect record of keeping you safe, don’t I?” He raises an eyebrow at you, his voice laced with that familiar teasing tone.

“Oh, you mean the ‘perfect’ record that almost just got me toppling over into the ditches of Devil’s Corner?” You roll your eyes, but a smile creeps onto your face.

“You’re alive, aren’t you?” he grins, then he pulls his attention fully to the finish line up ahead. It’s close enough now that the crowd is visible, and he salutes them with a quick flick of his hand.

God, he’s so hot when he’s like this. How lazily arrogant his entire racing persona is. You adore his softer side, of course you do, but this side of him gets your own motor running.

Yeonjun, however, isn’t ready to concede. He surges forward, lining up beside you both in a final, determined push, his car engine roaring with a fury that sends chills down your spine. You see him shoot a glare, not just at Jaeyun, but at you as well. But Jaeyun merely returns the look, cool and unbothered, and then, with one final roar of his engine, he edges past the line first, a triumphant laugh escaping his lips.

Jaeyun’s car barrels across the finish line with a triumphant howl from the crowd, cheers blending with the echo of his engine as he cuts through the air, a living victory. The thrill radiates off him; he punches the air, letting out a victorious whoop as his foot remains steady on the accelerator. He finally glances over at you, his face alive with pure elation, his cocky grin fully in place. But instead of slowing down, he maintains his speed, the wind whipping through the car as you look back at the receding crowd.

"Wait - where are we going?" you ask confused, looking back as you pass by everyone and leaving them in the wake of victory.

Jaeyun flicks his gaze over, eyes dark with both mischief and longing. “I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, Y/N, but you still owe me my birthday present,” he says hick and low, each word like a steady drumbeat against your pulse.

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep your own voice steady. “Don’t you want to celebrate with everyone? You just won the Lucifers the grit track and Devil’s Corner.”

He lets out a laugh, deep and incredulous. “Celebrate with everyone else? Princess, I’d be out of my mind to spend one more second without seeing what you have for me. I would be fucking insane, actually.” He eyes you hungrily, already imagining all the possibilities under your dress or up your sleeve. His tongue brushes his bottom lip in a glazing swoop, a promise lingering in his gaze that leaves your cheeks feeling warmer than they should.

He shifts gears, and you glance back to see the track and the crowd becoming distant figures in the rearview mirror, your brother among them. “Besides,” Jaeyun adds, leaning closer as he cuts through the night, “Do you really wanna see Yeonjun right now?”

“...No.”

“Good, then trust me.”

_____

The car halts, tyres crunching over gravel as you take in the scene before you. Below the dark sky, the city sprawls out like a tacky but beautiful Christmas night with glittering lights, each window and streetlamp reminiscent of a fairy light. Below, the river carves an almost silver line through it all, shimmering under the moonlight. It’s too beautiful for you to describe and give it the credit it deserves.

Jaeyun doesn’t speak at first. His hand finds yours, fingers slipping through as he releases a slow, steady breath. He wasn’t aware how badly his muscles were suffocating his bones until now. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, an absent yet soothing gesture, and he finally lets himself relax, the hard lines of his jaw softening as he looks at you. The moonlight catches his features, highlighting the relief etched on his face - a look so different from the racer who stared down Devil’s Corner only 20 minutes ago.

For a moment, you both just sit there, silently letting the thrill of the night settle. You turn to him, sensing his guard finally lowered, his eyes holding something warmer, deeper than his usual confident smirk.

“It’s so pretty here,” you murmur softly, nodding towards the city.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, bringing your lips to his hand and kissing your knuckles softly, the tingle from the spark shooting all over your body. “I’d say the view is pretty fucking perfect.”

A blush creeps on your face, his eyes glued onto you as he mumbles the words into your skin, each syllable fluttering to your heart. Of course, he means you. He has seen this exact city view a million times, often coming up here after races to cool off and regather himself.

It’s the first place he drove to once he heard about Mingi.

It’s the first place he drove to once he met you.

It’s the first time he’s shown someone this spot.

Letting go of your hand, he quickly offers you a small smile before undoing his seatbelt. “C’mon, let's get a closer look.”

With that, you follow him and you both settle against the hood of the car, your shoulders brushing as you take in the sprawling lights below, wrapped in the quiet of the moment. The city glows, pulsing like a heartbeat, life so obvious yet subtle. You tilt your head toward him and nudge him softly.

“So,” you say, half-smiling, “how does it feel?”

“What?”

“Winning the grit track.”

He shrugs, and his gaze becomes distant, falling somewhere into the night. The silence stretches on, but it’s comfortable, the city’s buzz helping to fill the contemplative silence between words.

“I don’t care,” he murmurs, surprising you into a pause.

“What do you mean?” you ask, caught off guard. After all, this entire night was about winning the territory, claiming a stake over it and expanding the Lucifers’ ground. It sounds like a shitty action movie on Tubi now that you think about it, but that really is what the crews strive for. So for Jaeyun to say he doesn’t care, when he did what his past leaders couldn’t, throws you for a new one.

“The track…he can keep it,” Jaeyun says with a dismissive wave, almost as if he’s letting go of a heavy burden. “It was never about winning a stupid bit of dirt road.” He pauses, biting his lip as he searches for the right words. “I wanted to prove that TC had something to do in Mingi’s accident.”

The words leave his mouth in a rush, and you feel the weight of his pain and loyalty colliding in that confession. Jaeyun’s gaze stays trained on the city, brow furrowed, his jaw set, the ease on his bones only lasting the skip of a jump rope.

He truly believes that Yeonjun was involved - that he orchestrated some plan to knock Mingi out. You’ve seen Jaeyun’s loyalty; you know Mingi is more than a friend to him, practically family, and Jaeyun’s heart has no room to consider the idea that Mingi could’ve just…lost control.

You scoot closer, placing a gentle hand on his arm, sensing how vulnerable this confession has left him. “Look, Jaeyun,” you start, hesitating. “I don’t believe my brother would do something like that. But just because you made it through Devil’s Corner safely this time doesn’t rule out anything, yeah? There’s still a chance he had nothing to do with it…but maybe he did.”

He looks at you, contemplation written in the lines around his eyes, but doubt remains.

“I just can’t accept that it was some accident, you know?” he finally says, his voice tight with frustration. “Mingi was solid. The guy could practically drive in his sleep, and suddenly he spins out there?” His shoulders tense as he talks, each word laced with an anger born of grief and unresolved questions. He wants answers, and you sense how deeply he’s embedded in this conviction.

“Okay, so what if…” You hesitate, not truly believing the words coming out of your mouth right now, but knowing Jaeyun needs something to hold onto his faith in Mingi. “What if Yeonjun did have something to do with Mingi’s accident? He could have been planning it tonight but called it off because I was in the car with you?”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Jaeyun lets out a harsh laugh, but it’s not at you. “Then I could have got you fucking hurt, and what kind of man does that make me?”

It’s as if any reasoning or justification for his actions has suddenly all surged to his mouth and left a bitter taste, one that he finds hard to coat over with some mints. In his mind, he convinced himself for the moment that he was saving you, but in actuality, maybe he was just protecting himself.

He could have lost you.

That though makes him stand up and walk closer to the cliff edge, not enough to cause you alarm, but enough that indicates he’s in the need of feeling free from his mind.

And that’s something you can definitely help with.

Pushing yourself off the car, you reach out to him, lacing your arms around his waist as you hug him tightly from behind. Instantly, he cups your linked hands in his and melts into you, closing his eyes in relief as you kiss his back ever so gently.

“We can’t know what happened that night, Jaeyun, no one ever will. But it’s also not your battle.”

“But I-”

“No. End of story.” You twist him around to face you, your hands dipping your hands into his back pockets. “Mingi and Yeonjun raced that night, the outcome was what it was, and we have to move on. The longer we sit in the past, in this mindset of what if and what could have been, you prolong everyone’s pain, especially yours. And I won’t sit back and watch you do it.”

It’s tough, and you wish you could have laid it all out a little more prettily, but a dagger of truth won’t sink into skin if it’s covered in padding and fluff.

Jaeyun’s eyes portray a man trying to will himself to argue with you, that fight for his friend still very much alive. Yet, he knows you’re right. He isn’t helping himself by wallowing in the past, he’s only hurting himself and creating a deeper hole in his chest, one that is consuming him alive.

But no one has told him to get the fuck over it. Not until now.

“I know for a fact that Mingi does not want you dwelling on it, especially not tonight. You won the grit track, I’d say he’ll be over the moon with that, wouldn’t you?”

The last nudge is enough to make Jaeyun nod, a small smile creeping on his face. “Yeah. I saw him before the race and all he asked was ‘don’t fucking die and get us that track’.”

“See? You achieved both of those requests, I would say that’s worth celebrating,” you grin widely up at him, relieved to see his jaw loosen and shoulders unravel themselves. “It’s also your birthday…which is another reason to celebrate.”

Jaeyun checks his watch and sucks in a breath, his playful demeanour slowly coming back to the surface, much to your delight. “It’s actually past my birthday now.”

Widening your eyes, you drag his wrist to your face, reading the clock's arms as they disappointingly read 12:04am. The sadness is plastered all over your face, your eyes looking glassy due to both regret and the cold wind nipping them.

Jaeyun immediately notices your solemn expression and pouts, holding back a laugh. “Princess, it’s okay.”

“It’s not. I didn’t even get to give you your presents.” You are never one for being late with gifts, in fact, you take birthdays so seriously that gifts are often in your friend’s hands early in the morning. Every birthday is precious to you, well, maybe not your own, but you love to make others feel appreciated and seen on the one day that is reserved for them.

The racer looks at his watch again and reaches for the dial, twisting it back as the small arrow rounds anti-clockwise to the 11. Happily, he flashes the watch’s face in front of yours. “Look, now it’s 11:05pm. You have 55 minutes left.”

A laugh bursts out of you, the heartache over the small inconvenience now lifted by his antics. He always knows what to do, what to say, how to lift you up so easily, it’s his superpower.

“Okay, which one do you want first?” you step back and place your hand on your hips, exhaling the drama from tonight out of your system. No more racing, no more brother, no more bad thoughts. Just you and Jaeyun celebrating the final hour of his birthday.

“There’s more than one?” he asks in a smug tone.

“There are three in total. One is your main present and two are tiny little things,” you explain.

Nodding, Jaeyun feigns ponder as he taps his chin. “Well, I think I should save my main for last, so let’s start with the ‘tiny little things’” he repeats back to you, knowing that they won’t in fact be tiny, their significance probably vastly bigger than any other gift he has ever received throughout his previous 21 birthdays.

Holding up a finger, you tell him to wait before you open the right backseat door of his car and retrieve two carefully wrapped gifts. You put in far too much effort in folding each corner perfectly and twirling every bow to sit neatly, but looking at your work now, you can safely say it was all worth it.

Confusion crosses Jaeyun’s pretty face as he points to his car. “When did you sneak into my car and put them in there?” he asks with piqued confusion. He would notice bright yellow wrapping paper with orange ribbons in a minute, the colours bouncing so brightly off his black interior.

“I didn’t,” you shrug as you confess, holding out the two gifts. “I shoved them both under my seat when you paid for the gas yesterday.”

“Your seat, huh?” he repeats with a lace of amusement, taking the top box from your grasp.

“Well, do you drive other women about?”

“Don’t ask fucking ridiculous questions. You’re the only girl.”

You curse your stomach for flipping out like it’s on an Alton Towers ride, the statement probably meaning nothing significant from his lips. He always says pass away comments like that, and each one you desperately try not to read into too much, your heart having a hard time already with calling this relationship between you both casual, never mind your brain popping up with conspiratorial thoughts that he could see you as something more than his non-girlfriend.

Gently, his hands peel the wrapping paper off, and reveal the first gift.

“Lollipops?” he laughs out, though joy shines from his features.

“Well I saw you were running low, and it is my fault you need to stock up on them, so…” you explain sheepishly, your foot carving out nonsense lines in the gravel.

Since you started hooking up, Jaeyun quit smoking. You hate the taste of the cigarette on his tongue and the smell of it in his car, and he caught onto that instantly. The way you would spray your perfume ‘randomly’ after he flicked the butt out his window, or how you offered him a chewing gum coincidently a few minutes before you climbed into his lap and licked into his mouth.

It didn’t take a genius to figure it out.

So he stopped. Cold turkey without a second thought. He still had the itch though, muscle memory constantly bringing something to his lips for a drag. That’s when you gave him a strawberry Chupa Chups and he never looked back. His dentist hates you for it, but his doctor couldn’t be more delighted.

Taking a cola lollipop from the assorted selection, he unwraps it and places it into his mouth, humming as the beautiful taste hits his tastebuds. His tongue swirls the ball of goodness and he instantly smiles at your reaction, deciding to play on it.

You curse him, his smirk widening as he rolls his eyes and opens his mouth just wide enough for you to watch the cola lolly get coated in his saliva, his tongue enveloping it the exact same way he does with your clit when he’s buried face first between your thighs.

Squeezing your legs together in order to stop the flow of arousal from dripping down your leg, you thrust the other present into his chest, retrieving the box of lollipops from him in the process. The further these things are from his mouth right now, the better.

“Okay, now this one,” you urge, clearing your throat and hating the way he pushes the sweet to the side of his mouth, the stick pocking out the corner of his mouth like a toothpick. Somehow, it only made him hotter, like Heath Ledger in 10 Things I Hate About You.

God, now you’re even more horny.

Jaeyun nods and flips the gift over, inspecting what it could possibly be. But he’s never been good at guessing, so he quickly tears the paper off, a little more forcefully than the lollipops. A black box adds another layer of suspense and curiosity. “Did you get me a diamond necklace?” he jokes, but once he peels open the lid, nothing is funny anymore.

His eyes flicker between you and the gift. “Y/N…”

“It’s not much, I know. But I thought it was fun,” you explain, scared that it’s not enough.

Picking it from the box, Jaeyun inspects it carefully. To most, it’s just a keyring, but to him, it’s the most thoughtful gift he has ever been given. The mini replica of his precious car, clearly hand-decorated by you stands out - the red decals and perfectly selected interior act as a mirror to the real thing; even the license plate has his famous J4K3YUN etched into it. The black Honda Civic replica sits so tiny yet powerful in his hands.

It was the first car he could afford. Everyone laughed at him - even Mingi - when he turned up to his first race. It’s a shitty little car with not much horsepower, but considering he was only seventeen when he started racing, he could hardly afford to put his student loan into a BMW or Aston Martin. Instead, he modified it, just enough to put his name out there.

His baby has never let him down since. All those times everyone has pestered him to trade her in have never crossed his mind. Even you know how much she means to him. Why else would you have given him an oversized keyring of it?

You know him, and that squeezes Jaeyun’s throat, stopping him from expressing thanks.

“If you pop open the boot, it has something inside,” you point out, excited. He’s made modifications to the real thing, but you got crafty with the mini-me.

“Can anything even fit in this?” he laughs but nonetheless, opens the boot - and it is not what he was expecting.

The interior has been prettily painted pastel pink, with glitter and gems perfectly placed inside, crowding the minuscule space. The first initials of your names are enveloped in a shakily drawn heart. It’s pretty and so very, very you.

Jaeyun’s eyes sparkle in the moonlight and you interpret it as pure adoration, injecting some pride into your chest. He likes it - thank fuck.

“I thought it was fun, since y’know, on the outside you’re all tough and metal but inside you’re just a sparkly pink princess.” You place the lollipop box on the hood and step closer, inspecting your work once more - as if you haven’t been scrutinizing every detail of it over the past month.

Throwing his head back in a laugh, he blinks away the joy in his tear ducts and nods, sighing out in defeat. “I’m not so sure ‘princess’ is the word I’d use-” he starts, only for you to interrupt.

“Oh, you are,” you insist, taking the lollipop from his mouth and placing it in your own, “You’re the prettiest princess to ever exist, actually.”

“I think that title is reserved for you, baby,” he grins fondly, eyes raking over every feature of your face as you savour the taste of the cola sweet. “Thank you…so much, Y/N, no one has ever gotten me something so thoughtful. I really love-...it. A lot.” His throat tightens, words tangling up in his chest, but thankfully, you don’t seem to notice

Nodding, you give him a soft kiss, careful not to poke him with the lollipop stick, before taking the gift back, carefully placing it and the lollipops in the car for safekeeping. “Now, do you want your big present?” You wiggle your brows and shut the car door, almost skipping back to your spot in front of him.

Jaeyun was so caught up with everything tonight that he forgot that this was the reason he whisked you away as soon as the race ended, at least, it was the shallow reason. The deeper reason is something he won’t speak out into the night air.

Placing his hands on your hips, glides his hands up and down your sides, the warmth from his palms blissfully welcome. You love this dress, the way you feel in it, how it makes you look, but it isn’t exactly good for fighting the nipping cold away, especially considering the wind is much thinner up on the cliff.

“My big present…” he repeats, bringing his face down to yours, his hot breath creating a rose tint along your cheeks. “I think I want that more than anything right now.” His confession is raw and more than surface-level lust. He has so many emotions running through his body right now, and he knows that your present is going to be exactly what he needs.

“You need to unwrap it then.” The smirk on your face is contagious and your voice is low. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what your gift is, but he’s in for a treat nonetheless.

Jaeyun does pause for a moment, his hands fiddling with your zipper at the back but hesitant. “I think my gift might freeze to death if I unwrap it here, don’t you think?”

You hadn’t…thought about that actually. To be honest, when it comes to Jaeyun’s cock, that’s probably the only thing you think about. Rain or shine, snow or fog; if his dick is close to being inside of you, you’ll face any weather.

His fingers pinch the zipper and tug it down slowly, the winter air biting up your spine, but the shivers that are rippling through your body aren’t from freezing; the opposite in fact. The ghost of his fingertip creates a heated surge through your body, your skin igniting with pure desire.

Pushing the dress off your shoulders, your tits are laid bare in front of him, nipples hard and much more delicous than any lollipop Jaeyun could ever suck. They’re perfect, so perfect that he has a hard time putting his love for them into words.

“No bra?” he asks cheekily, that cocky boy everyone loves swimming to the surface of the night.

Shaking your head, you close your eyes as he cups them delicately. “Dress didn’t look right with it.”

“Is that the only reason?” Jaeyun’s thumbs flick over your hardened buds as he backs you up to the hood, you ass perched against the edge, a welcomed seat considering your legs could turn to jelly at any moment.

Truth be told, it was the main reason you didn’t wear a bra, with the tightness of the dress, it didn’t allow much more room for any extra padding. But you can’t lie and say that you also didn;t adorn one because it would save time.

“I’ll take your silence as confirmation, will I?” he murmurs, his lips grazing the hollow of your throat before travelling down, sending waves of warmth through you with each kiss.

You feel the cool press of the hood beneath you as he lifts you up to perch you, his mouth finally closing around one of your nipples now you’re at the perfect height, his tongue tracing lazy, agonising circles that make your breath catch. He shifts to the other, his gaze flicking up to meet yours as he bites gently, eyes smouldering with a dark intensity that only makes you want him more.

With each flick of his tongue, your mind fogs over, the chill of the night air long forgotten. His mouth leaves a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses as he works his way down, fingers slipping under the fabric gathered at your hips, thumbs tracing soothing lines along your waist.

“Are these new?” he hikes your dress up so only your waist is covered and your new panties are on full display for him. It’s incredible how he noticed initially through touch alone, his mind cataloguing each thong, brief, and lacey panty you own.

“Yeah, got them a few days ago.” You don’t need to tell him that you bought them specifically for his birthday, he will know just by the Ivory colour alone.

A playful smirk curves on his lips as he takes in the sight of your new lingerie, his fingers grazing over the delicate lace with a possessive tenderness. “I thought so,” he murmurs, voice low and almost reverent as his thumb hooks under the fabric, dragging it down with aching slowness, leaving your cunt exposed, yet you feel anything but vulnerable.

There is a thrill of anticipation that crackles between you as his hands linger, his thumb tracing a line along your thigh. You’re so consumed with how close he is to your heat that you almost miss his other hand coming up to remove the cola lolly from your mouth.

“Open up,” he instructs, which you blindly follow, releasing the delicious treat from your mouth. “Good girl. Now, spread open for me.”

“Jaeyu-”

“It’s my birthday, Princess. I still have,” he checks his rewound watch, “36 minutes left, so until then, you gotta do what I say, yeah?”

That sounds perfect to you if you weren’t aware of how much of a tease he is. He’s going to torture you on the hood of his car, you know it, but you relent anyway, giving him a sharp nod and breathing out slowly.

Your legs spread wide, your feet finding stability on his bumper. The compromising position could mean anything, your mind flashing with all the possibilities of what he could do to you.

And by fuck, does he have a sweet, sweet plan.

A glint of mischief flickers in his gaze as he tilts the lollipop, the cola sweet glistening in the moonlight as he brings it down to hover just above your entrance. The sticky sweetness clings to the night air, and you feel your body tense with anticipation, each nerve heightened by the thrill of surrendering control.

He runs the candy along your inner thigh first, slow and deliberate, leaving a faint, sugary trail that he follows with his mouth. The coolness of the lollipop contrasts sharply with the warmth of his breath, sending shivers skittering up your spine as his lips and tongue trace after, claiming every inch of sweetness he’s left on your skin.

Finally, he presses the lollipop between your folds, teasingly dragging it up and down without quite giving you what you need, his eyes fixed on your reactions, devouring every tremor, every bite of your lip and jerk of your hips as the lollipop circles your clit. The sensation is maddening, the blend of sticky from the sweet and your own juices only heightens the ache building within you, and he seems to revel in the slow, torturous rhythm he’s set. He wants to take his time.

The lolly ghosts your entrance before he presses it ever so slightly inside, your breath hitching at the unexpected sensation. His mouth follows close behind, claiming you with a slow, deliberate kiss that has your toes curling against the bumper, his tongue tracing the sweetness lingering on your skin.

A wave of heat radiates through you as Jaeyun continues his maddeningly slow pace, the lollipop pressed just at your entrance, teasing and coaxing you in a way that has your pulse racing, much like how it was when you were near death on Devil’s Corner.

He dips the lollipop in a little further, the rounded edge pressing in just enough to make you gasp and claw at his car bonnet, and then he draws it back out, running it up and over your clit with agonising patience. The pressure of the sweet gliding over your most sensitive spot has you squirming, but his hands are firm on your thighs, keeping you right where he wants you.

“Hold still,” he murmurs, a wicked smile curving on his lips as he swirls the lollipop slowly, tracing lazy circles that leave you breathless. The candy, now coated in your own slick, sends shockwaves through you, and you feel yourself clenching, trying to draw him deeper, desperate for more. Jaeyun seems to notice, and he chuckles softly, his warm breath tickling against your inner thigh.

With one last, lingering drag of the candy over your clit, he brings it to his mouth, sucking in the mix of flavours. Your sweetness mixing on his tastebuds with the cola makes his eyes roll and contemplate opening up a business just for him that sells pussy flavoured lollies. Specifically, your pussy, of course.

“You’re fucking delicious, Princess,” he moans out, sucking the pop with fervour. You’re so jealous and you curse ever buying him them. But not really, the scene of his tongue lapping it up eagerly, mixed with the saliva that's glistening on his lips only adds a series of precious memories that you can happily store in your wank bank.

Threading your fingers through his hair, you tug at it just rough enough for him to growl. “Please, I’m trying to cum for you before your birthday ends.”

“Yeah?” he huffs out a laugh and tosses the almost obsolete lolly away, the stick hidden by the gravel that swallows it. “I can make that happen.”

“Good-”

“If you beg.”

You freeze, resisting the urge to tell him to go fuck himself. If there is one thing you hate most in the world, it’s begging for a man. You can submit to Jaeyun, sure, that’s easy enough. But there’s something so humiliating about having to plead for your own pleasure. He never makes you beg, usually too fucking impatient himself to play that game, so this is not exactly in your forte.

“I’m not begging. No way.” You cross your arms and shake your head adamantly.

Jaeyun’s smirk widens as he sees your defiance, his gaze darkening with something that borders on both amusement and challenge. “Really now?” he murmurs as his thumb traces slow circles on your inner thigh, inching achingly close but not quite where you want him. “You’re gonna stand by that?”

His eyes roam over you, taking in the way your body reacts despite your stubbornness, and you can feel the tension building in the air as he leans in, his lips hovering just above your core, close enough for you to feel the heat of his breath. The anticipation sends shivers racing over your skin, but you keep your arms crossed, refusing to relent.

“I know you hate it. You’re so powerful, baby. I adore that about you,” he continues in a low murmur, voice laced with a teasing edge, “But just once, for me?” He pouts, bottom lip overtaking his entire face and somehow making him look even more irresistible.

That fucking pout.

With a small laugh, he shifts down, pressing soft and tongue-focused kisses along your thighs, each one closer than the last. His breath is warm, and you can feel the control slipping from you with every careful movement.

“Fine,” you say finally, voice barely more than a whisper, “Please, eat me out.”

“Come on, Princess. If you’re going to beg, I want to hear you properly.”

“Jaeyun,” you whine, already flushing up with embarrassment.

“How about,” his mouth places one feather-light kiss on your clit, a gasp of pleasure drawing from your lips, “I beg you to beg me? Then we’re both on the same boat.”

Now, while you don’t like to beg, you love to hear Jaeyun beg. There have been countless times when you’re on your knees, much like he is now, and your mouth is a hairline away from his tip, and he’s thrashing under you, moaning out pleas and needs in a higher pitch, wanting nothing more than you to consume his painfully hard cock in his mouth.

Jaeyun doesn’t have humility when he is with you, he’ll scratch and claw at the bedsheets, whine out your name in desperation, and have you take full control if you want to. You wish you could be more like that, because fuck does it look beautiful, and you know he will love it if you’re a crying, pleading mess under him.

It would be the perfect birthday gift, actually.

So with a heavy sigh, you close your eyes and clear your throat. “Okay. But only if you go first.”

Jaeyun smirks and rubs some heat back into your legs. With soft, kitten-like licks, he plays between your folds, giving you an inch of what's to come. “Princess, please beg for me. I’ve been such a good birthday boy, have I not? I need to hear you want me, the same way I need you. This pretty pussy deserves to be devoured, and I can only do that if you beg for it. Please, baby. Pretty please with a lollipop on top.”

God, he is so fucking good at it. Somehow he still sounds so strong and assured even when you can hear the cracks in his voice and the tremble on his lips. His hips buck the air, mimicking what he wants to do with you, his cock leading him, thinking with his second head.

Whimpering, you look down to see him adorning that pretty pout once again, and you crumble.

“I nod. Jaeyun…please make my cum on your tongue, let me give you the best birthday gift. I want you to lap me up and never stop, make you remember this birthday for the rest of your life. Please, baby.”

You don’t cringe, instead letting your desperation take charge, which gladly works. Jaeyun groans loudly at your filthy words as they echo over the cliff, giving the city indication of what’s taking place. His cock is so painfully hard against his jeans that he wonders if it has the ability to tear through the material like Hulk when he transforms. It certainly feels like it could.

“Good girl,” he praises, before giving you what you crave.

Connecting his mouth to your core, his skilled tongue has you keening, head falling back against the car hood as he licks a broad, firm stroke from your entrance to your clit. His lips close around you, his tongue flicking and swirling as he loses himself in the taste of you, his hands spreading your thighs even wider to hold you firmly in place.

He slurps and devours you, humming into your hole in pure lust. Jaeyun loves nothing more than being buried in pussy, he could spend the rest of his life between thighs, your thighs. The added tints of cola still lingering on your skin only heighten his arousal, the sweet tang mixture enough for him to dig his nails into your thighs and bury further in.

Arching your back, your thighs fight his grip as they try and clamp around his head, the way his tongue dips into your hole, rimming it with teasing strokes before shooting back in makes your head dizzy, the November air suddenly feeling like a July breeze - welcomed and just right.

“Fuck,” you hiss out as he bites at your folds, dragging the sensitive flesh between his teeth, another way of tormenting you yet giving you everything you could want. His bottom teeth drag up to your clit with his puffy bottom lip trailing behind it like a soothing balm.

You’re starting to wonder whether it’s his birthday or yours.

With precision, Jaeyun latches onto your clit and suddenly, you’re seeing more stars in the sky, body lurching forward as you trap him there. The tension coils tightly in your stomach, and he takes his time, alternating between sucking and licking, bringing you right to the edge and pulling back just before you can tip over, savouring every second of your mounting need.

“Jaeyun, please…” you gasp, fingers threading through his hair, and he hums against you, sending a shudder through your entire body.

“See? You can beg so easily,” he mocks playfully, smirking as your thighs act as earmuffs. Despite the barricade, he can still hear every plea and mewl that falls from your lips, indicating that you’re close.

So, he picks up the pace, his hands gripping under your ass to push you further into his face. His round nose nuzzles your nub as his tongue swirls around inside your cunt, the tip of his tongue committing every bump and nook to memory - not like he hasn’t already. He knows everything about you, that’s what happens when you spend seven months doting on and worshipping the same person.

Grabbing tightly onto his hair, you feel the knot in your stomach begin to pull apart, the threads of rope straining as your climax tugs. “I’m cumming…fuck, Jaeyun,” you warn, but it’s not breaking news to the man causing the euphoria. He’s licking, sucking, and biting with ferocity because he knows you’re falling apart

He hums against you, the sound vibrating through your body, his tongue flicking over you with such skill it has you trembling. “Come on, Princess. Let go for me,” he whispers, his words like a command, and your body is happy to obey.

And then, it hits you - the release crashing through you, sending shudders of pleasure through every nerve in your body. You can’t stop it, your back arching as you clutch at his hair, your thighs trembling as the wave washes over you, and Jaeyun doesn’t stop. He keeps going, worshipping you like he’s addicted to your taste, drawing out every last drop of your orgasm.

Your chest heaves and your body goes limp as he cleans your pussy, making sure he takes every drop of his birthday gift. You taste heavenly, your cum swirling in his mouth as he slurps and sucks, the shocks jolting up your spine each time he nudges over your clit.

Once your legs release his head, he glances up at you through his thick lashes, mouth covered in your essence. “Thank you, baby,” he praises, his chest filled with a cocktail of emotions, the first as foremost one being adoration. “With 10 minutes to spare too,” he laughs, glancing at his watch.

Jaeyun stands up, kissing you with passion. He transfers your juices onto your mouth and you groan at the taste. All those days of downing pineapple and cranberry juice always pay off. His tongue licks yours, taking over your entire mouth as he claims you. His lips are sweet but his touch is anything but, you know he’s desperate, if his actions weren’t enough, the painful bulge that’s bucking into your sensitive folds is enough to tell you.

Swiftly, your hands move to his buckle, undoing it amongst the breathtaking kisses. It doesn’t take you more than a minute to undo his jeans and push them just low enough that his ass is on full display and his hard shaft can spring free. His cock is so pretty, like a work of art; six inches of pure joy. You’ve lost count of how many times this cock has made you come undone, the curve of it hitting perfectly into your cunt, like it was made for you. In some ways, you think it is.

Spreading your legs once again, you wrap your hand around his cock, the heat from it a stark contrast to your still cold hands. The sensation elicits a hiss from the birthday boy, his lips pulling from yours as he looks down. Your hand just fits around his length, and that makes his tip twitch. He’s proud of his size, but somehow he loves it even more when in the clasp of your fingers.

You press it against your wet core and he loses any sense of control he had left.

With a primal growl, he grabs your hips and lines up at your entrance, not even bothering to tease you. Between your outfit, the rush of the race, your cries of pleasure from his tongue work, and the overwhelming tightness in his heart, he needs to be inside you. Now.

Jaeyun slides in fully with one thrust, both of you creating a beautiful harmony of moans that echo like a choir in the night. His cock fills you up to the brim, his balls sitting comfortably against your ass. You feel like fucking heaven, in fact, if he was to die right now, he would do so happily. Those pearl gates could only mirror the happiness and alleviation that he feels as he buried himself to the hilt inside your warm hole.

His forehead rests on your shoulder, his lips peppering a succession of kisses just above your collarbone as he begins to move his hips, eyes rolling to the back of his head with each bump of your walls hugging him.

“Jesus fucking christ, Princess,” he mumbles, officially lost in the act of pleasure. He’s not thinking about anything else, just how your wet heat feels enveloping him.

You can’t say your thoughts aren’t also only consumed by the tip of his cock poking your cervix so deliciously, his balls slapping against you almost mimicking a spank each time. His thrusts pick up pace and you both lose yourselves in one another, chanting praises and curses to convey your feelings.

Jaeyun’s hands roam over your body as his cock pounds into you, switching from holding your hips in place to kneading your breasts, each one serving their own purpose. He wants you still so he can keep hitting that perfect spot over and over again, the squishy spec in your cunt his main target, but your tits bouncing in the moonlight keep distracting him, his cock losing power as his brain gets clouded in the movements.

“You’re so beautiful, Princess,” he confesses, kissing the valley between your breasts. “So, so beautiful.”

Your heart hammers harder, the pulse resounding in your ear as you smile gratefully. “So are you, Jaeyun.” And you mean it. He’s the most beautiful person inside and out, you’re never going to meet anyone like him again, and that’s what terrifies you.

Jaeyun locks his eyes on yours, his hips finding a new determined rhythm. He presses his forehead against yours, nuzzling his nose with yours in a kiss. How is it possible to feel so adored and cherished by a man you have no label with? That’s the question running through your mind as you stare into his soul, begging for him to answer.

And in some way, he does. His pupils shine with nothing but your reflection, showing just how deeply you're ingrained in him. Though neither of you may voice exactly what this is, you both know it.

As you lose yourselves in each other, that familiar coil tightens low in your belly, heat pooling with a desperate need for release. You dig your nails into Jaeyun's shoulders and bury your face in his neck, signalling you're close.

Gripping your waist, he matches your rhythm, pushing you both to the edge—metaphorically this time, thankfully. He's already brought you close enough to danger tonight; there’s no need to test fate again.

"Come on, baby. Cum for me," he urges, jaw clenched as he holds back his own release. He’s never been one to finish before his girl.

With his coaxing and the delicious sensation of him deep inside, you reach your climax once more, this time more intense than you expected. You bite down on his neck to muffle your moans, and like a domino, he spills into you.

His white ropes soothe your cunt, painting your walls with his adoration of you. The best decision you ever made was getting an IUD. You know it’s not full protection, but for the feeling of his seed filling you up like a cream piping bag, you’re willing to take the risk.

Jaeyun holds you close, his breath mingling with yours as both of you come down from the high, eyes blazing secret confessions into one another. The steady thud of his heart under your palm feels grounding, almost comforting in the quiet aftermath. You shift slightly, feeling his warmth begin to fade in the cool night air, yet he doesn’t let you go just yet, keeping you wrapped up in him.

“Happy birthday,” you whisper softly, letting your lips brush against his jaw, a faint smile tugging at your mouth.

Mirroring your expression, he melts into your pepper kisses as you trail down his neck, paying extra attention to the skin you marked up with your canines. His large hands glide up your back and hold you close to him. “Thank you.” It’s simple, but he’s biting his tongue, the moment too perfect to destroy with his post-nut brain.

You sense his apprehension and lean back, gazing into his eyes and studying the specs of his brain that you can make out. “You okay? You’re usually cracking out a joke by now,” you ask playfully, but there’s an undercurrent of concern in your tone.

Jaeyun bites his lips together, preparing himself to possibly make the biggest mistake of his life. He pulls out of you, jerking his cock clean enough that he can get away with it, before tucking it back into his trousers.

Oh no.

Your mind does everything to convince you that this isn’t going to end the way you think it will. The efforts to soothe your racing mind falter just at the finish line. This is it. He’s going to hit you with the ‘this has been fun but it’s not what I want anymore’ or ‘hey, so this was great but you’re not what i’m looking for’. Whatever concoction of those sentences he wants to spin, you know it’s going to hurt. You’re in too deep.

And you would much rather be humiliated with your clothes on. So you jump off the hood of the car, your slick glistening in the night lights like a snail trail. Suddenly, the acts you just took part in have turned from euphoric to sickly.

“Listen-”

“I meant it,” he interrupts, not even letting you end this before he can. “I really mean it when I say you’re the only girl for me.”

You’re waiting on the but, yet it never comes. Instead, he’s biting his lip nervously, looking at you but not into your eyes, his focus on your forehead like a sniper in the woods. And you feel like you’ve been shot, just not in the hurtful way you were expecting, it’s almost like you’re on the receiving end of a blank and the shock is ringing in your ears more than anything.

You stand dumbfounded, zipping up your dress at the back. “Huh?” It’s stupid and not what you want to ask, but your flabber has been gasted.

Jaeyun groans and rubs over his face. “I don’t want anyone else. And I know you’re annoyingly loyal to Yeonjun, but I can’t pretend that this isn’t more than what it is.” He steps forward and cups your flushed face, the cold now settling upon it once again. “I. Love. You. I have for fucking months, and…I don’t know, I can’t keep pretending I don’t.”

I. Love. You.

It’s such a simple and common phrase, yet hearing it in his accent, from his mouth, directed at you, you find it foreign.

Jaeyun hates the silence that follows, the horns from the cars down below act like a mocking laugh to the moment. He knows its risky, confessing his feelings so bluntly, but if he had to keep them in any longer then he might have buried them forever and harboured an even deeper resentment towards himself and your brother.

“You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place, I get that. But can we call a spade a spade and admit that we love each other?” He insists, now finding his confidence. Go big or go home, he supposes. He’s convinced you love him too, you look at him the way he does you, and even if it’s only a tiny speckle of love that you hold for him, he needs you to admit it. For his sanity, and yours.

You can’t process a single thought beyond his words, their weight pressing down on you, making it impossible to breathe for a second. The world falls quiet around you, the buzzing city and distant hum of traffic fading as your mind hones in on his face, the intensity of his gaze, the subtle quiver of his lip as he waits.

“Jaeyun,” you manage, though it barely comes out above a whisper, “This isn’t…this isn’t exactly what we agreed on.” Stupid. Why the fuck are you saying that NOW.

“I know, but I also know you feel it too.” His thumb moves tenderly across your cheek, brushing over the spot where a tear might fall if you let it. “And if there’s even the slightest chance that you feel what I feel, I just need to know.” He pauses, his voice softening as he meets your gaze fully. “Because you’re it for me. I’m tired of pretending I don’t want to be with you completely. You deserve to be loved, and although I might not deserve to be the one to give you that, I want to try.”

You want to look away, to retreat and give yourself a chance to think, but his eyes are pleading with you to stay present, to face this. And the truth is, in some corner of your heart that you've tried to ignore, you know what he's saying is true.

But Yeonjun…If he finds out, he’ll never forgive you. It’s one thing to be in a fun fling with his rival, it’s another to be completely and utterly head over heels for the boy.

The silence is thick, but there’s an odd comfort in it. You reach up, covering his hand with yours, grounding yourself in his warmth. “I don’t want to lose you,” you murmur, voice trembling. “And I…I don’t know how we’d make it work without hurting Yeonjun.”

Jaeyun’s grip tightens, his confidence anchoring you. “I’ll make it work. I’ll do everything to make sure he accepts it. I’ll step down as the Lucifer’s leader, I’ll get on my knees and beg, baby I will do whatever it takes to get him on our side. I don’t want to come between you both, I know how precious he is to you, and you to him,” he pauses, breathing out and collecting his thoughts before he goes on a desperate faffing rant, his point losing focus. “I love you, and that means loving every part of you.”

“In the car…” you begin, voice unsure, “You said something about how Yeonjun would become your family, you meant-”

“Yeah, listen. Don’t freak out about that. I was jumping the gun with that one…but I mean, is it so unplausible? For us to be together? To imagine a future with you?”

“There’s a big difference between jumping into dating and leaping into marriage, Jaeyun.”

“Okay? So we’ll hold back on the leaping for now,” he laughs, pressing his forehead to yours, “but tell me you’ll jump.”

His breath mingles with yours, warm and steadying, grounding you in a way that makes your hesitation falter. "Jaeyun," you begin, your voice so soft it barely carries the weight of what you’re feeling. "It’s terrifying to even think about, you know that, right? Yeonjun is…he's been there my whole life, my protector, my brother…you’re asking me to risk that.”

"I know." He cups your face, his thumb tracing slow, tender circles along your cheek, calming and reassuring. "And I wouldn't ask you if I didn’t believe with every part of me that we’re worth it. But I’m not going anywhere until you’re ready; whether that’s now, or tomorrow, or a hundred years from now. I’m in this, Y/N. All the way. I just need you to say yes."

Your lips part, the words catching in your throat, suspended between the comfort of safety and the thrill of the unknown. Slowly, you reach out and lace your fingers through his, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "Alright," you say, a tremor of nerves mingling with the glint of determination in your eyes. "I’ll jump…but you’d better catch me, Jaeyun."

A grin breaks across his face, and for a moment, everything else fades away; the rivalry, the fear, even Yeonjun. It’s just you and him, exactly how it should have been from the beginning.

"Always," he whispers, voice filled with quiet conviction. Then he closes the distance between you, sealing your promise with a kiss that’s soft, lingering, and brimming with all the words neither of you dared to speak out loud.

But maybe it’s time you do

“I love you too, Jaeyun,” you confess, eyes boring into his heart.

His eyes widen for a split second, and you see the disbelief flicker across his face, not quite sure he heard you right. But then his gaze softens, and a smile breaks across his face, one so genuine and unguarded that it sends warmth flooding through you. His hand tightens around yours, squeezing his happiness into your veins and bones.

"You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that," he murmurs, brushing his thumb over your knuckles with a tenderness that leaves your heart aching. “I fucking love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.” He chants, kissing all over your face, causing you to scrunch up and laugh, attempting to push him away but failing - not that you’re going to complain about that.

There’s a sense of relief, a lightness you haven’t felt in so long, as if all the weight of secrecy and uncertainty has lifted. For once, you’re not worrying about the consequences, about what could go wrong or who might get hurt. Right now, it’s just you and him, and the truth laid bare between you.

“Yes, okay, we love each other! Enough!” you giggle between his million and one kisses.

His hand comes up to cradle your cheek, his fingers grazing your skin with reverence. “I’m never letting you go now, you realise that, don’t you?”

You nod, a smile creeping across your face, and pull him in for another kiss, this one filled with the promise of everything that lies ahead. “Oh I know. Just wait till I tell your crew,” you laugh, pushing him away. “‘Oh, Y/N, I love you sooooo much. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me-'”

Your imitation is cut short, his hand flying over your mouth as he suppresses a laugh, trying to portray fear that isn’t truly there. “C’mon! You can’t ruin my reputation like that,” he whines, giving you that signature pout.

“Oh but I will-” Without warning, he picks you up, tossing you over his shoulder as he carried you to the backseat. “Jaeyun! Put me down!”

“I’m going to fuck every word and thought out of that pretty brain of yours so you never utter my soft side to a soul,” he playfully jabs, opening the backseat and tossing you inside.

“Well…I have a lot of thoughts…and words,” you reply, biting your lip as you settle across the seats, legs already accommodating for him.

“Then it’s gonna be a long night. I suppose I’ll need to turn my clock back some more, don’t you think?”

____

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@ikeuverse @dollyyun

#enhypen smut #enha smut #jake smut #jake sim smut #aj writes #enhypen x reader #jake x reader #enha x reader

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pricesprincess · 3 days ago

Text

mdni | part one

"wife? " you hadn't meant to ask that out loud, nor did you mean to add a bite to your tone as you held the spatula when your gaze met john's, hurt gracing your features and a pout on those lips he couldn't get enough of last night.

your dad was oblivious thankfully as his attention turned to the food you were making peeking over your shoulder. he was grateful for you to be staying with him, his cooking skills have never been the best.

john cleared his throat and took a seat on the barstool. "we're in the middle of a divorce, she's been dating her coworker since the beginning of this year." he confessed and explained to you in one breath.

"what? you two have been together for years." it was impossible not to turn around and glance at the man you now felt sympathy for, she was cheating on him and going through a divorce because of it.

before john had the chance the answer the doorbell rang pulling your dad away from the kitchen but not leaving without kissing your head and patting john's shoulder. once the coast was clear you sighed.

a thick tension filled the room as you struggled with what to say.

well, at least he wasn't a cheater. "sorry i didn't tell you doll, i didn't think you were interested in an old man like me anyway, last night took me by surprise." john murmured gazing at you wearily.

"old man? good thing for you that the geriatrics are my thing and i'm sorry to hear your wife is such a bitch, why would she cheat on you?"

your dad seemed to have a knack for interrupting your conversations and you thanked your lucky stars his habit didn't shine it's ugly head last night as you were bouncing up and down his friends dick.

the questions that burned the tip of your tongue were beginning to start to ache, you wanted to know more about john. you were too busy with your mouth on his cock last night to ask anything else.

you two started to flirt a bit after dinner then when your dad went upstairs for the evening your flirting became more erotic and graphic then you finally bared your tits for john and that's how you ended up spread eagle getting your pussy ate like it was his last fucking meal.

you could still feel the soft ache between your legs making you flustered. "duty calls, i have to go in and help real quick. you'll two be okay without me?" your dad asked not knowing about the plans you made.

john answered for you and graciously took the bowl from you daring to give you a wink when your dad's back was turned, it was a bastard thing to do but when your pussy was milking him for everything he had it was too good not to get addicted to.

as soon as the door shut and locked you were on john like a moth to flame, your arms wrapping around his neck to smother him in kisses. "i was going to rip your dick off after i told my dad about last night.'

he held you close as you stood between his spread legs. "last night you barely gave me time to say anything then you were waving your nipples in my face and you started it first sweetheart." john hummed.

"i suppose i did but you were giving me 'fuck me' eyes, and you flirted heavily with me too!" you laughed and tossed your head back making john feel much younger than he has, it's not often he wanted to have sex before but now he wouldn't mind taking you again.

#dw he's not what y'all thought #honeywrites #call of duty x reader #call of duty #cod smut #cod x reader smut #john price x you #john price cod #captain john price #john price smut #john price x reader #john price x y/n #john price x plus size reader #captain price x reader #captain john price x you #captain john price x reader #price smut #price x you #cod john price

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dreamsteddie · 1 day ago

Text

Wowza. Part one blew up way more than I thought it would so here! Part two! I do have more thoughts about this so there might be a couple more parts to come. We'll see ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

------

Eddie takes half a second to consider just not answering. Maybe throwing his phone away and never going back to the restaurant they went to last night so he never has to confront whatever it is that's about to happen. Maybe even fleeing the country and living alone on a sheep farm with no friends and go relationships ever again so something like this never happens again.

But then he thinks of Steve. Kind, funny Steve with the bright eyes and soft skin who looked at Eddie like he could fall in love with him and he knows that whatever comes next, Steve deserves for Eddie to see it through with him.

New Message: Steve H.

Hey

Just that one word sends Eddie's heart into his throat. He can see that Steve is still typing, those little ellipses of doom popping on and off the screen. Realistically, Steve probably doesn't know what happened, right? Eddie's pretty sure Steve wasn't in on it and it's been less than an hour since Eddie himself found out, so probably not.

Steve H: Gareth called me

Fuck.

Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck.

If Eddie's heart was in his throat at the first text, the second one has it dropping through his body and out of his goddamned ass. It's not that he doesn't want Steve to know. He was always planning to tell him, he was just hoping he could be the one to do it. Gareth being a little shit and calling Steve first was not part of the plan.

Steve H: He told be about the prank. I'm sorry if I wasn't what you expected and you were just being nice. We can pretend it never happened. No hard feelings.

Eddie slams his head into his pillow. This is such a cluster fuck he can hardly bring himself to look at the text but he needs to come up with some kind of response, like, yesterday if he wants any chance of keeping the man of his dreams from running for the hills because apparently, Eddie's friends are trying to destroy his life. He takes a deep breath and starts typing.

Eddie: Hey, I'm so sorry about that. I just found out about what they did an hour ago at practice. I didn't think they would just call you out of the blue like that, I was just about to text you.

Not completely true, but Eddie was going to text him about it, just after screaming into his pillow and making a couple Vudu dolls first.

Eddie: For what it's worth I really do like you and I would love to still take you out on that second date, but I understand if my friends scared you off and you want nothing to do with me. I know it's fucked up.

It takes a minute for Steve to respond, the typing bubbles ebbing and flowing as Steve types and retypes whatever it is he wants to say. Eddie is about ready to call it a wash and start googling sheep farms for sale in Ireland when a new text comes in, dispelling all thoughts of learning to sheer wool.

Steve H: Are you sure?

And fuck if that doesn't hurt his heart. Eddie has spent all of two and a half hours with Steve, he's a virtual stranger, but Eddie can swear he can feel all of Steve's secondhand insecurity through that one lonely sentence. Before he even registers what he's asking, he send a quick reply.

Eddie: Can I Facetime you?

Before Eddie can try to rethink his decision, his screen lights up with a notification. Steve is calling him.

Eddie scrambles to answer, fumbling his phone a little in his haste and almost missing the call completely. He manages to get it on the last ring, breathing heavily in a way he knows can't be flattering.

All thoughts about his lack of dexterity fly out the window when he looks into his screen. On their date, Steve was perfectly put together. Hair meticulously done, clothes freshly pressed, and a light sheen of lipgloss accentuating the perfect curve of his mouth. While Steve is still beautiful through the lens of his camera, it's clear that he's been crying. His eyes are red and a little puffy, hair out of order in a way Eddie thinks is probably unusual for him, and Eddie can see that he's wearing a well-loved beige hoodie.

"Hi," Steve says, waving a shy hand almost the same way he had last night.

"Hey sweetheart," Eddie says, keeping his voice low and gentle, desperate to soothe Steve however he can through the distance of their phones.

For a minute they just look at each other, neither one knowing what to say in a situation like this. Eddie sees Steve gearing up to say something, but he cuts in before he starts. There's something he needs to say while Steve can see him face to face.

"I'm really sorry about what happened!" He says, much lounder than he intended. "My friends were being dicks. I haven't dated in a while and instead of being normal fucking people they set up this whole stupid prank but I swear I wasn't in on it!"

Something about what he says draws a small smile from the corner of Steve's mouth, so Eddie keeps talking. "Besides, if they wanted to prank me they should have picked someone that isn't a literal fucking model in disguise. There wasn't a chance in hell I wasn't going to beg you for that second date."

At that, Steve gives a little chuckle and it lifts Eddie's heart from where it'd fallen onto the floor and puts in back in his chest 10 times lighter than before.

"Jesus, are you always such a flirt Munson?" he says.

"Only when the boys are especially pretty," Eddie responds.

Steve gives another little laugh at that before sobering up. He gives Eddie a long look through the phone, and Eddie lets him.

"Are you sure you don't want to just call it quits here man? Gareth was pretty adamant that I'm not the kind of guy you usually go for. I don't want you to feel like you have to humor me out of kindness." There's a forced flippancy to Steve's words that Eddie knows well from his own Munson Coping Strategies Handbook. Steve is trying to give him an out, but Eddie can tell that he doesn't want to.

For the first time since this all started, Eddie is well and truly mad. Gareth and Jeff had absolutely no business poking around in his love life in the first place, but now they've reached out to the guy Eddie already told them he liked to what? Tell him never mind actually, we don't think you're the right guy for our friend even though he told us very explicitly how into you he is.

Eddie lets all the frustration, anger, and tenuous hope building up in his chest fuel his reply. This one has to count, he can feel it. It's a charisma saving throw with the whole campaign on the line. He can't miss this one.

"Honestly Steve, if you asked me two days ago what I was looking for in a partner, I probably would have said I wanted to date another alternative metalhead or punk who likes playing DnD and getting high on the weekend." Eddie can see Steve's shoulders slump as his eyes dart away, but he pushes on, determined to make his point.

"But, I haven't had as good a time as we had last night in a really long time." Steve looks back up, eyes alight with the same tentative hope Eddie himself is channeling. "I think you're funny and interesting, and you have the absolute worst takes on ice cream flavors, and you're hot as hell. Like, seriously the hottest guy I've ever seen in real life."

Steve smiles, the edges of his eyes crinkling.

Critical success.

"So, about that second date."

-------

Tag List

@wheneverfeasible @the-dark-hearts @sofadofax @wrenisfangirling @whatfinestandsfor @lilpomelito @raisedbylibrarians @ollyxar @mugloversonly @xxbottlecapx @hezaaxdexangelous @kimsnooks @that-one-gay-crow

#steddie #fanfiction #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #corroded coffin #This is kind of my first time writing real dialogue #so lmk if it sounds weird #if I do another part #it will probably be about steddie getting closer #while Eddie avoids his friends #and they both grapple with what it would mean to reconcile with them #dreamer speaks

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trashytracktales · 2 days ago

Note

Hiii, I’m not sure if your requests are open, but if they are, could you write something with Lando and Reader where they have been dating for just a few weeks, haven’t had sex yet. One day they’re working out together at Lando’s house in Monaco (the room with the mirror from the video I Ate and Trained Like Lando Norris for 24 hours). Reader is doing squats with her back towards the mirror and Lando can’t help but stare at her ass and he gets hard / flustered so he stops from doing his exercise and reader asks him what’s wrong and before he answers she realises he’s horny so she teases him - this time on purpose- and then they fuck in that room on the floor

In the heat of it | LN⁴

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💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Thank you for trusting me enough to bring this to life, it was... something 🥵

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none of my works are available for reposting on other platforms.

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𐙚 summary ──── They've been dating for a few weeks now, but the time was never right for them to get intimate. During a playful workout together, Lando gets caught staring, sparking a moment that leaves them both realizing just how deep their connection actually goes.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── +18, mature/sexual content, fluff & smut, explicit language, unprotected sex, swearing, established relationship, suggestive/flirty behavior. MDNI!

𐙚 word count ──── 3.6k

𐙚 date ──── Nov. 12, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── Enjoy watching Lando learn that some cardio sessions have unexpected side effects 🤍🎀

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IT DOESN’T TAKE long before Lando starts to regret his decision. It would have been much easier to invite his girlfriend to have lunch together. That would have saved him from a constant dry mouth and irregular heartbeat every time he feels her eyes accidentally landing on him.

The smooth floor and sophisticated equipment in his personal gym are softly bathed in the morning sun that seeps through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Monaco's streets are still peaceful at this hour, considering it's the middle of the week, and the port is sparkling in the sunlight.

The room usually has a subtle scent of cedar and rubber, fresh and energized, but now it carries a sweet honey scent, borrowed from her presence.

They are already halfway through their warm-up. She’s pulling a resistance band around her thighs, stretching before they dive into the heavier part of their routine, her focus completely on the exercises he’s walked her through. But, of course, a huge part of her focuses on how Lando touches her, purposely, to guide her when her posture doesn't match the exercise.

Even in simple gym shorts and a T-shirt, Lando somehow manages to look so effortlessly attractive — curly hair a little messy, face flushed just enough from their recent sets, and his labored breathing after putting in the effort. He’s all energy, fluid in his movements, though he's clearly trying to keep his pace casual.

“Lookin’ strong,” he teases, flashing a grin as she adjusts her stance.

The girl shrugs, “I’m just that good at following instructions. Although, I think having one of the best trainers in the area helps, too.”

Lando lets a chuckle out, “I won't go easy on you just because you kiss-ass. But it’s cute to see you trying.”

Even though they have only been dating for a few weeks, there is an undeniable spark between them two, especially in a setting where every glance and skin-to-skin contact feels amplified by the intensity of their exercises. Her sports outfit leaves no room for interpretations, hugging her curves and defining her lines, and Lando's imagination is stimulated every time he turns his gaze towards her.

He’s now down on the floor, holding a plank, his core engaged and muscles taut as he fights to hold his body up and spine straight. She’s supposed to be timing him, but the second he shoots her a cheeky grin, she decides she can’t resist a bit of fun; in her defense, he started it. With a simple touch, the seconds freeze on the screen of his phone, then she places it on one of the boxes stored in the corner of the room.

“Hi there,” says the girl in a soft tone once she sits down in front of him just inches apart, propping herself up on her elbows so her face is level with his.

Lando raises his eyebrows, trying not to laugh as his shoulders shake slightly from the effort of holding his body weight. “Don’t,” he warns her, breath coming in controlled puffs.

“I’m not doing anything,” she smiles innocently, kicking her feet in the air while inching a little closer until her nose almost brushes his.

He laughs at her bad acting, his arms starting to shake a bit more. “Outrageous is what you are.”

She pouts just as Lando dips his head down, managing to steal a playful kiss. Their lips meet briefly, soft and warm, before he pulls back up to maintain his form. It makes her sigh in frustration, the ghost of a kiss not nearly enough for her. If anything, it only leaves her wanting more.

Luckily, he doesn’t pull back when she cups his cheek in her palm, pressing her mouth on his once more, his giggles mixing with hers as he tries to keep his balance. Savoring the feel of his lips and the way Lando grunts softly into the kiss, she can feel that this one is more deeper and slower — much real — making her shiver. It seems as though everything else disappears, the feel of each other reminding them both why they decided to give the relationship a shot in the first place.

“And you are so fun to corrupt,” she admits, finally getting up to give Lando time to recover.

After a few sets, she finally moves on to squats, and Lando follows her positioning herself in front of the mirror. It wasn't even supposed to be there, but he sometimes uses the gym as a storage room for random packages. This one, specifically, came in the mail a few weeks ago and he didn't have time to hang it in the hallway, where he initially planned. So, he simply let it rest against the wall in his gym room, and it's been there ever since. Forgotten.

Giving the circumstances, he is seriously thinking of leaving it there for good.

Conveniently, Lando decides that now is the perfect time to start his Russian twists, so he bends over to collect a dumbbell off the floor, then sits down on the yoga mat. Right in front of her.

Unaware of the effect she's having on him, he watches her go through each squat with his eyes trailing down on the reflection of her ass in the mirror, an intense warmth spreading over him as he tries to focus on his own exercise. It is quite innocent — he's just respectfully looking — until it isn't. Until he feels it in his boxers. Until he almost drops the dumbbell, which catches her attention.

Lando tries to ignore it, though, to nonchallantly brush it off, telling himself that it's natural and that he's just admiring her physical appearance. Anyone in his shoes would do it. However, his thoughts start to wander, images flashing uninvited as his heart rate quickens for reasons far beyond the exercise.

“Are you okay down there, hotshot? What are you fighting?” she asks curiously, raising her head just enough to catch the dazed look on Lando’s face.

Her voice pulls him back, his breath catching for a moment, “Yeah, never better.”

It's his husky voice that gives it away. Right after, she notices a lingering gaze, and the soft pink creeping across his features as his eyes are fixed ahead. She stops, fixing her posture and straightening her back as she turns to catch his gaze in the mirror. She realizes exactly what's going on in a matter of seconds, a little grin forming in the corner of her mouth.

“Am I too dictracting, Lando?” she purrs, her question — and the fact that he knows she caught him in act — not helping at all.

“No,” he lies, “But I think you’re killing it with those squats.”

“And if I turn around to finish my set, what then?” she whispers, a challenge glinting in her eyes as she brushes the tip of her tongue against her lower lip.

His breath is shallow the moment he decides to abandon his exercise. “Then you would be killing me,” he admits with no restraints. “So, by any means, proceed. Please.”

She glances over to see Lando lying flat on his back, one arm draped dramatically over his eyes, as if he's in serious pain. His other hand is splayed over his stomach, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm. It’s still funny to see him like that, but then she notices the way his chest rises and falls a bit too fast, and her eyes drift lower, catching a glimpse of the growing bulge in his shorts, an unmistakable proof of what she’s actually doing to him.

Suddenly, all the amusement disappears from her face, being replaced by a warmth that wraps around her neck, and rising to her cheeks. Her heart is slowly starting to race, small impulses between her thighs forcing her to close them together.

Swallowing hard, she crosses the small space to kneel beside him, gently pulling his arm away from his eyes. His lashes flicker open, meeting her gaze with a mix of embarrassment and desire. And so much lust.

“How can I help you?” asks Lando, his voice rougher than usual, trying to keep things light, though the hint of vulnerability shows in his eyes, and it's not that hard to read.

She chuckles nervously, “The question is how can I help you?”

In response, Lando uses the same hand to wrap his fingers around her neck, pulling her in for a kiss. She feels his hand squeezing a little, the other one moving to her waist, hesitating before pulling her completely on top of him, without breaking the kiss. His tongue slips firmly into her mouth, just as it has done so many times before, but now it feels somehow different. Somehow, they both know that the kiss is meant to lead to something much more intense, because there's nothing stopping them anymore.

In the intimacy of his apartment, without interruption, Lando lowers his hands to her waist, rubbing her against him. Slowly. Repeatedly. The pressure forces them to moan in unison — a brief taste of the pleasure they are about to share. His hands then drop lower, roaming over her thighs, then back down to her ass, cupping it in his large palms.

He breaks away just enough to murmur, his voice low and almost reverent, “That enough of an answer?”

“Positive,” she replies, feeling his breath hitch as she shifts on top of him, straddling his hips, her hands splaying over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her fingertips.

Her lips find his again, sweet and intoxicating, each kiss sending sparks to her core. The new position makes her feel him much more firmly between her legs, taking Lando by surprise when her hand lowers to cover his length, massaging him through the thin material of his shorts.

“Fucking hell,” his lips stutter against hers, while rocking his hips into her touch.

“Yeah…” she agrees, breathing hotly above him, “Did I do this to you?”

Before Lando gets a chance to even think of an answer, she slips her hand under the elastic band of his boxers, taking him in her hand, feeling him in his entirety — deliciously soft skin, warm and ready, and so painfully hard.

It makes her ache for him.

She pumps his cock in her hand a few times, enough for her to feel how he shifts under her. It takes her a lot of self-control to stop herself from taking him in her mouth the second she hears his sweet little panting, her thumb rubbing softly over his swollen tip.

The workout itself had left Lando’s muscles burning, but her touch it’s something else entirely, igniting a heat in him that burns deeper than anything he’s felt before. Five more minutes enjoying the same high and he can give up cardio completely. Guaranteed.

Slowly coming back to his senses, Lando realizes that he has free will, so he slips his hands under her sports bra, palming her hungrily until he feels her nipples hardening under his touch. He breaths heavily as he rolls them between his fingers, managing to make her respond with a soft meowl, her grip on his cock losening.

That's his cue to take the lead, pulling her bra over her head in a quick move, and flipping their bodies over so that now he's hovering above her, eyes filled with need while looking down at her.

“Hi there,” Lando copies her tone from earlier, feeling a little fraction of the power she had over him.

She wants to talk back so badly — one of her sarcastic little comments that she knows he loves — but all she can do is let out a pathetic whimper between her lips when his mouth finds home on her bare breast. At that, Lando feels a shiver running down his spine, looking up at how she closes her eyes in pleasure, arching her back more against his mouth.

“Driving me insane with your pretty ass, baby,” he says, breathing heavily, managing to cover her body in a thin layer of goosebumps, “And your pretty fucking nipples.”

“Lando…” she lets another cry slip out, opening her eyes to look at him.

The image that greets her makes her breath catch in her throat. The way he sucks on her nipple while playing with the other one, and the way he looks up at her through his eyelashes — it’s all too much. She ends up wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him down with her. Then she runs her hands down his back, tugging at the edge of his shirt, tossing the useless material carelessly to the floor before pulling him closer for another kiss.

Mouth to mouth, chest to chest, skin on skin — who says heaven isn't real?

But if that's heaven, then what can she name the feeling she gets the moment his hand slips into her gym shorts and his fingers brush against her soaked entrance? Because it feels way too fucking good — much better than she expected, and certainly much better than her own hand whenever she pictured his face while fingering herself.

Lando starts slowly at first, spreading her wetness around her pussy, then fucking his fingers in and out, while cautiously watching her facial expressions changing. It’s not taking him long before finding that sweet, sweet spot that makes her roll her hips into his hand, desperation painted all over her face.

“Lan… yes,” she starts panting, “That’s—yes, right there.”

He hums proudly, sealing his mouth to hers, while parting her thighs with his knee so he can spread her more in front of him. Feeling herself open to his touch, so easy and wet, he no longer feels self-conscious about the way she's so quickly tunring him boneless under her gaze. He realizes that the feeling is mutual, and it makes him want her even more.

If that's even possible.

The sound of his fingers repeatedly fucking into her is all that anchors her in the present moment, but the second Lando feels her squeezing around them, he stops so he can silently ask for her permission to take the last piece of her clothing off.

She nods in a rush, swallowing the lump in her throat in anticipation.

Every inch of her is now bathed in the soft, golden light streaming through the window. Warm shadows are cast along her curves, the light outlining each delicate contour of her body as though the sun itself is painting her in real time. The image is so powerful yet vulnerable as she stands there, her figure glimmering with an almost unearthly serene confidence. Lando is utterly captivated by how ethereal she looks, like a goddess come to life, the kind he never imagined he would be close enough to even touch, let alone enjoy. He feels like he’s witnessing something sacred, something so incredibly rare, and the awe he feels is mixed with gratitude that she’s here with him, letting him see her in a such perfect lighting.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Lando finally manages to say, hoping that he hasn't started drooling all over her in the meantime. “All of you.”

“Your turn,” she says in a muffled voice, slightly bashful at the way he stares at her like he wants to devour her. Which is not far from the truth.

He agrees that it's a fair request, realizing that the only thing separating them now are his own shorts. Without protesting — because that would be so fucking dumb considering how hard he is — Lando gets rid of them with the speed of a perfect qualifying lap.

Matching the same pace, Lando’s hands slide around her waist, his fingers pressing gently into her hips as he guides them both to the side so they can face the window — or that's what she thought. Confused at first, she's frowning at him, then follows his gaze, lost in the direction of their reflection, understanding immediately what he really wants — a show. A show just for them, in which they can lose themselves together, without limits.

She sighs at the sight of their hot, naked bodies, the way he aligns himself with her, and how he’s finally pushing inside, enough to hear her whimper. She watches as he stands above her, his hands gliding slowly over her sides, up her arms, grounding her in his touch. The image of them together, framed in the soft glow of the room, feels surreal — so intimate and vulnerable in a way that’s completely new for both of them.

Lando pauses, pulling out at her little whimper, then pressing back in, but just the tip.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, “You're so fucking wet it keeps slipping out,” adds Lando in a low tone, so turned on that it makes her clench around his head.

To her frustration, the speed at which Lando pushes back inside might as well be negative, causing her to explode with how needy she becomes in the meantime. But just as she’s about to encourage him to sink further, he buries himself to the hilt in one powerful thrust.

“Lan…” she says as she wraps her arms around his shoulders, “You… feel so good,” she takes a moment to breath into his skin, then she turns her head to catch their reflection once again.

Lando is already looking, and when they make eye contact through the mirror, he starts fucking her slowly and gently, as if he could break her.

“See how silly you look for thinking we won't match?” he sounds so amazed by how easily she opens up for him, over and over again, with each steady thrust of his hips, “See that? Taking all of me so well, baby.”

“Lando,” she cries out at the way his cock throbs against her walls, because she knows it's way too slow, even for him.

It's simply agonizing.

“So perfect around me,” he states, “Can't believe I lasted that long. Should've fucked you from the first night.”

At this point, he's just rambling, but the thought makes her stomach tie in a knot.

“You would've let me, wouldn't you?”

“Yes,” she speaks, already drunk on the way he feels inside her, “I would have let you fuck me in the plane bathroom, on the way to Imola. And back in your driver's room, when Oscar caught us kissing. And last week, outside the club… Fuck. I wanted you to fuck me there so bad.”

His mind goes blank with all the lost opportunities, causing him to gradually increase his pace, the sound of them connecting so obscene.

“Wh—” he almost chokes on words, “Why didn't you say anything?”

“You—stressed about work. I… I didn't want to be—distraction,” she tightens her legs around him, keeping him inside her, the words losing their meaning as Lando shifts his position, wrapping his arm around her thigh to open her up even more for him. "Like that, mhm, yes!"

“You're so tight, fuck,” he swallows hard as he squeezes roughly at her thighs. “I'm so close.”

She knows that will leave marks on her skin, but nothing beats the pleasure of having Lando fucking himself so deep inside her, that her vision starts clouding.

All common sense went out the window the moment she stepped through his door, anyway.

She can feel his breath warm against her neck, hear the soft hitch in his breathing as he leans in, his lips brushing her shoulder, never breaking eye contact with her in the mirror. Lando's hands are making their way to cup her ass, pulling out all the way, before fucking back in, all over again, until he finds the perfect rhythm between their bodies. He moans loudly, pressing his upper body on her, their scents blending together and sweat transferring from skin to skin. They move so in sync, completely attuned to each other, and the sight of their shared pleasure, reflected back at them, turns everything into fireworks, her mind completely empty. Except for how well she's being fucked.

“Lan—Lando,” she's so close to sobbing that she shuts her mouth at the sound of her voice, thinking it's too pathetic to whine as she cums around him, her release dripping all over between their bodies.

The wet sound her pussy makes gives Lando way to fuck in deeper, taken by surprise that she finished without any warnings. He grips her ass one more time before he stills inside her, his cock throbbing, and pulls out right before he starts leaking, resting his cock against her thigh, his entire length coated in her release. His cum drips from his tip to her inner thigh, making him groan while he fixes his gaze on the mirror at the image of them.

She buries her fingers in his curls after he finally collapses on top of her, their heavy breaths echoing throughout the room. With his head on her chest, he can feel her heart racing, gradually slowing down, and lets out a soft laugh as she shifts a little under him.

“We're so fucking matching, baby. Let's gooo!” exclaims Lando, exhaust evident in his voice.

She feels her cheeks warm, “I think you’re a little biased right now,” she jokes.

Lando shifts slightly so he can see her face, brushing a thumb tenderly along her side. He smiles softly, the usual spark in his eyes softened by something deeper, so gentle.

“I'm just happy.”

Her heart flutters, and she feels him sink even closer to her, threading his fingers through hers.

“And very sweaty,” she adds with a chuckle.

“I'm pretty sure that's you,” he teases, letting the moment pass slowly, then calling out her name in a serious voice.

“Mhm?” she hums while turning to look in the mirror, watching him getting comfortable on top of her.

“Where do we go from here?” asks Lando.

“Your bedroom, I hope. The floor is killing my back.”

thank you for reading!

reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

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witchywithwhiskey · 3 days ago

Text

assembling legos in avengers tower

pairing: captain america!steve rogers x shield agent!female reader

summary: you want to spend a night assembling legos with steve rogers, but when he proves to be too good at it, you have to get creative.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), established relationship, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming, teasing, begging, dirty talk, praise kink, captain kink, pet names (buttercup, daisy, sunflower, honeysuckle), lots of kissing, lots of fluff and silliness, avengers tower shenanigans

word count: 4.9k

a/n: this fic is entirely inspired by a conversation i had with my therapist last week where she was helping me think of things to do to disconnect from social media and give myself a break from the world. i mentioned i had a box of lego daffodils i hadn't put together and she encouraged me to do that. however, i finished those in like a couple hours and now i need more... anyway, i hope y'all enjoy this bit of fluff/smut and i hope it's a nice distraction from the world!! ♡

“A daisy for my pretty girl.”

You were focused on assembling a plastic version of a queen anne’s lace when a pretty pink Lego gerbera daisy appeared in your eye line. Steve Rogers’ comfortingly deep voice and the flower he offered dragged your attention from what you’d been doing and you looked up for the first time in half an hour.

You were curled up on the couch in Steve’s suite, assembling Legos in Avengers Tower on the rare night off he had from his duties as Captain America. He’d been sitting beside you, working away at his own flowers on the coffee table, but had clearly decided to get your attention with the pink daisy he’d finished.

For a moment after you looked up from your own Lego flower, you were distracted by just how good Steve looked in a simple white t-shirt and gray sweatpants. He always looked good, of course, but there was something especially delightful and attractive about seeing him in casual, cozy clothes.

It almost made you want to abandon the Lego wildflower bouquet you were assembling together and slide into his lap. Suddenly, all you could think about was burying your fingers in his soft blond hair and having his sparkling blue eyes focused entirely on you for the rest of the night. But instead, you blinked and refocused on the moment.

“Aw, thank you, captain,” you murmured, a smile curving your lips as you took the plastic flower from Steve and gave it a pretend sniff while batting your lashes at him. “My favorite.” Your words were little more than a purr, and you couldn’t help the way your smile widened when a pink flush dotted Steve’s cheeks.

It was on the tip of your tongue to suggest that you and Steve leave the rest of the Lego bouquet to be assembled another time, but then your gaze fell on the nine already-finished flowers that were neatly lined up on the table in front of the couch. Your smile fell.

Steve had already put together more than half of the flowers that had come in the box, and you still hadn’t finished a single one. Briefly, you were confused about how he’d put them together so fast—until you remembered something that often slipped peoples’ minds when it came to Captain America.

Everyone knew that Steve Rogers’ strength and stamina were enhanced when he’d been given the super-soldier serum in the 1940s, but most folks forgot that his intellect had been heightened as well. It was why he was the trusted leader of the Avengers—Steve had a knack for strategizing in the midst of battle.

It also made him a wiz at puzzles.

You should’ve known that Steve would easily zip through his half of the Lego bouquet while you toiled over a single flower. You knew he was smarter than the world—and even some of the other Avengers—gave him credit for, and you were disappointed in yourself for not thinking through the idea of assembling Legos together.

Fortunately (or unfortunately), Steve was also much more perceptive than most gave him credit for, and he noticed your change in mood immediately.

“What’s wrong, daisy?” Steve asked, cupping your cheek in his large palm and turning your face gently to look at him.

His brows were drawn together, and you knew instantly that he’d caught the slightly crestfallen look on your face. Before you could muster a smile and assure him everything was fine, Steve went on, his thumbs brushing your cheeks in a gesture so achingly soft, a lump of emotion formed in your throat.

“Did I do something?”

“No, no, no, it’s nothing—really,” you said in a rush, trying to shake your head and show him that you were being silly. But your reaction only had Steve frowning even more.

Gently, he scooped you up off the couch and deposited you on his lap, arranging your body so you sat across his thighs, your legs curled up while he wrapped one arm around your back. Once you were settled, he cupped your chin in his other hand and tilted your face up so he could look into your eyes.

“Tell me, sunflower, please,” Steve rumbled, his final word a rasping plea that tugged so effectively at your heart, you couldn’t help but do as he so sweetly asked.

“I just thought we’d spend a little more time working on these together, that’s all,” you mumbled, dropping your gaze to the corner of Steve’s mouth, which was turned down in a slight frown. You wanted to reach up and smooth away that unhappy curve with your fingers, but you knew it wouldn’t work. Steve could be stubborn when he wanted.

“I’m sorry, buttercup,” Steve said in a hushed, regretful voice, ducking his head and pressing an apologetic kiss to your forehead.

You let out a soft, happy sigh as your eyes fluttered closed and you sank into the warmth of Steve’s body, snuggling deeper into his chest. You were wearing one of Steve’s sweatshirts and a pair of leggings, so you weren’t necessarily cold, but you enjoyed the heat that emanated from him all the same.

“It’s ok, Steve, really,” you whispered, meaning the reassuring words more than you had a moment ago. Your thoughts were already straying to what you and Steve could do with the rest of the night alone in his suite…

You tipped your face up toward his, pouting your lips in a wordless plea for a kiss.

A chuckle rumbled deep in Steve’s chest moments before his lips brushed against yours. You could feel the smile in the gentle press of his lips, and your mouth curved in an answering smile, a giggle building in your chest at how silly the two of you must’ve looked—smiling at each other with your lips pressed together.

But then Steve’s mouth pressed more firmly to yours, kissing you a little harder and a little longer, and the smile slipped off your face, your fingers curling into the soft cotton of his t-shirt. You tugged him closer as he deepened the kiss, his lips sliding slowly against yours like he had all the time in the world and didn’t want to do anything other than kiss you.

The two of you sank deeper into the kiss together, your bodies growing heated and your hands beginning to wander. A hard bulge nudged against your thigh and Steve groaned into your mouth, and you suddenly had an idea.

Pulling away from Steve, you ended the kiss abruptly, a grin spreading across your face as you watched the big, blond man blink his way back into the present. He looked so cute all dazed out from kissing you that you took a moment to appreciate it before voicing your idea.

“I know how to make it more difficult for you to put Legos together so fast,” you said, your voice slightly wheezing as you worked to catch your breath. “We just need some more Lego flowers.”

Steve’s kiss-swollen lips curved into a smile of his own. “I think we can manage that, honeysuckle,” he murmured, his expression filled with affection as he took in the excitement on your face. “Just one more kiss first.”

He reeled you in for another slow, drugging kiss, his mouth stealing the smile from your lips, though you were happy to give it to him if he kept kissing you like it was all he wanted to do.

A little later in the evening, Steve’s suite in Avengers Tower was piled high with dozens and dozens of boxes filled with Lego botanicals of all sorts. There were boxes for sunflowers and daffodils, two types of flower bouquets, and even a whole heaping pile of cacti and succulents.

It was more than you’d ever know what to do with, but Steve looked so pleased with himself, all you could do was smile. If he wanted to spend the rest of his nights off with you, assembling Lego flowers, who were you to complain? It sounded like a dream come true.

“Bought out everything from the Botanical Collection at the Lego store over on fifth,” Steve was saying proudly as he opened a couple daffodil sets, pouring out the plastic packages onto the coffee table while you watched him with amusement. Steve cut his eyes to you and smirked as he said, “I put it all on Tony’s card—d’you think he’ll notice, buttercup?”

You couldn’t help yourself, you tossed your head back and cackled at that. You knew, as a member of the Avengers’ SHIELD support team, that Tony Stark had given all the members of the team access to his credit cards “for emergencies only,” and you were frankly surprised no one else had thought to use it to prank him before.

When you finally got yourself under control and looked back at the mischievous Captain America, you shook your head at him. Your heart gave a little extra thump of delight when you saw the way Steve was looking at you, with so much happiness and affection, it made emotion clog your throat. It took you a full minute to gather your thoughts enough to answer his question.

“Nah, there’s no way,” you scoffed, but then you tilted your head to the side and really thought about it. Your eyes trailed over the boxes. There were just so many.

You figured Tony would leave something boring like financial statements to Pepper Potts, but there might be another way for Steve’s late-night Lego shopping spree to be used as a way to prank the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist…

“Y’know, he might notice something when Lego flowers start popping up all around the tower,” you said slowly, cutting your eyes to Steve and offering him your own impish smirk. “Do you wanna see how many we can put in his lab before he says something?”

Steve’s head tipped back and he gave a great, booming laugh that filled all the corners of his suite. When he looked back at you, his blue eyes were sparkling with playfulness and his mouth was spread in a wide grin.

“You’re diabolical, daisy,” he rumbled, pulling you closer on the couch so he could catch your lips in a kiss.

It didn’t last long, both of you were too busy laughing to deepen it, but you did throw a leg over Steve’s thighs so you could sit in his lap. When you finally pulled away, you quirked an eyebrow at him.

“You up for the top secret mission, Cap?” you asked in a deceptively serious tone, the corners of your mouth flickering as you tried to hold back your grin. “You gonna help me prank Tony Stark?”

“Gladly,” Steve declared, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you closer.

All the evil plans that had been brewing in your mind disappeared when your heated core settled against the thick bulge in Steve’s sweatpants, a delighted gasp tumbling from your lips. Your gaze found Steve’s and a thrum of desire pulsed between your thighs when you saw how much his eyes had darkened.

“But first,” he murmured, his hands sliding up your back beneath the sweatshirt you wore, making you tremble deliciously in his lap. “I’d like to hear more about how you’re planning to make it more difficult for me to assemble all these Lego flowers.”

Steve’s mouth captured yours in a searing kiss and it would be another long few minutes before you were able to actually tell him what you had planned for him.

“Hah! Another daisy done,” you crowed, bouncing a little on Steve’s lap and dragging a deep groan from the man beneath you.

The movement of your body had shifted his cock inside you, his thick, sensitive length dragging against your warm, inner walls, which were hugging him tightly while you exulted in your accomplishment. You’d managed to finish seven flowers since you’d put your plan into action, and you had no idea what kind of progress he’d made.

You did, however, know he was enjoying himself, if his deep moans and muffled groans were anything to go by. There was also the way his cock throbbed inside you every so often, like his body was encouraging yours to move, even though the point of your plan had been to sit still on his lap.

It had come to you earlier in the evening when you’d felt his hard bulge against your thigh—the only way to slow down Captain America’s super-soldier-enhanced intellect was to distract him. And you’d come up with the perfect way of distracting him.

Once you’d explained your plan to Steve, he’d been all too eager to enact it, sitting on the floor in front of the couch and pushing down the hem of his sweatpants so his cock had bobbed free. You’d discarded your leggings and panties before lowering yourself down on his lap, taking his thick, hard length deep into your pussy while you straddled his legs.

For the next half hour or so, you’d been assembling Lego wildflowers on the couch cushions behind Steve’s shoulders and he’d been working away at his own box of daffodils on the coffee table—all while trying not to get distracted by the way your pussy was dripping all over his thick cock.

Leaning back so you could catch Steve’s eye, you grinned at the pinkness in his cheeks and the slightly hazy look in his blue eyes.

“You doing alright, captain?” you asked teasingly, your fingers trailing along Steve’s sharply cut jaw to turn his head so he’d look at you. His blue eyes were dark with lust as he blinked them into focus, a snarl of barely held restraint in the twist of his soft mouth. “It’s been a little while since you gave me any sort of update on how your flowers are coming along.”

You clenched your inner walls around Steve’s cock on the word ‘coming’ as a way to taunt the large blond man, and were satisfied by the way he grunted in pleasure, his eyes sliding closed. Plastic clattered on the coffee table when his hands abandoned the daffodil he’d been assembling to grab your hips, like he couldn’t stop himself from touching you any longer.

Steve huffed a laugh as he opened his eyes again, catching your gaze and groping your soft flesh a little roughly. He smirked when your mouth fell open and your eyes went heavy-lidded, his strong fingers working their way down to your ass as he kneaded your curves the way you liked—possessively.

“When you said you had an idea to make things more difficult for me, I thought you meant a blindfold, or hiding the directions,” Steve rumbled, his smirk turning playful and mischievous.

His expression was your only warning, but you didn’t have a chance to prepare yourself.

“Not this.” He thrust up from beneath you, slamming deep into your dripping pussy.

A moan wrenched free from your lips, pleasure bursting through your body at the friction of his cock dragging against your inner walls, the tip bullying against a spot inside you that had you seeing stars. You collapsed against Steve’s broad chest, gasping for air as you recovered from the single, brutal thrust.

It had been difficult to ignore the constant, throbbing perfection of Steve being inside you while you were cockwarming Captain America, but you’d done your best so that you could make headway in assembling your Lego wildflowers.

And, of course, it had become a stubborn stand-off between the two of you, where you both were holding out on giving in to your bodies’ desires.

That hadn’t stopped you from taunting Steve, though, and you’d told him there was only one thing he could do that would make you forget about the Lego flowers entirely. He just hadn’t been willing to do it—but you smirked into his neck as you caught your breath, thinking he was finally ready to be done with the stand-off.

“If you want to fuck me, captain, you know what you have to do,” you purred in his ear, pulling away and nipping at his jaw, wringing another tortured groan from the super-soldier. “You just have to admit I’m the best Lego flower assembler in the tower.”

Steve had initially chuckled at your silly demand, playfully telling you he’d only admit such a thing when you assembled as many flowers as him.

But the way his cock throbbed inside you when you called him ‘captain’ and the way his hands were desperately groping your hips, ass and thighs—any soft part of you he could reach beneath your sweatshirt—told you he had reached his limit. So, his next words didn’t come as much of a surprise.

“You are, honeysuckle, you’re the best Lego flower assembler in the whole fucking tower,” Steve rasped, his hips rocking slightly, like he simply couldn’t stop himself from fucking you even a little bit. His fingers were digging deep into the soft flesh of your body, moving you back and forth to grind on his cock. “You’re the best in the whole city—please, just let me fuck you, sunflower.”

Your breaths were catching in your throat as helpless whimpers and moans tumbled from your lips. The way Steve was jerking your body on his cock, like you were little more than a fuck toy for him to play with, was making your mind melt as heat cascaded through your body, settling heavily between your thighs.

It felt so good—Steve’s cock grinding deep in your cunt, your wetness dripping down his hard length to soak his balls, your clit rubbing against the base of him—that it took your mouth a moment to remember how to form more than unintelligible sounds of pleasure.

“Yes,” you gasped finally, dragging the word from the depths of your desire-drenched mind. And once you started, you couldn’t seem to stop, your hips rocking into Steve’s, meeting his grinding thrusts as you clung to his shoulders, your fingers buried in his soft hair. “Please, captain—please fuck me.”

“Thank fuck,” Steve growled, wrapping you up tightly in his arms and pounding into you from below. He held you pinned to his broad chest and buried his face against you, his lips mouthing at the soft mounds of your tits through your sweatshirt. “You feel so fucking good, buttercup, so warm and soft and fucking perfect wrapped around my cock.”

“Oh god, oh fuck, Steve,” you babbled, spreading your thighs wider and splaying them further open so that Steve could slam deeper and deeper into your pussy, making your head spin with how good it felt, how wildly perfect it felt to be fucked by him. “You fuck me so good, captain—please, ‘m already so close, Steve—please.”

Your last word was a desperate, begging cry as your body trembled so violently in Steve’s arms that he had to hold you tighter to keep you right where he wanted you. Pleasure was coiled tightly in your core, and you knew you were seconds away from cumming. It was all you could do to gasp for air as you prepared to tip over the edge.

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” Steve rumbled, lifting his head from your tits to drag his mouth along the line of your jaw until he found your lips. His kiss was so all-consuming, you almost missed the way he tilted your hips so your clit was grinding ruthlessly against his pelvic bone while he rocked up into you. “Cum on your captain’s cock like the good girl I know you are.”

His command was rumbled against your lips before his mouth pressed back against you, his tongue plunging into you and swallowing your sounds of ecstasy as you shattered apart. You were undone by his words and the deliciously perfect way he worked your body.

The sheer force of your orgasm stole the breath from your lungs and you screamed, the sound muffled by Steve’s lips as he eagerly drank down the sound like it was his favorite thing in the world. Wave after wave of heated pleasure washed over your body and you moaned helplessly as your pussy clenched hard around Steve’s cock.

A groan ripped free from the depths of his chest and poured between your parted lips as he followed you over the edge, his hips rutting into you with hard thrusts that had you bouncing wildly on his cock.

If it wasn’t for Steve’s arms still holding you firmly against his chest, you were sure you would’ve lost your balance, but he kept you right where you were meant to be—on his cock while he emptied his balls into your cunt.

As Steve spilled himself inside you, your hands slid from his hair to hold his jaw in your palms. You kissed him through his release, licking his sounds of pleasure off his tongue and groaning at the delicious warmth that filled your body from head to toe.

Once Steve’s cock had been milked dry of all his cum, he rumbled a satisfied sound and finally loosened his hold on you. His big hands stroked up your spine and back down again, soothing your body as you relaxed against his chest, your mouths still moving together in an endless kiss.

Eventually, you pulled away from his mouth and let your head fall to his shoulder as your eyes slipped closed. A happy, contented sigh puffed from your lips and gusted against Steve’s neck, making him tremble slightly.

“So,” you started when you’d finally caught your breath, your heart rate back to normal and matching the steady pounding in Steve’s chest where you were pressed together. “How many flowers did you put together after I started cockwarming you, captain?”

Steve was quiet for so long, you half thought he’d fallen asleep against the couch, but then his hand squeezed your hip and he huffed an exasperated laugh.

“Three.”

Your cackling laugh was so loud, it filled every corner of Steve’s suite, and a moment later, Captain America’s booming chuckle joined the din to make a wonderful cacophony of joy in your little corner of Avengers Tower.

It seemed you had, in fact, figured out a way to make assembling legos with Captain America much more fair—and much more fun.

A week later, Tony Stark stormed into the Avengers Tower conference room where he’d gathered all the superheroes and their SHIELD support team for what he’d deemed an “urgent” meeting.

You sat next to Steve, his hand on your thigh and his fingers twisted with yours as you tried not to look at each other. Both of you suspected you knew what the meeting was about, and you knew you’d both break if you made eye contact.

It didn’t help matters when Tony slammed a small, potted Lego succulent on the glass table of the conference room, hard enough for the whole thing to tremble. A hush fell over the room as everyone stared at the irate Iron Man.

“Where the hell are all these Legos coming from?!” he demanded, his seething gaze roving the room, making eye contact with every single person who sat around the table. When no one spoke, he went on. “They keep popping up in my lab—and they’re starting to crowd my workstation. So who is it?”

You couldn’t help yourself, you cut a sideways glance at Captain America, and had to press your lips even more tightly together to hold back a laugh.

Steve’s gaze was filled with so much mischievous amusement, you could feel a laugh clawing up your throat. As you looked at him, Steve let the corner of his mouth flicker in a smirk, and it was nearly your undoing. You looked away before you could snort and give yourself away.

Thankfully, Clint Barton piped up, telling the room he’d assumed Tony had been the one assembling the Lego flowers that had been showing up all over the tower. He noted he’d found them in the kitchen, the gym, both locker rooms, and plenty of other places.

Bruce Banner agreed with Clint, asking Tony if he hadn’t picked up the hobby during one of his latest bouts of insomnia. It would make sense, Bruce reasoned, since most of the Legos seemed to be cropping up in Tony’s lab.

Meanwhile, Thor had plucked the Lego succulent from Tony and was playing with the pieces, pulling them apart and putting them back together. He lifted his head with a goofy grin and nudged Phil Coulson, murmuring something about the tiny building toy being quite fun actually.

At the opposite end of the table, Nick Fury and Maria Hill shared an exasperated look, then began having a hushed conversation among themselves. You caught snippets of intel about the next mission the Avengers were set to go on, but that was less interesting to you than the reason for Tony’s “urgent” meeting so your gaze slide away to see how everyone else was reacting.

Across from you, Natasha Romanoff caught your eye. She flicked something tiny and pink across the glass surface of the conference table, so discretely, no one else noticed except Steve. He caught the pink thing in his hand as it tumbled over the edge toward your lap.

When the two of you glanced down at his open palm, you discovered the tiny pink thing was a Lego cherry blossom from one of the sets you’d assembled and left in the kitchen.

Looking back at Natasha, she was smirking, and there was an unmistakeable knowing glint in her eyes.

As you watched, though, she pinched two fingers together and twisted them near the corner of her mouth, like she was turning a key in a lock. Her message was clear: Nat knew the Legos were coming from you and Steve, but she wasn’t going to say anything.

Both you and Steve let out silent sighs of relief.

The meeting went on for a little longer after that, though it didn’t go anywhere. No one admitted to planting the Lego flowers around the tower, and Tony was still furious that he didn’t know who was behind it.

Fury finally had to call an end to things when it looked like Tony and Thor were about to come to blows, the former convinced Thor was playing dumb about not knowing anything about Legos while the latter was grinning and egging him on.

Another week passed of Lego flowers and succulents appearing around the tower. Nat had taken to helping you and Steve, sneaking into Tony’s lab while the two of you kept him distracted with speculation about who it could be. Clint caught you leaving a Lego cactus on Bruce’s desk, but he promised to keep your secret and even joined in on the fun just like Nat had.

It wasn’t until the end of the month when Tony called another “urgent” meeting that your prank was finally unmasked.

Tony had a sheaf of papers in one hand and a video disc in the other, claiming that Pepper had discovered the charges made to one of his cards at the Lego store over on fifth. Apparently, he’d talked the manager into giving him a copy of the security tapes from the night when they’d been purchased, so he was about to uncover the culprit.

Once he’d announced all of this, Tony paused for dramatic effect, giving everyone in the room one last chance to come clean.

That time, when Steve cut his eyes to you, his mouth flickering with a smile, you couldn’t keep it together. Steve and you both lost it, laughing so hard, tears began streaming down your faces while Nat and Clint shared a private, knowing chuckle.

Steve came clean about the prank and admitted it had been you and him the whole time. He even explained how you’d roped Clint and Nat into helping once they’d discovered you—and both of them nodded to confirm Steve was telling the truth, grinning unrepentantly.

Tony took it all in stride, seemingly relieved to finally know the source of all the Legos. He did ask how Steve managed to spend so much money at the Lego store though. By his calculations, not even half of the Lego flowers Steve had purchased had popped up around the tower.

At that question, Steve’s cheeks pinkened a little and he admitted there was still a hefty pile of Lego boxes in his suite. You and him had spent plenty of nights assembling Legos—even when you weren’t getting distracted by cockwarming Captain America—but there were still a lot left.

Squeezing his hand in your lap, you spoke up with a suggestion for a Lego night, where everyone could get together and assemble some Legos. It could be a fun opportunity of team bonding, you said.

Fury liked the idea so much, he approved it immediately, then wasted no time in calling an end to the “urgent” meeting.

And that was how you ended up spending a night assembling Legos in Avengers Tower with Steve Rogers and the rest of team, laughing and talking and taking a much-needed break from the stresses of the world. It was the first of many wonderful nights.

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