#minghao imagines | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ylangelegy · 2 months ago

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lost in translation ♾️ minghao x reader.

“being good to you is the easy part.” # day eight of (the)8 days of minghao. ♡ happy birthday, minghao!

☆ includes: translator/interpreter!reader, idiots in love, yearning!!!, hurt/comfort, confessions. alcohol consumption, reader gets a [minor] surgery. mandarin & other languages are all courtesy of google translate. word count: 25,800+ (damn.)

Minghao learned early on that there were words that didn’t always have a translation.

He had grown up with Shenyang Mandarin, only to have to learn Korean, English, and even some Japanese. It was always such a frustrating feeling, to have the Mandarin word at the tip of his tongue then to need to swallow it or substitute it.

He’s never felt that way with you, at least.

You, PLEDIS’ skilled, multilingual interpreter-slash-translator. Minghao remembers the day you came in, nine years ago. How he had felt a spark of hope when you slid into the dialect that was all-too familiar to him. Finally, Minghao had thought.

He had started off as your pupil, your tutee for Korean. Over time, it blossomed into genuine friendship. He can count on one hand the things that he has in Korea. The group. The fans. The other Chinese idols. And you.

It’s comfortable and easy with you. It’s always been. It’s why Minghao is fine with seeking you out at the company, with sliding into the seat next to you even though you’re working on something on your laptop. Checking subtitles for a SEVENTEEN video, it seems.

He waits until you’ve noticed him before he holds out the book he had been reading. It's a Korean novel. Almond by Sohn Wonpyung. He points to a particular phrase— 눈치가 빠르다— before speaking, but the words aren’t in Korean.

“Is there a Mandarin word for this?” he asks in Mandarin, his voice taking on the lower pitch of the dialect. His eyebrows knit together in a look of utter concentration. “Or is this one of those untranslatables?”

You pull out your earphones, a mild look of amusement on your face at Minghao’s sudden appearance. When you realize what he’s asking of you, a small huff of laughter escapes, but you concede to looking at the book in his hands. You say the phrase under your breath, as if testing it out.

“It’s not untranslatable,” you say, sliding right into Mandarin to match Minghao. “The literal translation is observant or perceptive. But in Korean contexts, it’s meant to describe— I suppose, comprehension that something is going on with a friend, or a family member. Like, ah—”

You pause. And then you code switch, again, this time, to English. “A gut feeling?”

“Ah.”

Minghao’s expression clears as comprehension filters across his face, his mouth forming that little ‘o’ shape as he repeats the phrase as well. “A gut feeling... okay, like intuition.”

He pulls his legs up on to the chair, resting his chin on his knee. “Do you think it's something that is universal? A gut feeling. Is there a word for that in Mandarin?”

You’re far too used to Minghao getting philosophical, to him pressing for more than the first answer. “Gut feeling in Mandarin... zhíjué?” you offer.

“Zhíjué,” Minghao repeats quietly, mulling the word over. There’s something satisfying and soothing about rolling the syllables on his tongue, the way he does it. The way they come from the back of his throat— a language that's as intimate as his mother's lullabies when he was a child.

He lets the word rest in his mouth for a while— zhíjué, gut feeling— before he looks back at you, his chin tilting forward in a nod. He gives you a little smile, appreciative.

"Mhm," he says. "That’s close enough."

You chuckle before slipping right back into Korean. It’s a dizzying back-and-forth between at most three languages, at any given time. The two of you have been called out for it, but Minghao secretly enjoys the challenge.

"I’ve been meaning to check that out from my neighborhood's library," you note as you tap at the spine of Minghao's copy of Almond. He privately marvels at how your voice sounds more mellifluous in your first language, almost missing the question you pose. “How are you liking it so far?”

He looks down at the book in his lap, thumbing through the pages idly. “It’s good,” he answers simply. There’s a pause, but it's not quite awkward. It's something else... an afterthought. The next words are quieter than the last. “A bit sad.”

“That’s what most reviewers have said about it,” you muse, leaning back against your chair to stretch your legs underneath you. “Maybe I’ll finally pick it up this weekend.”

Minghao doesn’t look at you directly when you start to stretch out, when your shoulders roll forward. Instead the focus of his eyes is on the book on his lap, but his mind is most definitely not on the words on the pages.

When you mention picking it up that weekend, he nods in silent agreement, the movement a bit stiff. And then, in that same beat: “Have you gone to the doctor about your back pain?”

The question is quiet but pointed, with just a hint of concern to his voice. He spots all the tells of you preparing to lie to him— the tick in your jaw, your tongue peeking out between your clenched teeth. “Of course I have,” you lie smoothly. “It’s just your regular back pains that come with sitting in a chair a lot.”

“Hm.”

Even this late in the game, you still thought you could lie to Minghao. And maybe you could, and he would let it slide, in favor of being considerate and polite.

But only for a bit, because he knows you haven't seen a doctor about the back pain that started recently. Knows that you’re being a hypocrite, always asking him to take care of himself when you aren’t even doing the same for yourself.

He’s not entirely surprised, admittedly. You’ve always been so focused on your work and on taking care of others that it was sometimes hard to think that you focused on yourself. Not that Minghao is one to talk, when it comes to taking time for his own health. But this was you.

He sighs, just barely, before he reaches over to nudge you on the shoulder, like he would do with Jun or Soonyoung or any of the other members. “Liar.”

A sound between a huff and a laugh escapes you, but then you raise your palms in a show of surrender.

“I haven't really had the time to go to the doctor,” you admit sheepishly. “There’s been a lot of content to translate. And I’ve been preparing for the group's Japan showcase next week.”

Minghao knows you well enough to know that you'd probably work yourself till you dropped, if you had the chance. The thought makes him want to roll his eyes.

“Mm,” he responds, his eyes narrowing as he crosses his arms across his chest. “You can stop working for ten minutes to go to a clinic. You have enough money. And even if you don’t, I could—”

He cuts himself off, biting the inside of his cheek. The words nearly slipped.

— take you to one, he had meant to say.

The offer is on the tip of his tongue; the thought of you walking around with such bad back pain that you could barely walk without hobbling having pissed him off. Some part of him, some tiny selfish part, is holding him back from saying anything.

Maybe he just wants to see what you do. If you’ll finally do something about it, if only because he’s asked you to care for yourself for once.

There’s a flicker of surprise on your expression, though it's quickly smoothed out by something more akin to affection. Minghao had always been the thoughtful kind. It had taken some time for him to warm up to you, but around three or so years into your friendship, you’d started becoming a recipient to his quiet care and compassion.

“I’ll get a proper checkup once the Japan showcase is over,” you finally concede, if only to put his mind at ease. “The whole thing. A CT scan and all that.”

Minghao let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding out in silent relief, his shoulders dropping. When you promise that you'll go for a checkup when the Japan showcase is over, part of him wants to say I don’t believe you or I’m coming with you or even I’ll take you there myself.

But he decides to keep his mouth shut. There's no point in arguing, unless he wants to give you even more of a headache. He huffs with faux annoyance. "I’ll hold you to that," he tells you.

Minghao’s little show of annoyance does little to unnerve you, especially when you know it’s just that. A show. You shake your head with amusement before glancing at the table in front of you, where your laptop rests, forgotten.

“I still have to finish this, though,” you say almost ruefully to Minghao, tilting your head slightly as you look back at him. “Do you have any other schedules for the rest of the day?”

“I don’t,” he says. “We have a free day today. My only plans were to bother you.”

Minghao’s definition of bothering was a lot different from, say, what Mingyu or Jeonghan would call being a bother. No, for Minghao, bothering you entailed simply being in your space— mostly in silence.

“Knock yourself out, then,” you say with a slight wave of your hand, essentially giving Minghao the carte blanche to stick around, maybe read, as you finish off your work. “I'll probably be done in half an hour. Let's grab something to eat after?”

“Thirty minutes,” he agrees. “And I get to pick the place.”

For the next half hour, Minghao makes an effort to not bother you in the way most of the other members would. No unnecessary comments, no sudden pokes with a pen or a random finger tapping at your shoulder.

He simply sits there, legs crossed out in front of him, one hand flicking through the pages of the book he was reading earlier, the other hand on his knee. Every so often, he glances up, just a brief glance to check if you’re still swamped with work.

It’s hard for anybody, even the most unobservant of people, to miss the sight of the two of you sharing the couch in the company lounge. Two such different people— you, with your cool temperament and soft features, and Minghao, with his sharp eyes and his sharper tongue.

And yet, the sight of the two of you is more familiar than anything else. Anyone who’s been around the company long enough has seen the two of you sitting almost shoulder to shoulder. Quiet. Serene. At utter peace with each other's company.

There are others who want to interrupt, but the intensity of Minghao’s gaze as he glances up briefly is enough to discourage them. It’s a silent challenge and a promise that they better not disturb the two of you.

By the end of the thirty minutes, you’re nearly done with the video subtitles, and Minghao is about five or so pages from finishing his book. The book has been set aside on the table by then, his gaze now focusing on your work, rather than the story in his hands.

You hammer out the last of your subtitles with a mumble of “I’m done, I’m done.”

You shut your laptop with a slight snap, groaning slightly as you sink back against the back of the couch. “That was rough,” you huff as you press the heels of your hands to your eyes. “My French is getting rusty.”

“You say that about every language,” he points out. He watches you for a moment more before he reaches over, fingers wrapping around one of your wrists to tug at your arm. “Come here.”

This wasn’t the first time he’d used touch to get your attention. Minghao wasn’t the most outwardly tactile, but he had his moments. Touch was an easy, unspoken thing; it required no language, it spoke volumes.

This was one of those rare, intimate, moments of his. The moments where he let his guard down, the walls around him falling away. He tugs again, pulling you a little closer to him.

“Come here,” he says again. The word comes out in Mandarin, his fingers gently squeezing around your wrist, his other hand going to your hip to encourage you to lean in.

“So demanding,” you huff in the same language.

You’re complaining, but there isn’t any bite or any real annoyance in your tone. If you were really bothered, you’d pull your arm away and snap at him in Korean. Instead, you go along with what he’s doing, allowing him to pull you closer, even as you continue to grumble under your breath in Mandarin.

You give too much, he thinks silently, as his hand moves up from your hip to gently press your head into his shoulder, his arm wrapping around your waist instead. You let me have too much.

It’s a compromising position, especially in the company lounge. No other idol would be caught dead cozying up to a staff member like this, but Minghao was just a little bit above it all and HR had long since given up on lecturing you both about propriety.

Your hand absentmindedly rests over his knee, the platonic touch hidden underneath the table. You stick to Mandarin as you hum “This is nice.”

Minghao can’t help but agree with your words, his eyes fluttering close as he rests his cheek on the top of your head. Even with a company full of people around you and a door that anyone could walk through at any second, the two of you are tucked away in your own little world. He hums in response to your words, his own hand moving slightly to lace his fingers through yours.

Despite the fatigue weighing down on you both, the two of you stay like that, tangled together on the couch in a way that's more akin to a couple than just friends.

Eventually, the silence and stillness between you two is broken by a gentle knock on the wood.

Minghao’s eyes flutter open; he lifts his head up slightly to glance towards the door. “It’s open,” he says, his voice not betraying that you’re tucked into his side or that his hand is tangled with yours.

The door creaks open a crack, and Jeonghan peeks in. His eyebrows shoot up slightly. His mouth opens and closes, as if to say something, but you can see a knowing look pass across his face.

“Ah,” he says, and it almost sounds like he’s laughing.

You code switch to Korean, unsurprisingly. “Jeonghan,” you greet, raising your free hand to wave at the older boy. You make no real effort to disentangle from Minghao. If anything, the fact that it's just one of his members makes it easier for you to just relax a bit more. "Hao kept me company while I was working."

"I can see that," Jeonghan says with no shortage of amusement. He steps into the room, decisively closing the lounge door behind him. "I figured he'd be here."

Jeonghan takes a few steps closer to the couch before he halts, just a few steps away, his legs slightly apart and his arms folded over his chest. He looks between the two of you, his gaze drifting meaningfully from the arm wrapped around your waist, to the fingers still entwined with Minghao's.

“He's good at keeping company,” Jeonghan agrees, his head slightly tilted.

“Shut it,” Minghao grumbles in response, irritation obvious in his voice.

He doesn’t move his head or his arm wrapped around your waist. Instead, he raises his other hand— the one that’s still holding your hand— to give Jeonghan a gesture that clearly means for him to go away.

Jeonghan just laughs in response to the gesture, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “What, are you two lovebirds too busy for me?” he says, his tone deliberately saccharine. “I just wanted to tell you that the boys scheduled a game night later.”

Minghao glances down at the watch on his wrist, before looking back at the two of you. “What time?” he grumbles to Jeonghan, visibly displeased at the thought of having to disentangle from you.

“In about an hour,” Jeonghan sing-songs.

“Don’t be late,” he adds cheerfully, before promptly turning around and leaving the room.

“There goes our dinner plans,” you deadpan to Minghao once Jeonghan has left, although you don’t really sound upset about it. It’s more of a statement of a fact.

“Guess so,” he responds, his chin still resting on top of your head. Your hair is soft, and his fingers absently brush against the strands.

There’s a beat of stillness between the two of you, before he speaks again. “Sorry,” he murmurs, the word quiet and soft. He knows you’d probably been hoping to eat before going back to subtitles.

“No apologies necessary,” you say easily, because this was just sometimes the reality of our friendship. You always had a dozen other things pulling at you in different directions, and so a couple of stolen hours was always a welcome reprieve.

You give Minghao's hand a gentle squeeze. “Let's stay like this for— five more minutes,” you bargain, a slight smile tugging at your lips as you stare ahead. “And then we can pack up.”

“Five more minutes?” Minghao repeats, his voice low. He thinks over your words for a moment, before he lets out a soft sigh, his hand tightening around yours. “Okay.”

There aren’t many moments when he isn't in control, or when he lets his guard down. But this— with you, with your soft hair and comfortable warmth, is something he can’t resist. He lets his chin rest on top of your head, the weight of his head resting against you. He closes his eyes, and simply lets himself breathe.

The minutes pass by in comfortable silence, the two of you still tangled together on the couch. For those few moments, Minghao has nothing to worry about and nothing to think about. He has no choreography to practice, no schedule to keep.

Five minutes spin into seven, then ten. Neither of you are keen to pull away. At the fifteen-minute mark, you finally do try. “We’ve had more than five minutes,” you say against Minghao’s shoulder.

Minghao’s arm tightens around your waist, his fingers curling around your hip in a silent bid to keep you in place. He can feel the reluctance in your tone, the hesitation, and that’s what spurs him to be a little selfish.

He lets out a soft breath, his words a low, reluctant mumble. “Just... one more minute.”

“We have to go, xīngān,” you mutter absentmindedly.

It’s unfair, the way a single word in Mandarin sounds perfect in your voice. He doesn’t know if you’re even aware that you just called him darling— maybe it was a lapse in the switch to Mandarin, maybe it was intentional.

Either way, it doesn’t take more than a single moment for his heart to skip a beat, the sound of the word making something flutter and stir in his chest. His fingers involuntarily tighten around your hip.

“Okay,” he responds, his own voice coming out quieter than usual.

He does let go of you afterwards, the loss of your body heat making his hand feel a little cold. The couch feels noticeably larger and cooler without your side pressed against his, and he already misses the weight of your head against his shoulder.

Minghao tries very hard to look collected as he stands up from the couch, his face almost carefully neutral. His lips quirk up into the ghost of a smile before he offers you a hand to help you up as well.

He holds your hand a little longer than is necessary before letting go slowly. Silence drifts over the two of you as you make your way to the door, and for once, Minghao isn’t quite sure what to say. All he can think about is the single word you’d used— xīngān, in that warm tone of yours.

It’s an endearment he’s heard from friends, family, and fans. It’s a simple, innocent term. The only thing that makes it strange is that he’d never heard you use it for him until now.

He clears his throat, trying— and failing— to keep the quiet waver out of his voice. “Hey,” he says, the word falling from his lips a little more softly than he'd intended.

He pauses for a beat, as you turn to look at him questioningly. He doesn't know how to voice what he wants to say, so he opts to keep things as simple as possible.

“You called me xīngān,” he says point blank.

For a moment, the silence drags on as you keep walking. "Xīngān," you repeat a little dumbly, your eyebrows furrowed as you try to remember how the word translates in. When it seems to dawn on you, you stop dead in your tracks.

You’re speaking in Korean when you frantically wave your hands in front of you, your eyes slightly wider than before. “I’m sorry,” you say, panicked. “I think I was aiming for yīngjùn de. You know, ‘handsome.’ I don’t know why I called you—”

Minghao's shoulders nearly slump in disappointment. It’s a stupid, pointless feeling. It’s just a word, and a common endearment, at that— and yet he’s disappointed to learn that you were trying to say something else.

He gives a little scoff, not bothering to keep the petulance out of his voice. “Oh,” he responds, his hand lifting to rub absently at the back of his neck. “Damn.”

“Did you— like being called xīngān?” you ask, and then you try for the term in your smooth, easy Korean. “Yeobo?”

Minghao hesitates, the slightest hitch in his breath as you repeat the word in Korean.

The truth is a stupid, pointless one. The truth is that his heart almost jumped into his throat the moment he heard that single word, those two syllables. The truth is that he did like being called that. He liked being called darling. He liked it a lot, to be quite honest.

He gives an aborted nod, his gaze falling away from your face. “Maybe. A little.”

“In Korean or in Mandarin?” you prod.

“Do you prefer yeobo,” you start, the Korean term rolling easily off your tongue. “Or xīngān?”

Your Mandarin version is a little more hesitant, more reserved, but just a touch more sweeter.

Both, Minghao nearly blurts out, before he stops himself. He doesn't know which one it is he likes more— the sweet, gentle lilt of the Mandarin, or the smooth, almost-familiar Korean. All he knows is that the sound of being called ‘darling’ in your voice, in any language, makes something in his chest flutter and tighten.

He hesitates, but again— there's no point in being coy about it, is there?

“Both,” he answers softly, his eyes lifting up to meet yours.

“Darling,” you test out— this time not in Mandarin or Korean, but in English. It's heavily accented and clumsy, but the sentiment is still the same. Minghao sucks in a breath, his heart skipping another beat. It's stupid, he’s stupid, but—

He likes how you sound, speaking English. He likes the way your words soften and drag, the way your tongue wraps around the syllables, the gentle flow of your sentences. It’s all so stupid, and yet his heart can't help but skip another beat as he listens to you speak.

The corners of his mouth lift slightly. “I like that one too,” he responds.

“In any language, huh?” you tease lightly, a light pink dusting your cheeks. The two of you begin to walk, again, because you do have places to be.

In an absentminded way, you begin to mumble the ways you know ‘darling’ is translated in other languages.

Spanish. Cariño. Portuguese. Querido. Italian. Tesoro. French. Chérie. German. Liebling.

If nothing else, Minghao has to admit that watching your cheeks flush— and hearing you speak all these other languages— is very distracting.

He’s still busy mentally storing away this new, intriguing tidbit of information that he's learned about himself, but he still can't help his mind from wandering at the sound of other languages falling from your lips. A few of them are familiar, having seen or heard them before, but some of them are entirely new.

Minghao can’t help his mind from dwelling on how good they sound when you say them.

"Wait— what about Arabic?" he asks, cutting into your little list.

It’s the only one he can think of. He just wanted to hear you say this one, too.

“I haven’t touched Arabic in ages,” you mutter distractedly. Minghao can’t help but silently laugh as he watches your facial expressions flicker in a series of micro-emotions, each one slightly different from the other. Frustration, confusion, a pinch of annoyance— and all of it over this little thing.

“I think it's maḥbūb,” you answer after a full moment's pause. Your nose scrunches up in mild frustration; the endearment accented in the language you don’t use often.

His laugh turns into a little scoff, before he finally just lets the laugh roll right out of his lungs. “You’re cute when you’re frustrated,” he tells you fondly, the words falling from his mouth before he can help himself.

Shit.

He'd planned on saying that, but not so— casually. So off-handedly, without a thought to the meaning behind the sentiment. It’s a little much, and yet he can't take the words back now that they’re out there. Thankfully, you take it in stride.

“And you’re cute for liking to be called darling,” you tease right back.

The words hit Minghao square in the chest like one of your punches. He’s glad you’re a few paces ahead of him so you can’t see the way his mouth parts slightly, the way he nearly stumbles. He’s thankful for the few beats of silence before you pipe up once more.

“I think I’ll stick to xīngān,” you commit.

And just like that, he’s breathless again.

He’s a sucker for that term, the way it rolls off your tongue. The way you choose it, like it's the easiest, most obvious choice in the world. “Xīngān,” he finds himself echoing, his voice softer, breathier than he’d meant it to be.

The sound of it leaves a warm, pleasant feeling in his chest. He likes the safety of the word, the way it makes something in his chest flutter. He can’t help the slight smile from tugging at his lip.

“I like the way you say it,” he admits, no longer bothering to keep up the charade of nonchalance.

“I’ll say it more, then,” you muse.

Minghao isn’t even fully convinced that you realize that this is flirting. He’d always gotten that feeling, that you don't always notice when something turns into that sort of casual teasing. He knows you can flirt; he’s witnessed some of your flirtations personally and he’s heard plenty of stories from the others.

But this sort of thing— this banter, the way you tease him with a casual sweetness in your voice— it’s new flirting territory. It’s something he's never experienced in your presence.

He follows you silently to the doors of the company, his heart pounding in his chest. The two of you walk side-by-side, your hips and shoulders nearly brushing with every two steps.

Neither of you bother to slow down as you near your inevitable separation. There isn’t a point, after all. Why draw out the goodbyes?

Before he loses the confidence, Minghao reaches out to snag your wrist. He can only hope that you’re less oblivious than he’s afraid you are.

“Hey,” he calls you back, his voice just a touch breathless. “You free this weekend?”

You tilt your head to one side, only momentarily thrown off. It wasn’t unnatural for you to meet with the boys when they didn’t have a schedule. Sometimes, it was a language lesson; other times, it was a spontaneous hangout. It was always discreet, never anything to really read in to.

You and Minghao have had your fair share of escapades. Chinese takeout on the floor of your apartment, trips to a local library. They’re few and far between, but always welcome.

“I’m free Saturday evening. I have to work in the morning, and I have a family thing on Sunday,” you answer. “What’s up?”

Minghao feels the slight tension in his shoulders loosen at your answer. It’s not a no, not when it comes with a little extra clarification, as though you had been expecting something of a meetup anyway.

He drops the grip on your wrist, his fingers loosening just enough that you can pull away if you want. “Do you want to—” he starts, the words catching in his throat. Is it just him, or is the hallway warm? “Do you want to go to the movies?”

“The movies? Sure. What did you want to watch?" you inquire, your head tilting further as your curiosity is piqued.

The overhead lights catch the soft, sharp lines of your face, illuminating the features that Minghao knows like the back of his hand. The gentle tilt of your chin, the way you’re slightly shorter than he was, the way your hair frames your face in a messy but unfussy way— as though you didn’t try, but the effect was pleasing nonetheless.

It’s an effect that isn't lost on Minghao, that leaves something warm and fond twisting in his chest. He struggles to get a hold of himself.

“There's a film festival,” he says. “An international film festival, over in Gwangjin.”

If Minghao were a weaker man, he would have beamed at your reaction— the excitement in your voice, the way you reached out to squeeze his wrist in turn.

“That sounds fun,” you say happily. “I’d love to go.”

He knew you were passionate about languages, about cultures— one of the reasons you two have gotten on so well, as you’re the only person he’s ever met who shares that sort of enthusiasm. The only person who understands it in a way that doesn’t feel too much.

He gives you a little flicker of a smile before he answers. “Good.”

There's a beat of silence as he contemplates his next few words— and what exactly he was about to propose. “You know…” he finally says, his tone just a little hesitant. “There's a… there's a film that I really wanted to see. In the festival, I mean.”

“It’s in Mandarin,” he quickly clarifies, the words tumbling from his mouth in a way that feels a little too much like panic. “Um— will your Mandarin be up to it? No subtitles.”

“I’ll be up for it,” you assure Minghao laughingly. “If I miss anything, I guess I’ll just have to ask you.”

Ask him? The idea— the mere implication that you’d be leaning in, closer, to ask him. That you’d be needing something, some sort of clarification, a better context.

The way you'd need him.

And perhaps it was obvious, the way you and he were constantly switching back and forth— him with his Mandarin and your Korean and English, to fill in the blanks. But the words still set something loose in his chest, to know that he would be there to help you if you needed it.

“Yeah,” he says, once he finally manages to remember how to speak. “Yeah, you can ask me.”

As you begin to step away, you speak up. “It’s a date, then,” you say casually, still painfully unheeding to the implications of everything. “Will you pick me up or should I meet you there, xīngān?”

Minghao has never felt more simultaneously grateful and betrayed by your lack of awareness.

Because how could you be so casual, how could you just drop that right in front of him— calling it a date, calling him ‘darling’— as though it was nothing more than just another hangout? It leaves him reeling in a way that makes it impossible to respond.

He can only offer a nod, his throat dry, as one hand lifts in a half-wave. “I’ll pick you up,” he says, his brain lagging behind with the rest of his body.

You give a small wave back, your smile just as bright and friendly as the rest of you. This was going to be a thorn in Minghao's side, it seemed. Your brain wasn’t good at half measures. You needed clarity, needed straightforwardness to confront abstract feelings.

You disappear through the revolving front doors of the company, leaving Minghao in the company lobby that suddenly feels all-too warm. His phone pings in his pocket; a text from Jun.

You're late to game night, his member teases. Get away from the love of your life and get your ass over here. ㅋㅋㅋ

Because of course Jeonghan had tattled to all the other boys where Minghao had been. He rolls his eyes as he glances down at the screen, tapping out a quick response.

I'm coming. Don't cheat.

He glances up and back at the glass revolving doors, knowing full-well that you're already on the street at this point.

Minghao, for all his bluntness, has suddenly found himself in a situation where all he can do is beat around the bush.

Minghao arrives outside your apartment building on time, his hands shoved deep in his pockets against the early evening chill. His heart is pounding in his chest, the nervous energy buzzing in his veins.

He had dressed up. He had put on cologne. He was taking you to a film festival. What could possibly happen that would go wrong?

It's a thought that is interrupted when a horn beeping snaps Minghao's attention away from his inner thoughts, as he straightens and glances down the street. There's no one parked on your street, no one walking down the sidewalk. He takes a step forward, peering across to the other side of the street— and there you are, stepping out of the building.

It takes everything he's got to keep a straight face. It feels like something out of a drama, and he's still not entirely sure he's not dreaming.

The fact that you're dressed up too is not lost on him. Damn it, of course you'd look good to him, no matter what you'd chosen to wear.

Minghao straightens as you draw closer, suddenly not quite knowing what to do with his hands. Does he pull you in for a hug? Offer up a casual, friendly greeting?

He settles for a nod, shoving his hands further into the pockets of his jeans, doing his best not to stare. "Hey."

"Hey," you greet right back, flashing Minghao a dimpled smile. You give Minghao a once-over.

"You look nice," you say like it's the most casual observation in the world.

The praise sets something aflutter in Minghao's stomach, his hands gripping his car keys a little tighter to try and keep them from shaking. "Thanks," he responds, somehow finding it in himself to step closer and unlock the car door for you. "You look good, too."

Good doesn't even begin to cover it, he thinks as he goes to slide into the driver’s seat.

"You got me nervous," you say as you pull the seat belt over yourself, suddenly slipping into Mandarin. "About the film having no subtitles, I mean. So I ended up brushing up on my Mandarin."

He lets out a small huff of a laugh that's bordering on a scoff. "Since when have you had to brush up on anything?" he responds in Mandarin as well, flicking on the turn signal and pulling the car out into the street. "Your Mandarin is perfect."

"I'm always studying. You know me," you chirp, leaning forward slightly to fiddle with the knobs of Minghao's car radio. You’ve been in his passenger seat enough time to feel comfortable doing this; you settle on a station playing mostly Western indie songs.

"And my Mandarin always has room for improvement," you go on. "I'm still working on that C2-level proficiency."

Of course you weren't satisfied with just good. You had to go and be an overachiever. Minghao finds himself shaking his head at the thought of how your drive for excellence in everything was— for lack of any better word— admirable and adorable all at the same time.

"You're insane," he says under his breath, still so awed by self-imposed standards. "You really don't need to do that, you know. You're great the way you are."

"How is it that you're both goading and complimenting me at the same time?" you tease.

The way you speak sounds effortless and yet Minghao can pick up on the little moments where your tongue would just ever so slightly stumble. He could correct you, but God, he's never quite heard that same sound before.

In fact, he's suddenly very aware of just how different you two sound when you speak his mother tongue.

"It's called being a good friend," he responds, fighting the rising urge to say something else.

"You're a pain in the ass, but I love you, anyway," he continues, his hand settling on a knob on the center console to change the radio station to something with a bit more of a modern beat. You always had to listen to indie music.

As the sounds of some Top Fifties pop song filters through the car, you let out a snort of laughter and respond noncommittally to Minghao's jab. "Love you, too," you say with no shortage of sarcasm. The words, in Mandarin— wǒ yě ài nǐ— still sound soft and sweet and lilting, despite your best effort to sound mocking.

Minghao suddenly has to swallow against his very dry throat. He hadn't expected that response from you, not when the last time he had said those words to you was months and months ago during an argument between the two of you. A particularly stressful work week, a squabble that neither of you talk about anymore.

"You better," he manages to respond, his voice cracking ever so slightly on the second syllable of 'better'. He hopes it goes unnoticed.

That little stutter, that tiny stumble around the last syllable of 'better', was the only indicator that betrayed the way Minghao's heart was hammering out the wildest beat in his chest.

He knows it's a sign of his own impending nerves when he turns the radio volume all the way up, drowning out any chance of conversation between the two of you for the rest of the ride to the venue.

Far too used to Minghao's pockets of peace, you pay no heed to the fact that the rest of the car ride is spent in companionable silence. You only break it once Minghao is pulling up into the parking lot of the theater house.

"You should go ahead. I'll get us snacks," you offer delicately, this time in Korean. The reminder of how the two of you had to hide any sort of public interaction settles like a stone at the very bottom of Minghao's stomach, and yet he nods anyway, silently agreeing with the logic of your suggestion.

You ask, "Is there anything you want to eat?"

He lets out a soft sigh as he pulls the keys out of the ignition. "Popcorn," he responds, his eyes skimming over your form as you unclick the seatbelt to leave. "With M&Ms."

The familiar request makes a small smile tug at your lips. It was the same thing, still, that Minghao asked for after all these years of movie-watching. "Got it," you say, sliding out of his car. "I'll find you in a bit."

Even through the closed car door and over the sound of the car radio turned up to its highest, he can still clearly hear the smile in your voice. It sets that now familiar thump in his chest into overdrive.

"Hurry up," he responds in all of his usual nonchalance, despite the fact that his eyes are still following your figure, taking in the way you carry yourself as you walk away.

Shit, he's so gone for you.

Minghao's choice of seats are typical as always. In the very back of the theater, to keep him away from possible prying eyes.

You settle into the seat at his right, carefully balancing the food you’d gotten the two of you. "I couldn't carry two popcorn buckets, so we'll have to share this big one," you whisper to him as you pass him his pack of M&Ms and a bottle of soda.

"Thanks,” he murmurs over the sound of advertisements playing over the big screen.

"I've heard a lot of good things about this film," you mumble. "No making fun of me if I cry."

"I would never," he replies, voice as light as yours.

Sure enough, the opening of the film has Minghao leaning forward on the edge of his seat, engrossed in the drama unraveling between the characters on-screen. It's like he was that sixteen year-old boy in the movie, struggling to find his place in the world.

He's all but quiet in his consumption of popcorn, a hand sneaking into the bucket at times to munch on a few pieces idly. A few times, when the food almost runs out— he accidentally brushes his fingers against yours. The touch is brief, accidental, but each time, his skin feels like it's singing, and he fights the impulse to grasp your hand altogether every time he reaches for popcorn.

He does notice, however, when you seem to encounter unfamiliar words. His gaze flicks over to you as your lips wordlessly form the nickname they call the main character. Xiǎoshì.

It's a term, sure, but it's far more than that to him.

For him, it's a moment. A time in his life that was so brief, but one he remembers like it happened yesterday. A small part of him wants to tell you all about it, but he can't now.

And so he settles on another form of communication. With your attention still on the screen, Minghao reaches over— and finally grasps your hand. Interlocking your fingers together.

As your fingers grasp with his, a part of him hopes that you don't pull away. He almost wants to look sideways at you, just so he can see your reaction— read your face as you focus on the movie in front of you, as your heart beats fast, loud, against your ribcage.

He doesn't dare to hope, though. He keeps his hand in yours, holding on tightly, as the movie continues to play out, the scenes getting more familiar to him.

The main character gets into a particularly nasty row with his mother about following his dreams, about leaving home, about wanting a better life than the one they had in their province. His gaze flinches slightly at the familiar scene before him and the memories, the emotions, that it all brings up in him.

It's a tense scene, spoken in the scathing language he'd grown up in, and you can tell the way it's affecting him. Instinctively, you reach your free hand over to gently press at the side of Minghao's head; a quiet invitation for him to rest his head on your shoulder.

Minghao takes you up on your invitation, the touch of your hand almost a command to him. He lets his head rest on your shoulder, not unlike a weary puppy. He can practically hear his mother's voice in some parts of the argument playing out in the movie. He can hear his own words echoing in his ears— almost as if he himself was the one speaking on-screen.

He wants to stay in the moment, with you, in the darkened theater as the movie continues to play. He doesn't think he can tear his eyes away from the screen, just like how he feels like he can't let go of your hand.

But it's a movie— a coming-of-age one, at that— and so all ends well. The boy and his mother reconcile. The main character is not any older by the last part of the film, but he's wiser, and the whole thing ends with him looking out at the Beijing skyline, humming an old lullaby for comfort.

The credits roll. The lights stay off as they do, and you finally, finally, bring yourself to pull away from Minghao's shoulder.

You keep your hand in his, though, as you let out a quiet, watery laugh. "Xu Minghao," you reprimand in Mandarin. "You took me to the saddest movie ever."

"I told you," he responds back lightly, in Mandarin, his own voice a little rough from trying to hold himself back just a bit. "My friend said it was a sad one, when he recommended it. And you said you were fine."

He squeezes your hand again, shifting in his seat so that he was facing you, a hint of teasing in his tired eyes.

Absent-mindedly, you rub your thumb on the back of his palm. "How did you like it?" you ask, pitching your voice lower, still, despite no one being within your vicinity.

Minghao's eyes soften a little at the tender gesture on your part. He feels the light, comforting motion of your thumb brushing against the back of his palm and he lets out a small, shaky sigh of his own. "It was... a little difficult to watch," he admits, his voice quiet, his eyes focused on your interlocked hands between you.

"Do you want to talk about it over dinner?" you offer, your smile just a touch rueful. "Or we could just... have dinner and not talk about it at all. Whichever works best for you."

At your offer, a small, almost self-deprecating smile quirks at the corner of Minghao's lips. He squeezes your hand one more time. "Dinner, yes. Talking, no."

The walk back to the car is a quiet one. Once you’re in your seats, Minghao puts the burden of deciding on you.

"There's this barbeque place I've really been wanting to try out over in Myeongdeong," you rave, but then your fingers freeze over the GPS screen. You glance at Minghao over your shoulder, suddenly a bit sheepish. "It's a bit out of the way from your dorm and my apartment, though. Is that alright?"

He lets out a small, soft laugh, shifting in his seat a little before reaching over to lightly flick your ear. "When has distance ever stopped me?" he retorts, his usual dry tease in his voice. "Let's go, I'm starving."

"Alright, alright," you huff as you plug in the address. The directions to the restaurant— somewhere twenty minutes away, barring traffic— appear on screen as you move back into your seat, still pouting slightly at your ear being flicked. "I just thought you'd be sick of me after the movie."

"Sick of you?" He scoffs at your words as he begins to peel out of the parking lot. "I think I would die of boredom without you, actually."

“Ah. Because no one else will keep up with you like this, hm?"

"They're not quick enough. You're one of the rare ones who don't make me want to tear my hair out."

"You're laying it on thick tonight. Is this a ploy to get me to pick up the dinner bill?” you tease. "Because really, Hao, there's a rather big difference between the salaries of idols and translators."

He chuckles a little at your comment, his grip around the steering wheel tightening slightly. "No, this is not a ploy to make you pay for dinner. I'm treating tonight. I'm rich, remember?"

"Yah, you're not treating!” you shoot back. “We’ll pay for our own shares. You should only spend your money on things that are important.”

"And treating you isn't important? You're always important to me. Don't deny it."

When you suddenly go silent as a flush starts to creep up your face, Minghao can't help but look away from the road for a few moments to glance at you from the corner of his eye. He can only see the side of your face, the blush that colors your cheeks glowing against your skin.

"You can't just say stuff like that so casually," you snap, though your tone is soft around the edges. "You should save that for birthdays or holidays."

"And why only birthdays and holidays?" he muses. "I'd rather tell you all the time."

In a bid to regain a bit of an upper hand, you keep your eyes out the window as you mumble in Mandarin, "Just keep driving, xīngān."

Seeing your flustered face flush an even deeper color of red gives Minghao a sort of satisfaction, his lips tugging up at the corners. He can't help but chuckle a little more when he hears the words that leave your mouth in Mandarin, his mind taking a few moments to register the nickname he's grown to like.

"Yah, don't just call me that without warning," he says, voice slightly muffled as he continues to focus on the road. "My heart can only handle so much."

You finally glance over at him. The blush still lingers, but there's a bit of a mischievous glint in your eyes now. "Should I warn you, then, if I'm about to use it?" you say sweetly, sticking to his mother tongue for the sake of seeing how far you can go with it. "Should I only save it for special occasions?"

"Yes," he manages to hiss out after a beat, a small scowl on his face when he realizes that you're taking advantage of his weakness. "I'd much prefer you to warn me in advance. And only use it on occasions that actually count."

"I'm about to use it," you warn instantly, leaning slightly forward to turn down the radio. There had been some other group's song playing, filling the car with the sweet, lilting sounds of a ballad.

"This occasion counts, xīngān," you sing-song. "Every moment with you counts."

At your obvious mockery, Minghao's scowl only deepens, not that he really minds. Your sweet words have his heart thudding loudly in his chest in spite of his protests.

"Stop being so cheesy. You're only saying this because you know that I like it, aren't you?"

"I'm saying it because I like it," you answer. "It suits you. I'm about to use it again."

You pause for a beat. "Darling," you say, this time cycling between English, Korean, and Mandarin. "Yeobo. Xīngān."

This time, Minghao can't help but chuckle. He's definitely going to be having a good time tonight.

"Are you going to spend the rest of the night calling me that?" he questions, finally having to pause at a red light. He turns to look at you for a few moments. "Just so I know what to expect."

"Do you want me to?" you ask right back, your eyebrows raised slightly.

"If you did," he starts, the words coming out before he even fully registers them, "I wouldn't stop you."

The light turns green. The cars in front of you move forward a bit, and that means that you have to as well. The moment passes ever so slightly as Minghao is forced to lurch forward, to turn the corner that will finally have you at the barbecue place you'd recommended.

You look ahead, away, the smile on your face widening just a bit. And because he said he wouldn't mind, because he'd given you something akin to a go-ahead—

"Alright, xīngān," you say softly.

The term of affection in your voice has Minghao's heartbeat rising, the nickname ringing in his ears, filling his chest with a sort of sweetness at the sound of it. It was like music to his ears, he thinks, the way you say it, the way it sounds.

Once again, he can't help the smile that finds a place on his face, though he hides it by turning away to concentrate on the road ahead, trying to focus on it instead of the way his heart just won't stop racing in his chest.

The meal is comfortable. You talk about everything and nothing; you take turns cooking the meat. If sometimes you fall silent, neither of you feel the need to fill that quiet. You're so assured in each other's presence that we're fine to just be.

It's easy, with you— easy to relax in a way that he sometimes can't with others. He feels comfortable with you, safe around you, and he doesn't really have to think about what words he uses or the right thing to say.

You make it easy for him. And he's grateful for it.

As the night continues, though, the light conversation seems to eventually die down. Not that it bothers him; no, as Minghao has said before, the two of you do well with silence.

In the quiet that now surrounds the two of you, though, his mind begins to wander. A thought that has been in the back of his mind since earlier that night resurfaces again.

"Xīngān," he begins tentatively, his eyes still on the grill in front of him as if staring at it is supposed to give him some strength. Once again, he finds himself turning to Mandarin for the question, the words feeling like home on his tongue.

It feels, somehow, more fitting to ask you this question in the language that's his, one that he's comfortable and practiced in. "Do you believe in fate?"

Mìngyùn. Fate. Your mouth soundlessly tries out the word, the two syllables lolling on your tongue.

"Like— the red thread of fate," you say, just a little dumbly, as you contemplate Minghao's question. You don't even notice the way you've switched over to Mandarin to match his pace. "Like that kind of fate? Or something else?"

He takes a beat before he answers, trying to figure out how to word his question, how to express what he means in a way that makes sense, even to himself. "I mean that kind of fate," he clarifies. "Like, soulmates."

"Do you?" you ask suddenly, throwing the query back to him.

"I do."

"What version of the red string of fate do you believe in?"

He hesitates when you ask him the question, not quite sure how to explain the kind of fate he believes in. "I believe in things that are inevitable."

"I mean— I believe in things that are destined," he continues, trying to elaborate. "I believe the people— the ones who are supposed to be together— will always find each other, in a way, no matter what happens. No matter how much time passes, or what obstacles there are between them."

The way the corner of your mouth twitches when he says the word inevitable sets something ablaze inside him.

He knows the look you're giving him is just one of interest, not a look of affection, but to him, it feels like a look of affection.

Your lips twist into a slightly rueful smile as you take a moment to flip the meat on the grill, trying to keep it from burning. It's your turn to keep your gaze evasive as you answer.

"I'm not sure if I believe in fate," you say, your Mandarin deliberately careful and slow. "Or soulmates. Not in the way that you do, at least."

The words strike a painful sort of ache in his chest and Minghao finds himself having to bite down on the inside of his lip, trying to quell the way his heart seems to clench at the confession.

This time, you slide into Korean, desperate to get your point across in the language that you know, in the tongue where you won’t be misconstrued. "I want to. I want to believe that soulmates exist— that there's someone out there for all of us," you say with a little more firmness, the change in speech giving you some more conviction.

"But I think that if soulmates do exist, they're not found; they're made." You pause to bring your gaze back up to Minghao. "People meet, they get a good feeling, and they get to work building a relationship. And that will lead to the inevitable."

He's not quite sure why it feels like a loss, somehow, to no longer be speaking in Mandarin, and it makes his fingers itch for something to do. There's a moment where Minghao has to process the words you say, the way you express yourself so firmly and deliberately, as if you've given this some thought. Slowly, he gives a nod. "Like working in a relationship. Like making it work."

"Like making it work," you concede.

You gently place the last pieces of meat on Minghao's plate. "The concept of the red string of fate has always scared me," you admit, your mouth twitching upward in a slightly wistful smile. "What if the person on the other end follows the string only to realize they don't like what they find?"

Minghao's gaze drifts down to the plate of food you've assembled for him, a gesture that feels oddly domestic, somehow, to have someone prepare a plate for him, and his heart gives a warm, affectionate little squeeze.

He looks back up when you speak, his face a carefully stoic mask in spite of the way his heart is giving a painful thud, thud, thud inside his chest.

"I think..." he begins slowly, his eyes still on you, the words leaving his lips careful and deliberate, as if he's trying to pick them out slowly from a tangled mess in his mind.

There's an intensity to his gaze, a gravity that's hard to miss. "I think even if the person on the other end of the string doesn't like what they find, it's what they're supposed to have. It's what they're destined for."

"Ah. Destiny."

Minghao had stuck with Mandarin; you say it in Korean. The two words— mìngyùn, unmyeong— are the two faces of the same coin.

"And who do you think I'm destined for, xīngān?" you ask with just the right amount of teasing, making it a point to still refer to Minghao with the Mandarin term of ‘darling’ despite speaking the rest of the question in Korean.

It's supposed to be nothing more than a good-natured joke, but Minghao feels the sudden urge to be honest.

He knows it's a joke, he knows it's meant to be a lighthearted question, but something in the back of his head, something sharp and cruel, his traitorous, selfish heart keeps repeating the question back to him: Who do you think I'm destined for?

The thought that you'd be destined for anyone but him makes him feel like there's something lodged in his throat, something painful and sharp, and he wants to reach out and grab you, hold you, pull you tight against him and just never let go.

But instead he just looks at you and he forces the corners of his lips to tug up into a smile. "You're destined for someone wonderful," he says in his soft Mandarin, his trademark sincerity.

It's a non-answer; a cop-out, a way to avoid confessing things he shouldn't, but it's the best he can manage at this moment, when I wish it was me is screaming so loud in his head, it's all he can hear.

You smile softly.

Minghao had told the truth. You are destined for someone wonderful.

He just wishes he could have been more specific.

The next time he sees you is ahead of the boys’ Japanese showcase. Minghao had been lagging behind in the airport; he'd managed to get a few moments of shut eye on the plane, but it did little to stave off the exhaustion he still felt.

He walks a few steps behind Seungcheol, his eyes flitting idly through the crowd, until they land on you, walking slightly ahead.

You were already moving efficiently, keeping your gaze straight as you walked next to Seungcheol, your eyes focused and unflinching even as the press and fans yelled out at you.

Minghao's eyes don't leave your figure, following you and Seungcheol as you navigate the throngs of airport patrons with practiced ease. He's almost unsettled by how effortless you seemed— walking through the crowd as if it were nothing more than a casual stroll through the park, your expression set and unwavering as you translate for Seungcheol in a low, firm tone.

Once you finally get past the front doors of the airport, there's a lull as the boys all pile into a twelve-seater van. You stay by the door, finally stealing seconds to see each of them as they pass by you.

Vernon dips his head in a nod. Mingyu throws you an exaggerated wink. Jun mouths 'hello' to you in Japanese.

And then it's Minghao's turn to get in the van, to pass by you. There's not much either of you can do or say yet, considering the fact that there are still fans and press scrutinizing your every move, but he still has this. A moment of acknowledgment, however he deems fit.

Minghao's mouth tugs up at one corner as he sees you smile at him, the sight immediately making something warm bloom in his chest.

He can't help the subtle, almost instinctual reaction as he stops ever so slightly in passing you. He wants to say something, but words elude him.

Instead, his hand just grazes against your wrist— the merest press of his fingers against the bare skin of your arm. It's a tiny gesture, but one that speaks volumes.

For the rest of the car ride to the hotel, Minghao struggles.

He's stuck in a car full of members, all exhausted from the flight, all loud and noisy and rowdy, and the van feels suddenly stifling. He spends most of the time looking out the window, trying to focus on whatever he sees.

Anything to distract himself from thoughts of you and the ghost of your soft, warm skin under his fingers.

The next time you're slated to see the group is in the dressing room before their showcase. It's hours later. Hours you spend translating, liaising, transcribing. The dressing room is as lively as ever, most of the members having already changed into their stage outfits. Several of them are sitting around, idly eating snacks or watching videos.

You carefully push open the door. "Hey," you greet, and you're met with the instant chorus of thirteen boys welcoming you.

Seungkwan excitedly calls out, "Hey, hey, hey!"

Joshua gives you a warm smile. Chan waves exaggeratedly.

You let out a huff of laughter, already acutely familiar with the boys' habits. "Just wanted to check in on everyone before the showcase," you say as you lean against the doorframe.

Minghao is sitting on a couch in the corner of the room, his eyes on you as you say your reason for coming to see them.

"We're all good here," Jeonghan answers, one hand propping his chin up. "You look like you could use a sit, though."

Your laugh is just a little strained, your smile a touch forced. But your façade stays intact, even as you shake your head. "I've still got some preparations to do," you say lightly, and then you shift gears before anyone can press. "How was the flight?"

"It was fine," Seokmin pipes up. "You know, nothing out of the usual. We were well-behaved."

"Well-behaved," Wonwoo echoes from the couch. "If by well-behaved, you mean Soonyoung and Vernon got extremely handsy in the plane."

"Hey," Vernon protests, whipping his head around to look at Wonwoo, "don't say it like that!"

On the couch, Jihoon lets out an amused snort, shaking his head in fond, exasperated disbelief. "No, no, please," he encourages, his voice laced with sarcasm, "tell everyone how you two almost got us yelled at by the stewards because you were roughhousing over some food."

Soonyoung pouts, his expression instantly adopting a look of exaggerated innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about," he insists. "I was a perfect angel."

While the other boys are all busy ribbing on Vernon and Soonyoung, Minghao makes his way over to where you're standing against the doorframe.

He stops when he's standing next to you, and the corner of his mouth tugs up into an amused smile as he takes in your distant, almost out of it expression. When he speaks, his voice is soft enough for you to hear but low enough that the others can't, barely more than a whisper.

"You look tired."

You give him a sheepish smile as you pat out invisible wrinkles on your linen blazer. "Hao," you greet quietly, still a bit hesitant to use xīngān in front of his members.

Your gaze flickers briefly to the rest of the room before you switch to Mandarin, a clear indication that you want your next words to be for Minghao and Minghao alone.

"I am tired," you admit in his native tongue. "But it's nothing crazy. Just the usual exhaustion."

"You always work too hard," he responds, matching your switch to Mandarin. His gaze sweeps over your form, taking in the weary lines of your frame, the subtle stiffness in your stance. "You look like you'll fall over any second."

You roll your shoulders a bit, unconsciously leaning closer toward him. "It's my back, still," you confess. "Making things a little harder than usual. I really will get it checked when we're back in Korea."

A concerned frown tugs at the corners of Minghao's mouth when he hears you say it's your back, his eyes sweeping over your frame once again. "How long has it been bothering you?" he asks, his gaze sweeping over you.

He tries not to seem too obvious about it, but he steps a little bit closer, shifting a fraction of an inch closer in case you do fall over. His arm brushes up against yours, the contact between the two of you almost imperceptible.

"This morning," you say with a rueful smile, your hand reaching behind to massage the small of your back from over your layers of clothing. "The plane was a bit cramped."

Minghao's eyes narrow a fraction of an inch when he hears the reason, one of his eyebrows lifting slightly in a mixture of surprise and annoyance. "I told you to get it checked before the flight," he says.

You give Minghao a look that's mildly exasperated and wholly exhausted. "I'm already booked to see a physician once this trip is over," you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest as you look up at Minghao.

"You always say that," Minghao responds, the hint of annoyance in his voice a clear indication of just how frustrated he is. "It's clearly bothering you every day. If you just took some time off, maybe even just a week, maybe you'd—"

"Minghao."

The quiet, stern way you say his name— just his name; not Hao, not xīngān— cuts right through his frustrated tirade. A flicker of surprise passes across Minghao's features, the almost snap in your tone shutting him up.

"I'm going to go," you inform him stiffly, slipping back into Korean and away from the language you reserved for each other. "We need to prepare for the showcase."

His jaw clenches, a muscle in his cheek twitching as he tries to keep his mouth shut for once, biting back the words he wants to say, the protests that are so close to leaving his lips. He lets out another huff of air, forcing his expression to stay neutral.

"Yeah," he replies in the same language, the one word filled with annoyance. "See you."

When the showcase rolls around, you maintain a backstage presence. Your role, as always, entails that you pay complete attention to the boys as they speak. Whenever they address the crowd as a whole, you translate their Korean into Japanese.

For some reason, hearing the familiar sound of your voice coming out of the speakers, the smoothness of your Japanese, still feels somewhat calming to Minghao. In the chaos of lights and loud music, hearing the rhythm of your words through the speakers makes it feel like, at least for the moment, you're still right there beside him.

When the songs pass and the showcase ends, the members are all still riding the high of the excitement of their performance, the energy of their fans still buzzing in the atmosphere.

They all make their way backstage, the hum of their conversations filling the air, a sense of excitement and satisfaction, each and every one of them energized. Minghao, once again, makes his way over to where you're standing, his eyes on you, his expression almost intense.

You don't immediately notice Minghao approaching because a staff member is talking to you in rapid Japanese about some interviews you need to coordinate, need to play the role of interpreter for. You're trying to bargain for a moment's break, but it's a losing battle.

The staff then suddenly folds into a bow, and only then do you realize that Minghao had come up to you. You dip your head in an equally respectful bow of acknowledgement.

In Japanese, you tiredly assure the staff member you'll be there for the press circus; she leaves Minghao and you alone at your reassurance. You flash Minghao a weary smile, slipping, this time, into Korean. "Good job with the showcase," you say benevolently. "You did well."

He can't help the subtle frown that forms on his face, the way his eyebrows furrow in concern. The fact that you're once again hiding behind that professional exterior of yours, the friendly, polite smile you're shooting him, does nothing to soothe his frustration.

"Thanks," he mutters, his tone somewhat clipped.

He hesitates for a moment, his gaze sweeping over you. "Hey," he eventually says. "Come with me for a second."

You cast a glance around backstage. The boys are all off doing their own things— chugging water, ribbing each other, taking photos. In a gaggle of thirteen, it's easy to fly under the radar at any given time.

"You have a magazine interview in fifteen minutes," you tell Minghao, clueing him in on the conversation you had with staff just moments prior. "We can't really go anywhere—"

"I know," Minghao responds, his tone perhaps a little sharper than he'd meant it to be, frustration getting the better of him.

He takes a quick glance around the backstage area, confirming that the others are all occupied enough that they won't notice, before his gaze lands back on you. "We won't be long," he assures you, already grabbing your wrist.

His grasp on your wrist is firm, his hand strong and his fingers wrapping around the limb easily, pulling you along with him, with no room for any protest. He doesn't break his pace until he's found a small, secluded bathroom, pulling you inside and shutting the door behind the two of you before anyone could notice.

"Minghao," you hiss under your breath, still obviously pissed in the way you forgo both his nickname and pet name. "You can't just drag me off when we have work."

Even in his already frustrated state, Minghao finds himself momentarily distracted by your pissed off tone, and the use of his name without a nickname or pet name. He likes you calling him by some form of a cute or affectionate moniker far more than just plain, unadorned Minghao.

"We still have a couple more minutes," he retorts, mirroring your tone even as his hand slides down to lace your fingers together.

His eyes are heavy on you, his expression intense even as he takes an unabashed, close-up look at your face, studying the weariness in your expression, and the strain that's clearly weighing down on you.

He makes a move to reach down, his gaze on your cheek, to brush away a strand of stray, loose hair. His heart lurches when he sees the way your expression softens subtly, even when you're still trying to be mad at him. The way you immediately intertwine your fingers in his— God.

"We look very suspicious right now," you say dryly, your free hand gesturing vaguely to the fact that Minghao practically has you pinned against the bathroom wall. "Is this what you pulled me away for?"

"We'll make it quick," he manages to reply, sounding slightly hoarse, before closing the already-minimal distance between the two of you, one arm snaking around your waist.

"We shouldn't—" you protest weakly, because there's just some things you can't explain away. Like how Minghao and you might be caught hugging in this bathroom when you were colleagues at worst, good friends at best. "We're going to get in trouble."

"We won't," he responds, his tone firm, stubborn.

His other hand comes up to rest at the back of your head, pulling you in even closer, burying your face in his chest, the other arm still looped firmly around your waist. He lets out a sharp exhale of air, the frustration and tension of the moment melting into something akin to relief.

"Just—" he mumbles, his breath hot in your ear. "Let me hold you. Just a little— for a second."

A small flicker of relief fills his chest when he feels the tension ease as a result of his embrace, the way you lean against him, almost as if you're allowing yourself just to relax. To melt against his body the way you almost never did in public.

When you mumble Mandarin against his chest, your words are slightly muffled. "I'm sorry about earlier," you whisper. "I was really stressed."

"I know," he responds, just as quietly. "I'm sorry too."

This was how it was with the two of you— the quick-tempered arguments, the stubborn disagreements, and then the inevitable apologies that always followed. Minghao knew he was stubborn, maybe even a little irritable, and he would admit that he could've handled his response better.

But, for some reason— in the moment, at least— all of that tension that had been between the two of you in that moment just evaporated in the embrace. "You're working yourself to the bone," he mutters quietly, into your collarbone.

He knows how hard you work, in general, but it's become increasingly worse as of late. The endless translation, the interviews, the subtitles and scripts. It all seemed to be getting too much, even for you.

"I know it's not my place to tell you this but—" he continues, his voice becoming even more hoarse and heavy in worry. "You need to take better care of yourself. You can't just keep pushing yourself like this. Not like you've been doing. You're going to burn out at this rate."

It's just the way the two of you were— you, the overworked, over-stressed, and over-tired, and him, almost constantly worried about your general well-being, worried about you working yourself to actual exhaustion.

The moment you gently run your fingers through his hair, he instantly melts against you even more, practically nuzzling against your shoulder.

"You do have some right to tell me this. We're friends," you sigh, tilting your head to press your lips to the side of Minghao's temple. "And you're right— I'll look into taking a medical leave for a bit, once we get back home."

"Good," he responds, his voice quiet but firm. "You need a break. And I—" he pauses, hesitating.

He doesn't like seeing you like that, he wants to say. He doesn't like seeing you so tired and so stressed every day. He doesn't like how you barely have any time together anymore. He doesn't like seeing you overexert yourself so much.

He stops himself from saying it out loud, instead letting out a soft huff before continuing. "I really worry about you, you know?" he mutters against your shoulder.

"I know, xīngān," you respond, slipping into Mandarin in a bid to comfort Minghao a little more. A beat. And then, ever so quietly: "I worry about you, too."

You slide your hand up and down his back. "We're both fools," you whisper with a slight huff of laughter.

"Yeah," he agrees with an exhale of a laugh at your last words. "We are both fools."

But we're fools for each other, his mind unhelpfully reminds him as he dares to hold you for just a moment more.

He just has to go and mess it all up by insisting, "I wish you’d let people take care of you."

People, meaning him. He had meant to say I wish you’d let me take care of you, but instead something entirely else came out. He knows he ought to back down the moment he feels you tense under his grasp, but Minghao was nothing if not adamant.

"I don’t need to be taken care of," you persist.

Minghao huffs into your hair. "That’s bullshit and you know it."

"Hao—"

"It’s not a sign of weakness—"

"You keep treating me like—"

"I’m not—"

"Minghao!"

You’ve all but pulled away now, your earlier softness replaced with a new kind of tension. It’s not the same tiredness from being overworked; no, it’s the frustration of the two of you trying to speak over each other. The push and pull of your words. Your mutual inability to communicate just what you mean.

Minghao’s fingers ball into fists at his sides to hide his almost trembling hands. It’s all he can do to keep himself from reaching back out for you.

"I'll go ahead," you whisper decisively, your gaze fixed on the door. "I'll see you at the magazine interview."

An almost visceral, physical pain shoots through Minghao's chest at the mention of you leaving. His mind screams no, don't leave, don't go. But he swallows down his own irrational, impulsive desires, his own selfish longing for you.

"I— yeah," Minghao responds slowly. "I'll meet you there."

He watches silently, almost helplessly, as you make a beeline for the door.

The interview is with NYLON JAPAN. You interpret and translate for both the interviewer and the boys, once again acting as an off-camera presence— an intent, constant figure quietly relaying questions and answers.

There's some benefit in SEVENTEEN being thirteen members strong. That way, Minghao is in the second row, some distance away from you. If you avoid his gaze, it almost feels negligible.

For the duration of the interview, Minghao can hardly concentrate on the questions and answers being traded between the members and the interviewer. His focus is firmly drawn towards you.

He can't help but glance in your direction every so often. Every time your gaze accidentally meets his, it's like a jolt of electricity straight to his chest, his stomach clenching at the painful realization of how close you are and how far away you feel.

When the interviewer begins to ask member-specific questions, you do your job as well as you always do. The first two are for Seungcheol, then Chan. And then, of course, there it is.

You nod a bit as the interviewer poses his question. "Jun and Minghao," you translate, your voice wavering imperceptibly on the second name. "You two are the members that have given up a life in your home country in exchange for being an idol. How are you able to cope with that?"

As you translate Jun’s answer to the interviewer, Minghao can hardly focus on the actual words he's saying. He’s only half-listening as he watches the subtle flutter of your eyelashes, the slight parting of your lips, the crinkle in your forehead as you concentrate hard on getting the Japanese translation perfect.

His chest feels tight, like there's a band wrapped around his entire body, constricting his airflow.

When your gaze finally moves back to him, locking eyes with his own, a rush of breath leaves his lungs, his heart jumping in his throat. The look in your eyes, the distance between the two of you— it’s nothing short of exaggerated.

For a brief moment, he's not answering a question for a Japanese magazine interview. He's answering a question for you.

"It's hard," Minghao answers, his voice quiet and low, somewhat hoarse. "It’s really hard and lonely sometimes."

Every word that leaves his lips feels like a struggle to get out, like they're getting stuck in his throat, choking him.

"But I have the members, and we have the fans," he continues, a quiet yearning in his eyes. "And so it’s bearable," he says, despite the pit still present in his stomach, despite the ache of needing more.

He keeps his gaze focused on you, letting every word he says hold a meaning beyond the answer to the interviewer’s question— as if he’s answering for you and not the interviewer. But he has to keep his words vague, just in case those damned cameras picked up on his words and the way he looks at you.

"It's bearable," he repeats, swallowing hard, letting his eyes convey what he really means, even if his words can’t. You make it bearable.

There are some things that don't need to be translated. The pinched look on Minghao's face. The way he's openly staring at you. The subtle shift among the members— all of whom seem to pick up on something Minghao isn’t saying.

"Is that all?" you ask Minghao in Korean, your voice steady as ever despite the flicker of emotion in your gaze.

That aching, yearning expression is still present on his face as he responds.

"Yeah," he says. "That’s all."

Minghao's phone is tucked under his pillow, the device set to vibrate.

He jolts awake the moment it begins to buzz, a habit he had grown after years of being under the spotlight and on the road. His hand flies out to grab the phone.

His eyes bleary, he blinks a few times to clear his vision. A slight smile involuntarily tugs at his lip when he sees your message, his eyes skimming over the contents of it several times.

i'm sorry about today. (yesterday, technically?) i hope you're resting right now. ily.

"Idiot," he murmurs quietly to himself.

You don't have anything to apologize for, he replies quickly. It's not your fault. I'm the one who should be sorry. I should've been more patient with you.

How are you? Are you okay?

i'm ok. fell asleep on the couch and woke up suddenly. but did i wake you? it's so late. you should be asleep.

A quiet sigh leaves Minghao's lips as he reads your response, a part of him feeling a pang of guilt, as if knowing he was the reason you were awake right now.

You did wake me. But don't worry. I'm glad you texted me. Can you call me?

A beat.

let me just step out onto my balcony so i don't wake my roommates.

The image of you carefully sneaking out onto the balcony to talk, just so you wouldn't wake your roommates, briefly flashes through Minghao's mind. It reminds him of his own sleeping roommates a mere few feet away from him.

He sighs softly, quietly pulling himself out of bed, careful to not disturb Mingyu and Jun as he quietly makes his way out into the balcony from the door to his left.

The air is cold and the night sky is clear. Those are the two of the three things Minghao registers when he steps out on the balcony of his hotel room. The third thing comes after you call him and there’s a slightly amused edge to your tone as you say, "Look to your right, xīngān."

He turns to look to his right just as you asked, his eyes searching the balcony area in the distance. He can't quite make out any details on your figure in the low lighting, but when his eyes finally land on you, his heart skips a beat all the same.

"Found you," he murmurs.

"I didn’t mean to wake you," you say softly. "We could have talked in the morning, you know."

"I know," Minghao responds. He leans against the railing of his own balcony, the metal cold to the touch, his eyes fixed on you. He's sure you can't see him clearly, but it doesn’t matter at this moment.

He was looking at you, and that was enough.

"I wanted to talk to you," he says simply, the words said without a trace of shame, just quiet honesty.

"What did you want to talk about?" you ask, giving him the liberty to set the pace for tonight, to pick and choose his battles.

There are a lot of things Minghao could say right now, a lot of things he wants to say. But instead, he settles for, "How are you?"

"Better now," you say simply, your gaze still fixed on Minghao in the distance. And it's the truth, even if the second half of your answer goes unspoken. Better now, that you're talking to him.

He stands there silently, still watching you from a distance. Despite his earlier confidence in talking to you, he's suddenly feeling uncharacteristically timid. Tongue-tied, almost, with his words caught in his throat. He can’t bring himself to speak for a moment, a part of him still feeling guilty about earlier.

He swallows the tightness in his throat, taking a deep breath, before finally forcing the words out. "I'm sorry," he mumbles. "For what happened in the bathroom."

Perhaps it's the years you’ve known each other, the herculean task you’ve both faced. But Minghao and you know better than anyone that things were so easily lost in translation, that there’s only so many emotions that can be grasped in all the languages of the world.

"We just have to get better at using our words, I guess," you sigh.

Something in his chest settles at your response— at the understanding in it, at the fact that you don't hate him. The knowledge washes over him like a sudden warmth, the guilt he'd felt earlier slowly evaporating with each passing moment.

"We do," he replies quietly.

There's a comfort, still, in being just a couple of balconies away. How you can make out each other's vague silhouettes in the late evening of this foreign country.

It feels like you're standing on the precipice of something, of possibility.

But instead of confronting it, you opt to dance the line a little longer. Your eyes are still trained on the sky as you slip into Mandarin.

"The stars out here are so clear, xīngān," you muse thoughtfully. "It's beautiful, don't you think?"

The change in language registers quietly in Minghao's mind, his brain taking a second to get used to it after speaking in Korean and stilted Japanese most of the day.

He looks up at the night sky for a moment in quiet contemplation, taking in the beauty of the stars as you'd described them, before turning his gaze back to the shadowed outline of your figure in the distance.

Something about the sight, about you, makes his heart ache a little bit. Beautiful, you had said about the stars, but he’s not looking at them.

He responds softly, longingly, in Mandarin, his voice almost a whisper in the night air. "It really is."

The next day, you both get on separate flights back to Seoul. As Minghao had poked and prodded you to do, you finally take the medical leave from work— a one-week block, which was the longest you’d ever gone away from PLEDIS since you first started nine years ago.

Roughly three days into your break, Minghao is in dance practice when he feels his phone buzzing in his pocket. He frowns when he glances at the screen and sees your name.

can i call?

The sight of the message, so unlike your usual lighthearted air, makes his heart drop instantly in his chest. There's no text-speak, no cutesy words, no emoji— just a simple question. He drops whatever he's doing, ignoring the questioning stares from the members as he steps out into the hallway and quickly dials your number without a second thought.

"Xīngān," he greets you, a little breathless from the rush he'd felt upon seeing your message. There's a hint of concern in his voice as his heart races in his chest, his mind whirling with thoughts.

He doesn't even bother with pleasantries or small talk, diving straight into the issue at hand. "Is everything alright? What's wrong?"

Much to Minghao's chagrin, you bother with pleasantries. "Hey," you say back in Mandarin when he greets you. For a moment, you hesitate; like you're not quite sure which language you want to speak to Minghao in.

"I'm sorry," you say in Korean. "Did I bother you?"

Minghao shakes his head even if you can't see him. He's silent for a moment, mulling over his words before replying, "No. Never. You didn't bother me, xīngān."

The words are uttered quietly, his voice soft and gentle, as if he's afraid that the volume of his own voice might somehow scare you away.

"I finally visited a doctor for my back," you say, finally. "It's a herniated disc, and I'm being slotted in for a surgery in two days."

His heart drops into his chest at your admission, the words feeling like a sudden weight upon him. Herniated disc.

The words feel like a sudden strike to his heart, his mind racing with questions and concerns. "A herniated... disc," he repeats, his voice a little breathless, a little shocked, as he quickly tries to process what he'd just heard.

He doesn't realize he's switched to Mandarin, his own words spoken in a rush. "How bad is it? What are the doctors saying?"

You stubbornly stick to Korean, likely because it's easier to accurately relay your medical results in the same language you'd received them in. "It's not bad," you say firmly. "The operation is an open discectomy on my lower back. It will take at most an hour, and I'll only need to stay in the hospital for up to three days."

There's a flicker of irritation in Minghao's eyes at your insistence to continue speaking in your language, frustrated at the lack of comprehension and understanding it brought. He wants to protest, to argue, to tell you to just use Mandarin— but it disappears when he hears your firm voice, when he realizes what it is you're telling him.

An hour-long operation. Three days in the hospital. It didn't sound bad, per se, and logically, he knew that you would probably be fine. It still didn't make him worry any less.

"What are the risks?" Minghao asks after a moment.

Normally, he would have just looked up whatever answers he wanted, searching it up in medical databases and online articles. But, for some reason, he's suddenly terrified to hear anything other than the sound of your voice— your words, reassuring him that everything will be okay.

"No change to the back pains," you rattle off. "A five to fifteen percent chance of a revision discectomy if the herniated disc returns. A lower chance of an unstable spine. It's— they're truly not bad risks, Hao."

"Five to fifteen perc— no, that's not a 'truly not bad risk'," Minghao counters immediately, his voice sharp and frustrated, as if scolding a child that was being too nonchalant.

"You— it's surgery, xīngān—" he continues in Mandarin, his tone almost pleading. "Five to fifteen percent chance— it— what if something goes wrong?"

He feels a little bit frustrated at his sudden loss for words in both languages, as if his own limited vocabulary couldn’t express the rush of emotions that had suddenly overwhelmed him.

"Hey," you say softly into the receiver, this time switching over to Mandarin. Because it had always been more soothing to him, more familiar in the sense that mattered. "Take a moment and breathe for me, xīngān."

There's a sense of calm that washes over him as he finally hears the change in language. He takes a deep, shuddering inhale, followed by a slow exhale, his eyes squeezed shut as he mentally counts down seconds.

Slowly, the panic, the fear he'd felt gradually starts to subside, leaving his heart and breath steadier— but not completely unbothered.

After a moment, you go on in Mandarin, calm and measured. "It's a surgery with a high success rate of sixty to ninety percent," you maintain. "I need it to address the persistent back pains, xīngān. If I don't do it now, the pain will only get worse and more of my spine could be affected."

You pause, letting the words sink in. "These doctors are good," you go on. "They do their job well."

Minghao takes several more slow, steady breaths as he listens, the sound of your voice alone calming him down, helping him keep his mind clear and focused. He knows you're speaking to him in Mandarin because it's easier to communicate with him this way, but he can't help but notice the subtle firmness, the reassurance in your tone.

The statistics, the numbers, the facts— they're hard to deny, and as he takes another shaky inhale and exhale, he realizes that you're right. "Sixty to ninety percent success rate," he repeats to himself, his voice a soft murmur.

"Sixty to ninety percent," you reaffirm. Then, in a more shy tone, you add, "I'm sorry for springing this on you. I— I just didn't know who else to call."

He notices it then, the meekness in your words, the small hint of vulnerability in your voice. Any remaining anxiety he felt from the situation suddenly dissolves with the realization that you needed this.

You had called him because you’d needed to hear a familiar, comforting voice, a sense of reassurance after what you'd just confessed. He swallows back his fears, his worries, any thoughts about the risk and that lingering, unpleasant feeling in his chest, because you needed him to be calm, to be steadfast.

"Don't... Don't apologize, xīngān," he says almost immediately after. He swallows again before continuing, mentally berating himself for letting his anxiety and irrational fears take over his brain. "No, don't— I'm glad you called. I'll always pick up the phone."

"Are you free tomorrow?" you ask tentatively. "We could grab a meal before I have to check into the hospital."

As he hears the question, his mind immediately begins to run through his schedule for the next day.

He knows what he should do. He knows what the logical part of his brain, the part that's in control of his rationality, is supposed to do. But when he thinks of you— of you, in the hospital, waiting to undergo a surgery (it's safe, it's a safe surgery, he chants in his brain) alone, without him—

"I'll clear my schedule," he tells you.

"No, you don't have to," you say quickly, falling back on Korean in an attempt to express your haste. "It's okay. We can just meet once the operation is over—"

"I'm clearing my schedule,” he repeats, his voice firm, final. “I’m going to be there. We’re eating before the surgery, and I’m going to be at the hospital with you afterwards. I’m not letting you go to the hospital alone."

A beat. While there are things that Minghao and you have yet to clear about the nature of your friendship, one thing stands true regardless of label.

"You're too good to me, Xu Minghao," you say softly, shifting to his mother tongue for the sake of sentiment.

He lets the sound of your voice, the familiar language, wash over him. As it does, it soothes the anxiety that still gnaws at the corners of his mind.

"It’s…” he begins quietly, a small, almost sheepish smile forming on his lips, “not really…”

There’s a moment of silence before he sighs softly, his expression growing more earnest as he continues. “Being good to you is the easy part.”

"And it’s xīngān, not Xu Minghao," he adds quickly, and he’s sure you can hear the pout in his voice.

It draws a laugh out of you— one that's still quiet, but a lot more genuine. A moment of levity. A brightness that only Minghao could truly give you. The sound of your laughter, even over the phone, is enough to lift his spirits, his heart swelling in his chest in relief.

"Xīngān," you amend, and your voice is just a little too fond to be friendly.

For a moment, Minghao can convince himself that all will be alright in the world again.

The discectomy is relatively uneventful, which can only mean that it was good. There's no way of Minghao knowing this, of course, not as he spends the entire morning in a group meeting he can't really skip.

Regardless, all the members can tell that Minghao's heart isn't really in it. That he's physically at the PLEDIS building, sure, but his mind is on you— somewhere in an operating room, under anesthesia.

Seungcheol broaches the topic carefully. "Ah, it’s their surgery today, isn’t it?" the leader asks almost too casually, to no one in particular. There's a murmur of agreement across the table of thirteen boys. Some shifty, knowing glances at Minghao.

Minghao nods in response to Seungcheol's question, his expression still entirely too… anxious. "Yeah," he replies, keeping his voice as controlled as he possibly can, even as he feels his dread build up inside of him. "I'll be going to see them, after this."

It doesn't go amiss to anyone that Minghao doesn't even bother to extend the invite to anyone else. Jun is the only one who looks vaguely miffed about it, but they're all mostly understanding of how different Minghao felt with you compared to their own concern, their own affection.

Joshua offers the next best thing.

"I was thinking we could chip in to send flowers," he says, and there's easy assent across the group. Minghao feels a small flicker of warmth in his chest at the thought of how you'd receive these messages of their care and concern.

As Vernon and Jeonghan debate what arrangement to send, Jun throws a glance at Minghao and almost smiles. Almost.

"What flowers did you get them?" Jun says in Mandarin, so no one else in the room can pick up how quickly the other Chinese man had clocked that Minghao was already three steps ahead.

Minghao glances over to his friend, his expression unreadable, as he answers in the same language. "Sunflowers," he replies, not missing a beat.

Jun can only smile faintly at Minghao's answers. "Sunflowers for your sunshine," Jun teases good-naturedly, still in the tongue that none of the other members will understand.

There's something about the way the Mandarin word for 'sunshine'— yángguāng— that sounds just so right. The Chinese term falls from the older man's lips like a blessing, a wish for good luck and health and goodness for all those involved.

Minghao isn't sure if he'd imagined it, not exactly, but he sees the way Jun looks at him right after he says the word. For a split second, Minghao's chest tightens, his throat clenching up, because maybe Jun thinks his feelings for you are obvious.

Maybe Jun thinks he's been obvious all this time. In his head, Minghao had already been thinking it— yángguāng, sunshine, mine— And it's only now that he realizes that he was never the only one who saw it that way. That saw you and Minghao as something inevitable.

He glances at Jun, eyes softening, filled with almost a wave of gratitude.

"Sunflowers for my sunshine," he repeats, hoping it will somehow manifest like a prophecy.

You wake up after your operation with one less disc in your spine and one too many floral arrangements in your hospital room. As you blink against the vestiges of your anesthesia, you register the absurd, almost comical amount of flowers piled on the couch, and it doesn't take you more than a couple of seconds to realize it came from the boys.

One of whom is dozing off in a chair next to you. You watch with mild amusement as Minghao's head dips in his restless slumber, his fingers still surprisingly firm around the bouquet of sunflowers in his lap. The affection you feel for him then threatens to overwhelm you.

You manage to tamp it down in favor of gently prompting, "Minghao."

Your voice is still hoarse, still a little rough around the edges. Not quite enough to rouse him from his sleep. After two or so more attempts, you go for what you know will wake him up.

"Xīngān," you call out with no shortage of fondness.

The sound of your voice jolts Minghao awake, and he opens his eyes in an instant. For a moment, his vision is still blurry, the world around him seeming almost vague, fuzzy with sleep, but then it snaps into focus when he sees you.

When he sees you awake, alive, and looking at him. His heart does somersaults in his chest.

"Yángguāng," he answers, his voice low, soft and affectionate, barely above a whisper.

"That's a new one," you say in Mandarin; your voice is still scratchy, but your amusement is not any less evident.

He thinks he'll never get tired of watching that. Of watching your lips move that way. "You like it?" Minghao asks.

He doesn't need an answer to his question, because he already knows that you do— but he can't help himself, needing the confirmation, needing to hear your answer. The thought of calling you 'sunshine' isn't a new one, but saying it out loud to you for the first time, when you're awake? It feels like a miracle.

"I could live with it," you answer with a soft smile— even though both Minghao and you knew that you would now never be able to live without it.

Minghao wants to laugh at the way you shrug his question off, at the way you seem so nonchalant, even as you give him that sweet, sweet smile that is so bright that it could rival the very sun itself.

Because he knows the truth. He knows you're happy about it. He knows you love it. He can tell it in the way you're looking at him, in the way your eyes glitter with affection.

"I'm glad," he answers, playing right into your charade because he knows every little trick in your book.

And then, in a fit of bravery— one that he almost feels like applauding himself for— he leans in to press a kiss to your temple.

When he pulls away, the bouquet of sunflowers still clutched in his hands, he's sure he can see it. The happiness in your eyes. The sheer, blinding affection in your smile.

"Thank you," you whisper earnestly. Partly because your voice is still shot; partly because you don't trust yourself to speak any louder. "For coming to see me."

He has to swallow hard to regain control of his emotions, because he is so terribly, terribly in love. He laughs under his breath because he's not sure what to do about his feelings anymore. Maybe it's best to just throw himself off the cliff and see what happens, right?

"I'll always come see you," he answers, instead, making a promise for the future.

He leans in again with that thought on his mind, and he presses another kiss to your temple, softer, longer, his lips lingering against your skin for just a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

He pulls away to meet your gaze, and he almost feels like laughing at the way he can see his feelings reflecting in your eyes, shining in the pools of your irises. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you. How is he going to live with that?

Minghao leans in again, but this time, he kisses the corner of your lips, right where your smile is.

And it's astounding, really, just how terrible Minghao and you still are at this whole thing. Despite all the years between you, you still falter and stumble in getting your feelings across.

There was always something. A job to do. A reputation to uphold. And now, a hospital bed, a recovery period.

But, for once, you can only laugh breathlessly as Minghao gives you two more kisses, as you feel the upward curve of his lips against your face. Your heart stutters at the peck on the corner of your mouth; it's not quite what you both want, what you both need, but you'll take it. God, you'd take it.

"Stop that," you try to chide in between your giggles. "Get off me, Hao—"

The sound of you laughing is like a revelation in Minghao's chest. As if a chord of tension that had been strung taut within him for so long had been cut.

He pulls back with a look of satisfaction on his face, that teasing grin playing on his lips as he does. "But why?" he asks in an absolutely, unbearably sweet tone, a tone that is laced with faux innocence, even though he knows why. You were recovering. You had to be careful.

A part of him is almost glad he hadn't kissed you properly. Because if he so much as feels the softness of your lips against his, he's not sure he'll be able to stop.

But God, does that make him want it even more— the fact that he can't, the fact that you're so close and still beyond his grasp. He forces himself to look elsewhere then and his gaze falls to the bouquet on his lap, to the flowers he'd brought you.

Sunflowers, because he doesn't think they make flowers that even compare to the brightness of your smile, or the way your eyes glitter when you laugh— at least, not flowers that make him think of you and you alone.

He holds the bouquet out to you. "Do you like them?" he can't help but laugh. He had chosen them and bought them for you, and yet, in true Minghao fashion, he finds himself still asking for your approval.

"I love them," you say easily, readily, already reaching out to take the arrangement from Minghao.

Three sunflowers in full bloom, flanked by chamomile and irises and baby's-gypsophila. Your smile is bright and wide as you look down at it, as you hold it delicately.

When you look back up at Minghao, there's that touch of amusement again. That tinge of disbelief that seems to wordlessly communicate, I can't believe you.

"You didn't have to," you point out with a low chuckle, shifting slightly in your hospital bed as your fingers go imperceptibly tighter around his flowers. "But thank you."

The sight of the smile on your face is enough to almost make him want to kiss you all over again.

It's not the first time he'd given you an arrangement of flowers, but it's the first time it's made Minghao feel like he's just given you his heart, too.

"No, I didn't," he agrees lightly, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the very tips of his fingers brushing against your soft skin. But I wanted to.

The boys all come to visit, one after the other. In small groups, in age order, until they have to be kicked out for being too noisy and potentially drawing too much attention to themselves. There are doctors, too, and nurses. All of whom are a little shell shocked at the idols just milling about in your hospital room, making themselves at home.

Throughout it all, Minghao stays. His usual quiet, steadfast presence. He absorbs all the diagnoses; he tells off his members when they get overwhelming. And, when no one's looking, he'll squeeze your hand or press his fingers into your shoulder.

As always, there are some things neither of you have to say out loud.

He's more than happy to play the role of your protector, even as he continues to worry, even as he's filled with dread over the possibility of you not recovering fully and what that might mean.

See, Minghao would never describe himself as a man of prayer. He doesn't go to temples nearly as often as he should, though he does go often, and he doesn't consider himself not spiritual.

He finds himself praying anyway. To the universe and whatever is out there, begging for the chance that all of this would work out for you.

But for now, at this moment, all Minghao can do is wait, and focus on the way your hand feels in his— a source of comfort in and of itself.

That's how your mother finds you, actually, on the evening that she deigns to visit.

Minghao is at your bedside, playing with your fingers, and the two of you are debating over something trivial— the merits of adapting dramas into other languages— with your heads bent together. It would've been negligibly friendly if it weren't for the obvious affection in your petty argument, the way you practically lean into each other's touch.

That's why it takes a moment for either of you to register that a third person had entered your hospital room. You look up at the sound of a throat clearing, and you're just about to apologize when you register who the silver-haired woman by the entryway is.

Your spine goes rigid; your eyes, imperceptibly wide. "Eomma," you choke out in a slightly strangled whisper.

Minghao goes still the moment the word leaves your lips, and his mouth goes dry when he registers the figure at the door. He doesn't exactly know what kind of a relationship the two of you had, but Minghao can only hope, for the sake of politeness and respect, that she doesn't despise him.

"Hello," he says weakly, his hand tightening almost protectively around yours in a silent gesture of support before he finally rises to greet her. He bows respectfully, clearing his throat to greet your mother appropriately.

Your mother's scrutinizing gaze flickers over Minghao— everything from his polite bow to the way he had just been holding your hand, moments prior. When she speaks, it's in garbled Korean; there's a hint of a French accent, one that doesn't quite match her Seoul dialect.

"There's no need for that," your mother tells Minghao, referring to his bow. She's aiming for kindness but comes off, still, as cold. It must come with the nature of her profession; you had once mentioned that your parents were diplomats.

Minghao forces himself to stay calm and composed, even as the fear of how your mother may react to him sets in the pit of his stomach. He nods his head, but he doesn't quite dare to look her in the eye

"I'm Xu Minghao, ma'am. I'm here to offer some company," Minghao tries to explain, though he's not sure he's doing the best job of it.

There's a flicker of recognition on your mother's composed expression. The look of recognition in your mother's eyes puts Minghao slightly at ease, but that doesn't quite erase the nervous tension, the anxiety that thrums against the underside of his very skin.

"Xu Minghao," she repeats, and you let out a groan when she sounds just a little amused despite her stoic demeanor.

He waits, just about holding his breath as your mother comes further into the room, stopping in front of the two of you. Minghao shifts awkwardly in his spot, glancing over to you just about nervously, as if waiting for you to take charge of the situation.

"Eomma," you repeat. This time your voice is a lot more level. You try to ignore the way Minghao seems absolutely scared shitless at your side. "When did you fly in?"

There's a detached casualness to your mother's response, almost more like you're colleagues than family. "Just this morning," she says. "I'm staying at your grandparents’ for now."

You dip your head into a nod. There's a pause.

"Minghao is a member of SEVENTEEN," you say, sounding just slightly resigned at having to remind your mother.

The older woman turns her gaze back to Minghao, her eyebrows raised slightly. "I'm aware," she says coolly, an edge of amusement in her tone. When she refers to you, she sticks to your full name instead of your nickname. "How is it working with my child, Minghao?"

"They’re wonderful," Minghao answers without hesitation, his answer almost coming out a little too fast.

He doesn't bother to temper it back, because that's how he feels— and because he believes that your mother needs to know how he feels about working with you, about being around you.

"Kind," he adds after a moment of pause, looking back over to you, just about begging to be given permission to continue, to gush about you.

You look straight back at Minghao, barely resisting the urge to vehemently shake your head. You know him. You know how he wants to say more, would probably talk hours and hours about your role as an interpreter if you gave him the green light.

As you attempt to wordlessly communicate with him through your pointed glare, your mother watches the exchange with growing amusement. Then, just as you always have whenever you wanted to get Minghao talking more—

"I would hope they were kind," your mother says, though she says the words in Mandarin.

When your mother speaks in Mandarin, Minghao can't help the rush of gratitude that floods through him, because that only means one thing— that it was okay, that he was encouraged to say more. And so, he does, a small smile on his lips.

"Kind, thoughtful, patient," he says softly, almost like a litany. "Always on top of things. Brilliant."

There was something about talking about you in his own language that made everything come so much easier to Minghao. "They make us all look bad," he adds with a soft laugh, though there's a hint of truth behind the words. He means it.

You made him want to be better to you, more worthy of you, and not just as a person, either. As a man, too.

You stare up at Minghao, exasperated at how a simple change in language had suddenly gotten him so honest. "You shouldn't say all that—" you hiss at him.

As you go on to tell off Minghao under your breath and he only looks down at you with that completely smitten expression, your mother puts two and two together. One doesn't have to be in the same room as the two of you for too long to recognize it.

Ah, the older woman thinks to herself. They're in love with each other, and they don't even know it.

The expression on Minghao's face as you scold him would be better described as that of a puppy who doesn't quite understand what he'd done wrong. His eyebrows furrow, and as you continue to hiss under your breath, he looks like he simply wants to reach out and pull you into a hug because he can't stand it when you fuss over him.

But he settles for squeezing your fingers once more, his grip tightening, just enough to ground himself when you don't seem to relent in your quiet berating.

After a moment, your mother clears her throat again. It's a habit of hers that immediately gets you to shut up.

"I just wanted to drop by," she says vaguely, switching back to Korean. "But I really must get going. Duty calls."

"Duty calls," you echo quietly, and your mother's gaze softens imperceptibly.

"I'll be back later tonight," she reassures you. Her gaze flickers to Minghao for a moment before returning to you. "I trust that you'll be in good hands until then."

"Eomma," you huff, and your mother looks like she almost might laugh.

Minghao stays still as he watches you interact with your mother, as he watches her gaze flicker back and forth between the both of you. He can't help the slight smile on his face at the look in your mother's eyes, however, because it's almost like approval.

She turns to Minghao, this time. Gives him a once-over. He's jolted when your mother suddenly speaks French. It's not anything Minghao will understand— just a brief sentence that is meant for you and you alone. It's almost impertinent; the words are anything but.

Your smile widens and you respond in the same language.

Your mother gives Minghao a nod. "Goodbye, Minghao," she says in Korean as she takes her leave. "It was a pleasure to meet you."

Minghao is left looking at you, still holding on to your hand. His eyes flicker down to your smile, a grin of his own blossoming on his lips. "What did you say to each other?" he asks, almost immediately pouting.

He won't admit it, but he feels almost jealous. The feeling tides over when you absentmindedly note, "It was nothing."

The smile on Minghao's face turns soft and he squeezes your hand for good measure, still watching your face even as you slump back against your bed.

"You're a terrible liar, y'know." He raises your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against your knuckles. "You know I can read you, right?"

"She asked me if I agreed with the meaning of your name," you say point blank. "And I said yes. Of course."

Minghao pauses, his lips still at your knuckles as he absorbs your words.

He knows what his name means. He's heard it enough in his lifetime. As far as names were concerned, he always considered himself lucky for the fact that he's got a pretty decent one.

Ming, 明, which meant bright and brilliant. Hao, 浩, which meant grand and vast. Minghao— someone bright, brilliant, vast like the sky.

But to hear you say it back to him like this? It feels like a revelation. Like you're giving him a gift, something that he can hold on to.

"Of course," he repeats reverently, his heart a steady thump, thump, thump in his chest.

The subsequent recovery period is a slow crawl. Minghao fusses more often than not. He ensures you're on top of things— physical therapy, check-ups— and is extra careful about anything that might involve your back.

Even as you're given the go-ahead to return to work, he frets, having read through one too many articles about the risks of having a discectomy. How strenuous labor and contact sports are still off the table for the foreseeable future. How, now, four weeks after the surgery, you still ought to be careful with routine activities.

It's as endearing as it is vaguely irksome, especially on instances such as these. The rest of the staff avert their gazes and try not to laugh. The boys look like they're most definitely going to give you grief later on.

Because Minghao is still adamantly carrying your things as you all head to a shooting location for the newest Going Seventeen episode.

"Hao," you say through gritted teeth, right at Minghao's heels as he lugs around your duffel bag. "I told you, I can carry that!"

Despite the slight exasperation in your voice, Minghao can't hide the way the corners of his lips tug into a smile.

He knows exactly what he's doing and he knows how it makes you feel. But he can't help himself; it's too easy to wind you up. "It's heavy," Minghao insists, despite the fact that it's not that heavy, or that he doesn't actually believe that it is.

He’s just being a slight nuisance on purpose, something he does often to get your attention.

"It's not heavy," you seethe, taking extra steps to keep up with Minghao's lithe strides. He’s leading you to one of the company buses that would take all the members and the staff to today's shooting location— some beachside AirBnB along Sokcho.

"I packed it, for Christ's sake. I know it's not heavy," you insist helplessly, reaching out one hand to tug at the back of Minghao's shirt.

He's always like this, pushing and prodding and annoying you to get reactions out of you because he finds it amusing. It's been such a long time since you last properly scolded him, and oh, how he wants you to do it again.

He stops in his tracks, forcing you to either halt in yours or bump into him. When he pauses, your feet keep moving on their own accord. Your face smashes right into Minghao's back.

Immediately, your hand that had been grasping his shirt flies to your face. You clutch the bridge of your nose— feeling a slight sting there, following the impact— as you mumble a low chorus of "ow, ow, ow, what the hell..."

The moment your face smashes into his back, Minghao finds himself doubling over in laughter, his frame shaking as he braces against his knees. The look of pure disbelief on your face is probably one of the funniest things he's seen all week, and the laughter that bubbles up out of his chest is unrestrained and free.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" he apologizes, his voice wavering in between laughter as he slowly tries to regain his composure. "Are you... are you alright? Does it hurt? Is it broken?"

"You're insufferable," you huff before stomping ahead of him, making it a point to bump your shoulders against his as you make a beeline for the bus.

Minghao only continues to chuckle, shaking his head as he follows after you, his laughter never once dissipating. By the time he reaches the bus, he's still smiling, completely unable to hide the way he keeps grinning.

Much to Minghao's chagrin, however, you exact your revenge in the smallest way possible: By settling into a seat next to Mingyu, who's always more than a little willing to jump on Minghao's nerves when given the chance.

"Sorry, Hao," Mingyu sing-songs, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "But I'm calling dibs for the next two hours. There's an empty seat next to Jun, though!"

Minghao only rolls his eyes, clearly slightly miffed at the way you'd just abandoned him for Mingyu in a heartbeat.

He finds his way to Jun's side, plopping down on the seat next to the other boy with an overdramatic, exaggerated sigh. "He snatched her away from me, ge," he whines, glancing back over to you with that same pout still on his face.

"You made her bump into you, Haohao," Jun points out with another roll of his eyes, shaking his head, though there was still a slight curl on the corners of his lip.

"I'm just having fun! You could at least sympathize with me.” There's no seriousness behind Minghao's complaint. It's a tone of complete and utter playfulness, and that only deepens Minghao's smile as he leans back in his chair.

The bus ride drags on, slow and careful, with Mingyu and you chatting about menial things. At one point, he slumps against your side to fall asleep on your shoulder, and you doze off with your cheek pressed to the top of his head. Seokmin takes a photo for posterity purposes.

Jun and Minghao watch from a couple of seats behind, and for a moment, Jun is contemplative.

It's a conscious choice for Jun to slide into Mandarin. The only other person in the bus who might understand it would be you, and you’re knocked out cold. That means the words are for Minghao alone.

"How much do you like them, Haohao?"

The switch in language catches Minghao's attention, especially when he hears the seriousness in Jun's voice. It's enough for him to pause, lifting his head up from where he'd had his chin resting against his knees.

"Too much, I think," he finally answers, with just a slight hint of hesitation.

It's not because he's ashamed, but because he's never been the kind of person to be so open about these type of feelings before. He's not even sure he knows how, sometimes.

"There's no going back now," Jun says, reaching out to lightly nudge Minghao's hip with his own. There's a slight look of concern in his eyes, but he speaks carefully, keeping his voice low as he continues.

"You might be in too deep," Jun continues, his voice a low murmur as he adds. "But I think... if the way they look at you is any indication, they’re right there with you."

The smile that spreads across Minghao's face is blinding, despite the way he turns his gaze down to his shoes. He can't help it— not when his heart is beating fast against his chest, at the idea of you feeling the same way that he does.

He wants it to be true, more than he's ever wanted something to be true in his entire life.

"I should hope so," he says, in an attempt at being flippant, but the way his voice sounds? It would give him away instantly.

When the company bus eventually rolls up onto a gravelly parking lot, the sight beyond the vehicle is one to behold. Sprawling, white sand beaches with glittering waters. The boys are still supposed to film some content, do some challenges, but the prospect of being in somewhere so pretty has significantly boosted everyone's spirits.

Wonwoo rouses Mingyu and you from your sleep. Mingyu chatters aimlessly at your side, only pausing when Minghao comes up to you; of course, the older boy can't resist one last jab.

In full view of Minghao, Mingyu does an infuriating shaka sign in front of his face and mouths 'call me, jagiya', completely unwarranted. It draws a proper snort of laughter out of you.

"Stop it," Minghao whines as he reaches out to pinch Mingyu, though there's no real heat behind his voice. He doesn't even try to hide that smile on his face, not when he catches the way you laugh.

He can't look away from you once he sets his eyes on you. He's never been able to.

He just hopes that you can't tell exactly how in love he is. Because how is he supposed to tell you he's fallen hard?

The day at the shore flies by faster than any of them expect it to, but in the end, the filming is finally over.

By the time the staff tells them they're finished, the sky is painted in beautiful shades of orange, pink, and purple. It only adds to Minghao's already good mood, especially when he gets the chance to steal you back from Mingyu and get you all to himself.

When filming wraps up and the cameramen all begin to pack their material, the boys take it as a go-ahead to treat the rest of the late afternoon as a beach day.

You smile, mostly to yourself, as they break off— to take photos, to go for a swim, to explore the private beach. All the while, you try to maintain your focus on your laptop, your practiced fingers moving across your keyboard.

It's why you're initially oblivious to Minghao's stealthy approach.

Minghao lingers behind for a moment, watching you work. He's already gotten changed, his clothes swapped with swim trunks and a simple black tank top.

He knows better than to bother you while you're working, and so— to your oblivious self— he's content to stand by and simply watch until you're done. After another moment, his expression softness as he sees how your brow furrows in concentration. Minghao steps in a little closer, one hand coming up to gently ruffle your hair.

He almost doesn't want you to get back to work and instead considers pulling you up so you can go for a swim with him. He does no such thing, though, settling for patting your cheek once before pulling his hand away.

You briefly glance up from your laptop so you can flash him a ghost of a smile. There's something to be said about the ways you often communicate without words, how easy it is to just understand.

You dip your head, give a wave of your hand, turn your gaze back to your laptop. A silent, speechless Go ahead, I'll follow.

It's like there's nothing he's not feeling right then— just happiness at seeing a smile, and the way that it feels like there's no secrets between the two of you.

He reaches out to gently pat your cheek once more, his hand lingering for a moment before he pulls away again, turning to make his way out of the tent, the grin on his face still ever-present.

By the time you're done with your work and changed into some proper swimwear, most of the boys and the staff are already in the water. It's in moments like these when you're reminded why you've stayed with PLEDIS for so long— the ways you're allowed to interact, to just be, when there's no cameras on, no job to do.

You linger by the shoreline for a beat too long. Before you know it, you're being swept off your feet. Your shriek of surprise pierces across the beach as Jun easily throws you over one shoulder, his hand respectfully bracing the part of your back where there's still marks from your surgery.

"Sorry, tàiyáng," Jun cheekily says in Mandarin as he rushes the two of you into the water, eliciting laughs from everyone else. He sends you hurtling into the ocean as you scream bloody murder, but you're laughing, still, as you go down.

Minghao is laughing from where he's standing near the shore, still waist-deep in the water. He'd heard you scream, but the second he hears the sound of your laugh he knows you're fine. Instead of rushing to his feet and out of the ocean, he just stays where he is, the smile on his face never faltering.

The sound of your laughter is only made better by the way the sunlight dances off the water, reflecting off its shimmering surface like diamonds.

He watches as you resurface, your wet hair in your face as you gasp for breath, your face bright with a smile, and he can't help the way he feels himself falling, falling, falling.

He wants to swim over and make sure you're alright, but he knows that Jun won't let anything happen to you. All Minghao does is watch, his grin wide and bright, his eyes never leaving you. He's completely smitten, and right now, the others are just going to have to deal with him being even more of an insufferable, lovestruck fool.

The next couple of moments drag on with light-hearted rough housing, with idle splashing and lazy swimming, until Jun has somehow maneuvered you and him towards where Minghao is in the water.

Jun, behind your back, throws his best friend a conspiratorial wink.

Minghao knows that he can be obvious to an almost comical degree when he's in over his head in his feelings for you, but Jun winking is an entirely different story, and he's already a little wary as Jun brings the two of you over in his direction.

Even still, nothing could prepare him for the sight of you soaked from head to toe, the water shimmering on your skin in the sunlight as you near him.

Oh, he's screwed, and he's pretty sure Jun and the others know that.

So he does the only thing he can think of.

Minghao dips under the surface of the water and disappears, ducking under the water for a few seconds before he comes back up just behind you, and reaches out to tickle your sides. If he's going to be an idiot and fall all over you, he might as well try and cover it up with a little bit of playfulness.

"Yah, don't do that!" you cry, already rounding in a futile attempt to stop Minghao. You weren't particularly ticklish, but something about the cool water and the warm breeze has you feeling more sensitive than necessary. Breathless laughter escapes you as you try to capture Minghao's wrists, to stop him from his actions.

Jun quietly pads away with the pleased air of someone having done his job well. Some of the other boys share knowing glances— like they know they ought to intervene— but it's Seungcheol who shakes his head, who wordlessly calls everyone off.

The leader, telling his members in the most subtle way, Let Minghao have this.

There are words Minghao wants to say when you reach for his wrists to stop his actions, to ask if you want to join him in diving under the water with him, but words have never been his strong suit.

No, it's actions that are his strength. And so, instead of asking if you'd like to join him, Minghao does just that, wrapping his arms around your waist and ducking the both of you under the water, the salt in the water stinging his eyes a bit as he opens them briefly beneath the surface.

And then he brings you back up for air, the look on his face almost triumphant as he laughs, shaking his head to rid himself of the water that's plastered all over his hair and face.

When you emerge, you laugh in between gasps for air, and instinctively reach up to push aside the wet strands of hair sticking to Minghao's face. "Look at you," you say disapprovingly, but you're betrayed by the pure, unadulterated adoration in your tone.

"You love this look on me, xīngān," he insists, with that same wide grin on his face.

And, well, he's not wrong. He can see the way your gaze lingers on his face, even as you scold him and ruffle his wet hair teasingly.

It makes him wonder what it'd be like if all the what-ifs were real, if this was a relationship rather than an almost. He's almost afraid to wish for it. As if wanting it too much might break it.

Minghao likes the way that you press close to him, and he keeps his arm wrapped snugly around your waist as you talk and laugh and joke with the others.

It almost feels right, the way you're there next to him. Even though this isn't a relationship, the way that you slot right next to him is comforting because it almost makes what isn't feel more like what it could be.

He wants the taste of you to be something more than just a taste. He wants more than a simple bite.

And so, that's how he finds himself suggesting that the two of you go on a walk together once the sun starts to set. There's a slight flush to his cheeks as he asks the question, a shy little smile on his face as he murmurs it.

He wants a chance to be alone with you. He thinks he deserves that much, especially now, after spending the rest of the day having been teased and prodded and jabbed at by the others about his feelings for you.

"Sure," you say coolly, somehow managing to keep your voice level. "Let me just grab my stuff."

That's how you and Minghao end up breaking off from everyone else, kicking up the sand underneath your feet as you go. There's a couple of jeers here and there; Seungcheol warns you both to be back before dark.

You take it in stride as you go on ahead, your shoulders just barely brushing. Like you're absolutely helpless to the pull of gravity that tries to keep you together.

Once the other boys are out of sight, out of earshot, Minghao finds himself growing slightly less shy as you walk side by side, the two of you headed for a small cliffside pathway.

His gaze is drawn to you rather quickly— to the way the ocean breeze makes your hair blow about, the way you almost shine when the sunlight hits you. The way your hand is so tantalizingly close. His own almost aches to reach out and take yours.

"You know," he says instead, his lips quirking up into a little cheeky grin that makes his dimple show when he sees the path lined with flowers. Some of them blooming, some small clusters of white blooms scattered around the cliffside.

Minghao plucks one of the blooms from its plant and tucks it into your hair so it's just behind your ear. He has to focus to not notice the way his fingers skim your cheek, and God, you're so close.

"I think you look pretty like this," he says, and the words are whispered out like a confession. He picks another of the blooms, and offers it to you, his smile bright, genuine. "Take it. For good luck, maybe."

When he extends to you one of the white blooms with that gorgeous, dimpled grin, you chuckle quietly. You take the flower. You hold it in your fingers for just a beat.

And then you stand on your tiptoes to mimic Minghao's action— tucking the bloom right above his ear.

"You're all the good luck that I need, xīngān," you say laughingly, in Minghao's mother tongue.

Minghao melts, his lips parting in the slightest as he stares at you like you're a vision, like you're something to worship. He's already far too gone on. The moment he feels your fingertips against his skin, he decides he'll never be able to get over you, not if it takes him years to try to do it.

There, the two of you stand, looking at each other with an unspoken, shared admiration, standing in front of a cliffside that overlooks the ocean with the sun setting against it, the horizon all burning shades of amber and orange and red.

This is a moment that Minghao won't forget, and he takes your hand in his, slowly interlacing your fingers together to see if you'll let him.

Just to know that there's a little bit of a chance that his dreams could come true, someday.

Your fingers find purchase in the spaces between Minghao's, slotting there as if it was something meant to be. As if the two of you might have the right.

For a beat, neither of you really say anything as you look out to the glittering expanse of ocean, the sun setting right beneath the horizon. It's a little too picture perfect.

Exactly the reason why neither Minghao nor you dare to verbalize whatever this is, whatever you've been dancing around for years and years. Minghao wants to tell you everything, tell you that he loves you, maybe get down on his knees and kiss your hands, ask you to be his and to let him be yours.

But he stays there. Silent. Holding your hand by your side.

When you head back to everyone— where food is being served for the members and the staff— there's a bit of an exaggerated welcome from all sides. The boys all jeer, and the staff give you side-eyes, but you only shake your head slightly as you peel away from Minghao's side.

The words stay unspoken. The red thread of fate, the one that Minghao so firmly believes in, draws out for another moment more.

As you go to shoot back some drinks with your team, Mingyu sidles up to Minghao's side. The older man presses a sweating bottle of beer into Minghao's hand.

"Still not tonight, huh?" Mingyu asks with no shortage of amusement.

The beer in his hand is cold enough that it would be a little uncomfortable to hold onto if Minghao weren't so used to it, but he simply wraps his fingers around the bottle and takes a half-hearted sip from it.

His lips purse as he hears Mingyu's question, a frown crossing his face.

"No. We didn't talk about anything," he says, somewhat regretfully, because tonight just felt like it could have been the right night to say something. To finally admit how he feels, to finally ask what he wants to ask.

And maybe you would deny him, tell him that you just wanted to be his friend, but he'd take it. He'd take anything if it meant he could stay in your life—

Or maybe you'd even say yes, and he could finally have a chance to prove himself to you.

"Are you going to try again tomorrow?" Mingyu asks, taking a sip of his own beer, his eyebrows raising a little.

Another sigh falls from Minghao's lips and he nods, his gaze softening as he looks in your direction, watching you smile in spite of the way he aches to be by your side.

"Of course I'm going to try again tomorrow," he whispers, and he'll do that for the rest of his life if he has to.

The night drags on with everyone getting progressively more drunk. Soonyoung is reduced to tears at one point, while Seungkwan puts on an enthusiastic, one-man performance of Aju Nice.

And maybe Minghao drinks a little more than he usually does, partly because Mingyu and Jun take advantage of the fact that it's a rare thing for them to be drinking with you within the vicinity.

Minghao's best friends are menaces who want to see what type of drunk he is, who want to see how it will affect the way he approaches you. He's always been quiet when he's drunk— the type of drunk with a slight permanent blush to his cheeks, with a lazy grin on his face, with thoughts too slurred or in Mandarin for most of the boys to understand.

And tonight was no different, with his face flushed from alcohol and his words so slurred that all Mingyu and Jun can pick up is the word pretty over and over, along with a couple of other words in Mandarin. But he's always been honest when he's drunk— almost too much so.

Jun is a bit stressed having to play interpreter for Minghao's drunken ramblings, but it's all worth it when Mingyu tosses his head back with raucous laughter at every word spilling from Minghao's lips, interpreted by Jun.

"This is too much," Jun whines once the three of them have worked through a significant amount of soju. A glassy-eyed Mingyu nods in agreement, though neither of them are as bad as the notoriously lightweight Minghao.

"Haohao, are you going to go up to her or what?" Mingyu teases.

Another slurred word in Mandarin falls from Minghao's lips upon hearing that, his eyebrows knitting together for a moment as he pouts at Mingyu.

It's almost comical to see, to hear Minghao's usually soft and lilting voice falter, all while his cheeks stay a soft pink and his hair is a mess from how he's been running his hand through it.

The thought of approaching you makes his stomach churn, but he knows that he will. After this next shot. Just one more drink.

"Ge, you said you'd only drink one," Jun murmurs, a bit of concern seeping in his tone as he sees Minghao grab shakily yet another shot glass of soju.

Of course, he ignores their warnings for the moment as he downs the shot, his face growing pinker as he shakes his head and pushes himself to his feet.

It takes him a moment to gain his footing, his legs a little wobbly from alcohol, but he gets it. Mingyu laughs so hard that tears come out of his eyes. Jun, distressed, shoots back some more alcohol.

Minghao's vision is a little blurry, but you're just within his sight. And so, with Jun and Mingyu watching from behind, he makes his way towards you.

He's got a lopsided grin on his face, his cheeks a little pink, and he thinks he must be in love in a moment like this.

"Xīngān," he slurs, a slight hiccup following the word as he stops in front of you, his vision still a little fuzzy. He raises his hand to gently rub the back of his neck, his tone a little softer— and a bit more earnest— as he murmurs his invitation. “Can we talk for a minute?”

"Hey, you," you greet, readjusting the flower that he'd placed behind your ear. "Having fun?"

Minghao shakes his head, his lips parting to say no only to dissolve back into soft little hiccupping giggles instead. Of course he's having fun— how could he not, when his love is right there, and he gets to see you smiling and laughing and tipsy yourself?

He stumbles forward, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you in, his free hand coming up to your face as he squishes your cheeks and gives you a bright, gummy smile. "Are you having fun, xīngān?" he asks.

"I'm having fun, Hao," you concede laughingly, resting your other hand at his waist to keep yourself steady. It's— once again— a position that implicates you a little more than it should, but everyone's varying levels of drunk anyway.

This isn't the drunk Minghao, exactly, that everyone has seen. This is the one he so rarely allows anyone to witness, the one who gets clingy and a little emotional. He's usually much more capable of keeping his composure, even with alcohol loosening his tongue and his inhibitions, but he just can't manage to focus on anything but you tonight.

"Come run away with me," he murmurs. He tugs you against his side again, a little less carefully this time. He wants the closeness, tonight, as he leads the two of you over to the chairs loosely surrounding a warm bonfire.

It's mostly the other boys here— Joshua and Vernon practicing an acoustic guitar, Jihoon chatting with the co-producer everyone knew he had a bit of a thing for. They all watch with mild amusement as Minghao drunkenly stumbles over to one of the chairs, single-minded in his ambition of sharing a single seat.

He plops down onto the chair, tugging you right into his lap. He's so close to you then, his lips next to your ear as he wraps his arms snug around your waist, his legs on either side of you, pressing you close against him.

"I missed you," he murmurs, and the words are slurred, warm on the shell of your ear as he presses his face into the crook of your neck and exhales softly for a moment.

He's drunk. And in love. And that's a dangerous combination.

You press your fingers into Minghao's knee, your shoulders shaking with quiet laughter. "How could you miss me?" you whisper back. "I was right there the whole night, xīngān."

He shakes his head, burying his face into the crook of your neck, mumbling softly. "You were far," he pouts, his words a little more garbled than before. He has no sense of personal space right now, with you pressed so close against him, and he's more prone to whine to get his way.

He wants this. He wants you close. He wants you.

"Is that so?" you say sympathetically, the words coming out almost like a coo. "You have me now, though."

"I'm never letting you go," he responds.

There's still an almost childish part of him that thinks if he says it, like this, with you wrapped up in his arms, with your face flushed from alcohol, that maybe you'll stay by his side.

He just has one question that he wants an answer for.

"Will you hold my hand," his words are slurred, his fingers tracing along the small of your back, up, down, back up again, "and look at the moon with me?"

Wordlessly, you reach for his hand at the small of your back and you thread your fingers together. You keep your intertwined hands over your thigh as you lean just a little further into Minghao until he's pressed against the back of the chair and you're practically lying on top of him.

It's easier, this way, for you to tilt your head back and do exactly as he asked. "Moon," you point out with your free hand, the word coming out in Mandarin. Yuèliàng. "It's a crescent moon tonight, see?"

With his arm securely around your waist, he presses closer still to look at the moon together, his words still a stammer as he murmurs, "Yeah. Just like us."

The words have no logic, not when he's drunk and soft and clingy like this. But he's still happy with it.

"Just like us?" you echo, and you briefly wonder if you're just a little too tipsy; if you'd missed a chapter or two about how you could be compared to the waxing crescent. Your eyebrows furrow in mild confusion, though you quickly realize there's no point in worrying your head when you could just ask.

"I'm the moon, and you're the flower," he declares, with all the confidence of his own drunken logic, his eyes falling to look at the flower still tucked behind your ear. He reaches up a hand to brush his fingers against the side of your face.

If not for the alcohol, he might be too shy to admit how pretty you are to him.

"We're a matched set, xīngān," he says.

The smile that breaks out on your face, then, is bright and wide and warm, rivaled only by the bonfire raging a couple of feet away. Your friends are still chattering amongst themselves, completely oblivious to Minghao's bold declaration.

A matched set. And you're just a little out of it, just a little drunk yourself, as you mindlessly link Minghao and your pinkies together. It's a quiet promise on its own. An assurance that this was something that could happen, would happen, at the right time.

"My moon," you concede, calling Minghao with a breathless sort of giggle. "My moon, my xīngān, my Hao."

"I love it when you speak Mandarin," he admits, his words warm against your temple as he presses closer still, his lips a few centimeters from your skin.

He has too much alcohol in his system, too little a filter for his thoughts, and right now, Minghao's world consists only of you and how you look in the moonlight— like some kind of vision, like something he'd write about in a song.

"Say it again," he instructs, his tone gentle. A request. Never a command.

"Which part do you want me to say again?" you ask in Mandarin, because Minghao had said he loved it when you spoke in it and you'd be damned not to give in.

It's all the same to him. The gentle words that come tumbling from your lips— he doesn't need to understand the meaning, he just wants to hear you speak.

Because how you sound when you speak Mandarin is lovely, and Minghao can't help but lean in just a little to drink in the sound of it, his fingers tracing along the exposed skin of your upper back.

He's never cared or loved the way he does when he's speaking Mandarin. But you, when you speak to him, it sounds like poetry.

"Anything," he murmurs. "Just say anything."

You tilt your head back up to the sky, where none of the usual Seoul light pollution is barring you from seeing the stars. When you see the expanse of the Big Dipper, you stick to what you know.

A Korean myth from your yesteryears, one that he hadn’t heard of in his own childhood.

"Once upon a time, deep in the mountains, lived a mother and her seven sons," you start softly, in Mandarin, as per Minghao's request. You tell the story almost in a whisper— the cold winter, the seven brothers, the Jade Emperor of Heaven.

A part of you, in the language that was a part of Minghao.

As you tell the fable, the alcohol settles comfortably in Minghao’s system. He feels sobered by the fact that you’re so close, that you’re indulging him in the way that you always do. So much, he thinks again. You give me so much.

And yet it’s not enough, still. He thinks back to the Korean phrase he once sought you out for. Intuition. Zhíjué.

Your story is winding to a close when he decides to trust his gut, this time. His arms tighten around your waist and he buries his face into the back of your shoulder.

"I love you," he says. Wǒ ài nǐ.

You pause. He can hear the smile in your tone as you respond, "I love you, too." Wǒ yě ài nǐ.

But, no. Minghao is done.

He won’t let this pass, won’t let miscommunication take this away from him. He has spent the better half of his twenties grasping at straws, bridging gaps in languages; this will not be another one of those things that he can’t say. He takes a fortifying breath.

He doesn’t care if you don’t believe in soulmates. If he’s the only one who thinks there’s a red string tied between you two. He’ll subscribe to your credo of destiny. He’ll do all the work.

"I’m in love with you," he amends. Wǒ ài shàngle nǐ.

He says it in his language, because it feels right, but then he repeats it in yours so there’s no room for you to misunderstand. It doesn’t change, anyway. Korean, Mandarin. English, Japanese.

Minghao is helplessly, hopelessly in love with you.

It feels like forever before you respond.

When you do, it’s in Mandarin. "Me, too," you admit, and he peeks at you enough just to see the way you’re gazing up at the night sky. He catches the hint of the smile on your face; the sincerity of which threatens to bowl him over.

You repeat his words— I’m in love with you— in Mandarin, then Korean, then English, then Japanese. Then all the other languages you know.

Minghao resists the urge to tell you to stop, to tell you it’s okay. He holds you tight, laughing quietly, as he basks in what feels a lot like the beginning of something.

It’s okay, he wants to say as you confess to him in Spanish, in Portuguese, in Italian.

I hear you.

I hear you loud and clear.

1K notes · View notes

hannieehaee · 4 months ago

Text

GOODNIGHT N GO

18+ / mdi

summary: having always seen minghao from afar, you always considered him unattainable, with him never interacting with you while his friends brought you around. unbeknownst to you, he had similar thoughts about you, constantly keeping his distance, thinking you must've been interested in his members instead. luckily for you, you had two very meddling friends, too fed up with your mutual idiocy.

content: idol!minghao x hybeidol!reader, reader is mingyu and seokmin's bestie, afab reader, reader is implied to be a 97 liner but its not a huge plot point, acquaintances to lovers, very adorable crushes, assume minghao is a little shier and less social than he seems irl pls, reader is mentioned to have some family troubles, minghao literally courts reader aaahh he's too cute, smut, fingering, oral (f receiving), overstimulation (kind of), dry humping, mentions of pregnancy, penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 9.3k

a/n: this is one of my works im least proud of so pls have that in mind as u read<//3

masterlist | patreon

"C'mon, one more drink."

"Yeah, you can't leave yet, it's too early."

"I have a shoot early tomorrow. I can't be hungover for it," you said for the nth time in the past five minutes.

Currently, you were situated in Seventeen's dorm rooms in the Hybe building.

It wasn't too common for groups to stay within the building, seeing as most people had their own individual apartments or homes outside of the premises, but Seventeen would often frequent their own dorms for hanging out purposes, only ever spending the night if they were too tired to make it home.

As per usual, you were hanging out with Mingyu and Seokmin, with Wonwoo and Seungkwan having decided to also make an appearance. It was quite usual for them to keep you around after work (and even to occasionally steal you during working hours). As expected, the overly extroverted 97 liners of the group had taken you under their wing early after your debut, debuting you as a the only female member of the friend group.

Along with you, there were guys from other groups who had also been blessed with a birthday within the year 1997. This, of course, included Xu Minghao, though he was mostly an honorary member, as he mostly kept to himself and never actually joined in with the group. Even after years of being best friends with multiple members of the Seventeen, you were yet to really get to know Minghao. The man remained a mystery to most of those around him.

This was quite unfortunate to you, seeing as you'd developed a bit of an unrequited interest in the guy. There was something about his calm and confident aura that drew you in. Unlike most of his other members, he had a tendency to keep to himself and keep outside social interaction to a minimum. This had at some point caused you to hold the belief that maybe he didn't like you, but your friends had informed you time and time again that this was simply his personality. However, that didn't prevent you from wanting to seek him out (though never actually going through with it).

This was why despite your previous excuse to leave to sleep in early for tomorrow's schedule had been thrown out the window the moment you spotted certain boy with a mullet walk into the room, rubbing at his eyes as if he'd just been awoken.

"What are you guys still doing up? I thought you'd all be gone by now," mumbled the pajama-clad boy, approaching the couch Mingyu was currently leaning back on and taking a seat next to him.

Subconsciously, you straightened your posture, attempting to appear casual at his sudden appearance.

You could count the times you'd been in Minghao's proximity with one hand. Being honest, you weren't quite sure if he even knew who you were past the general knowledge of your role as an idol.

"Sorry, Hao. We forgot you were staying here tonight," apologized Seokmin as he absentmindedly handed the boy an open bottle of soju.

Minghao was joining in on the drinking, it seemed. Naturally, this caused you to comfortably snuggle into the couch and forget all thought of leaving before having that last drink you had been offered just moments prior.

In front of you was a coffee table and two boys sitting on the couch opposite; Mingyu and Minghao. Surrounding you were Wonwoo and Seungkwan, while Seokmin remained standing and leaning against the counter to your right. Despite your distance to Minghao, you had the privilege of having a seat in which you could stare at him without it seeming unnatural.

"Oh, you've met Y/N, right?", Seungkwan suddenly remembered, taking his usual role as mood-maker to make an introduction if need-be.

Minghao finally laid eyes on you for the first time, giving you a polite smile and a subtle bow of his head, "I think a few times. Hi, Nice to see you."

Returning his gesture, you responded similarly, taking your eyes off him right after and giving your attention to the large boy sitting next to him who was now speaking.

"So, staying for that last drink?", he asked you, holding out a glass for you, giving you the option to take or deny it.

"Sure. Just this one," you insisted, grabbing the glass and taking a sip. Cheers erupted from your friends at your agreement to stay, with all of them seemingly tipsy enough to get excited at such a minuscule act.

On your peripheral, you missed how Minghao continued looking your way, smiling softly to himself as he stared.

"Well, that's the last of them," chuckled Minghao the moment Seokmin began slouching back on the couch, clearly falling into deep slumber.

Only an hour later and all four boys had either fallen victim to their drunken state and lost to the battle to slumber, or had made their way to bed before their dignity left them.

In front if you laid a snoring Mingyu as a passed out Seokmin subconsciously attempted to cuddle into him in his sleep. Not too far earlier, the two other boys had left, leaving you and Minghao as the last standing of the night.

As the night had progressed, rearrangements were made to your sitting accommodations, resulting in Seokmin joining Minghao and Mingyu on their couch right after Seungkwan's departure, leading to a peeved out Minghao making his way onto your couch to avoid the two large men bugging him as they got progressively more drunk.

At that moment you wanted to think it might've been an excuse to sit closer to you, but you knew that was just wishful thinking. It was something that made you giddy regardless, as you now found yourself side to side with him, practically alone in the boys' dorm's living room, — ignoring the two sleeping men across you — nursing drinks as your mutual tipsiness accompanied you.

"They were never good drinkers anyway," you responded with a chuckle, resting your back against the back of the couch as Minghao followed along, head slightly turning to face you.

There was a moment of comfortable silence as you both enjoyed your current buzz. Similarly to you, Minghao had chosen to not drink much through the time he'd joined you and the guys, choosing to nurse a single drink through the night. You'd had two, but found yourself still fully lucid.

"I don't think we've ever formally met, huh?", he mused, nodding in your direction.

"A few times, but you never hang around enough for me to get a word out," you agreed.

This pulled a chuckle from him, "Sorry, despite popular belief, I'm not as much of a social butterfly as my bandmates."

"I don't think anyone could possibly be as social as those two," you gestured to the two boys sleeping across from you, "What? You don't enjoy drinking til losing your inhibitions?", you joked.

"I envy them sometimes. I mean, clearly I've been missing out on a lot," he revealed, giving you an unreadable smile.

"Yeah? Like what?"

"Haven't made too many friends in the industry so far. I keep to myself too much sometimes, I think."

"Well, you could always join us more often. The guys are always inviting you. We'd all love the company," you encouraged, offering him a smile back.

He hummed at you, "Yeah? I'll take your word for that, then," he leaned over to the coffee table in front of you, putting down both of your drinks before pouring two shots and handing one over to you.

"Here," he clinked with you, "To my new friend," he gave you a confident yet appreciative smile, taking his shot afterwards.

"Oh? Okay, then. Sure," you followed along and took your shot, giggling at how easily he turned up his charm, "So, friends, huh?", you asked after you'd both downed your shots.

He shrugged, "Maybe we'll be the best of them, who knows."

After that night with Minghao, — which was spent drinking and reminiscing on your own personal memories with the two idiots you liked to call your best friends — you began to see him more frequently. You didn't get to know each other too much that night, being far too tipsy and sleepy to make it past an hour of alone time with him. However, his frequent presence helped you grow accustomed to him. It was nice to see the contrast between him and Seokmin and Gyu.

The two of you still didn't talk too much, usually sticking to comfortable silences more than anything else. His company was still always welcome, and very much encouraged by the three of you. Seokmin and Mingyu never questioned his sudden desire to begin taking them up on their offers to hang out, simply accepting his newfound presence as a gift.

You hoped that your crush on the boy wasn't too obvious, but as of now, you were pretty sure you were in the clear. Had those two known of your crush, they would've already ambushed you with a million questions about it. There was also the fact that you didn't want to get in the way of what Minghao clearly wanted to be a friendship and nothing more. Sure, he was very courteous to you, but nothing he ever did or said ever gave you any signal that he meant for your interactions to be anything but platonic.

Any outing between you and Minghao was always crowded with your two other friends. Even if any part of you wanted to act out on your crush, it was practically impossible due to their constant presence. The dynamic you'd quickly formed had been nice, though, as it usually consisted of Seokmin and Mingyu as a duo while you and Minghao stuck to one another. Your calm and introverted demeanors went very well together.

Walking side by side during any outing whilst your two friends led the way, too lost in their own shenanigans, you and Minghao smiled softly to yourselves at the other's company. No words were needed as you enjoyed the breeze of the night. You knew all to well that there'd be news articles on your outing, — yet another sighting of the 97's of SEVENTEEN with Y/G/N's Y/N — but it was such a common occurrence that no one truly paid any mind to it anymore.

"Hey, how about we rent a karaoke room to end the night?", Seokmin had suddenly halted his movements, causing Mingyu to bump into him at his abrupt stop.

Turning to face everyone, he looked around to see who agreed with his proposition. You'd already spent most of the afternoon at a restaurant nearby and walked through the streets of a populated clubbing area, so karaoke was not too out of the question in the context of the night.

Mingyu expressed his enthusiastic agreement, turning to you to see if you were down for it too. You noticed Minghao's eyes on you too, giving you an encouraging smile that let you know that he was interested in hearing your response before giving his own.

"How about we head back home and do karaoke there? There's probably already a ton of pictures of us hanging out today," you reasoned, not wanting to end the night just yet but also taking in mind your role as an idol.

Mingyu boo'd at you, "That's boring! I don't wanna go home yet," he pouted, clearly demonstrating how tipsy he currently was.

Seokmin agreed, "We can buy those fruity drinks you like at the norebang, c'mon," he insisted, "Myungho, what do you think? You've never tagged along to the norebang with us, I'll pay," he offered, tugging at Minghao childishly.

Minghao turned to look at you, "Be gentlemen," he scolded, walking over to your side to face them, "If she wants to head home then we head home," he affirmed, rolling his eyes at his friends' exaggerated groans of complaint.

"Thank you, Hao," you nodded at him with a smile, sticking your tongue out childishly at the other two boys.

Seokmin headed over to your side to hold your hand whilst Gyu now stuck by Minghao, walking in pairs of two once more as you turned back to head over to the car you'd arrived in. Looking back, you caught Minghao's eye, also catching sight of a subtle smile thrown your way.

It took you very little to arrive to your apartment, with the two boys making their way in ahead of you as if they owned the place. You couldn't blame them, knowing they were very used to coming over quite frequently. Minghao, on the other hand, stayed behind with you, waiting for you to welcome him in. He was very cordial and reserved, something which endeared you to no end.

Entering, you lost sight of your other two friends, who were probably already situated in the large living room located upstairs, ransacking you of any alcohol and entertaining themselves with your karaoke system. Meanwhile, Minghao continued to follow your slow movements, waiting by your side as you locked the entrance door. His hands remained intertwined on his back, giving him a posture you would only really expect from royalty.

Smiling at you, he nodded silently as if to encourage you to move forward so he could follow you along the length of your home.

"Show me around? Looks like the guys are already really familiar with the place," he suggested with a smile.

"Yeah," you chuckled, "They're here a lot. Wonwoo banned any group hangouts at his and Mingyu's, and Vernon sleeps early, so we never really go to Seokmin's. I live alone and the place is pretty big, so they crash here a lot," you explained, beginning to walk into the entrance hallway, "I'll show you around. It's uselessly big. I mostly have spare rooms for leisure," you explained, walking by the various rooms of what could very well be called a mansion due to its size. Large homes like these were common amongst idols, though many of them usually shared with other members.

"It's pretty," he said as he looked around, stopping by a certain painting hanging on your wall.

"My place or the painting?", you asked, standing to his side, "Mingyu made it," you gestured to the painting.

"Yeah, it looked familiar," he nodded, eyes still on it, "You're pretty close with Gyu," he stated, though it gave you the intonation of wonder.

You nodded at him, "He was my first friend when I became an idol. I probably wouldn't have met most of my current friends if it wasn't for him. He's too outgoing for his own good," you shrugged, reminiscing on how you'd met Mingyu and consequently every other member of what came to become the 97's squad, along with most Seventeen members.

"I can relate to that," he began walking further into your home, with you following along, "He was my first friend in Seoul. Didn't care about the language barrier at all, always tried to make me feel welcome," he seemed to reminisce too.

"Yeah, that's Mingyu," you joined with a smile, "I'd say I'm equally close to Seokmin, though. You? Any favorites?", you joked.

"Hmm, those two? Not really, but like I told you, I'm interested in getting close to someone else," he subtly bumped shoulders with you as he walked, chuckling when you did it back.

"Yeah? Well, maybe I'll have to rethink my favorites also," you smiled back with suggestion in your eyes.

This came to be a common occurrence between you — silent yet comfortable smiles.

Making your way upstairs, you made a stop by a balcony located just before the living room, from which you could already hear Seokmin and Mingyu taking liberal use of through the karaoke you had installed. Sharing a laugh, you and Minghao walked over to the veranda and took in the night's breeze.

"I'm going back to China soon," he suddenly said, "We're mostly on a break for two months while Wonwoo and Jeonghan hyung go through their comeback. I'm sure the guys must've told you?"

You nodded, "Yeah, I went to visit them during rehearsals once or twice. How long will you be gone?" you couldn't help but show your disappointment.

"Sad? We barely met each other," he nudged your shoulder again, "Just two weeks. Been wanting to see my parents for a while."

"Aw, that's nice. I'm sure they must miss you," you coo'd, sniffling at the chilly weather.

"Cold? Wanna head back inside?" he asked, nodding when you shook your head in negation, "Yeah, I miss them too. Love them more than anything. It's the one downside to our career," he went on to respond to your question.

"That must be really nice. I'm glad you get to see them soon," you expressed your genuine happiness at him being able to go back to his home country. He truly seemed like the type of guy who lived and breathed for his family — at least going by how he treated the second family he found with his members.

"How about you? Gyu told me you're on rest. Visiting family any time soon?", he wondered, suddenly shoulder to shoulder with you, continuing to look forward as he leaned on the veranda.

"Uh, nope. I don't really see them often," you mumbled, "It's been a while, actually," you continued, sure your body language told on you. Minghao must've caught on to this, allowing the hand he had resting on the veranda to slide over and next to your own hand, gracing the back of your palm with his pinky.

It was such a small gesture, yet entirely too sweet for you to take in without blushing to yourself.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, letting a moment of silence pass before continuing to speak with that soft voice of his, "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but ... you're always welcome in my home. My mom would love you," he assured.

You chuckled, "Yeah? You sure? You barely met me," you teased by mirroring his earlier statement, returning his gesture and letting your fingers trace his own absentmindedly on the veranda.

"Just a hunch. If I like you, then she'd love you," he reaffirmed.

"Oh, so you like me?", you finally turned to face him, smiling teasingly.

"Thought I was clear about that," he cocked his head in mock curiosity, smiling back at you, "Gotta be more assertive, got it," he murmured mostly to himself afterward, finally disconnecting himself from the veranda and beginning to walk away, stopping to gesture you follow him.

"C'mon, they'll get too drunk if we don't go babysit them," he reminded you, holding out his hand to guide you into your own home — it was a bit ridiculous, but you could tell soft touches and stolen glances were a big thing with him, and who were you to complain?

As expected, the guys ended up staying the night, too exhausted to get themselves off your couch until the following morning. Minghao, unlike them, did not reach a drunken state that impeded him from leaving, but it was silently agreed between the two of you that you did not want him to leave, nor did he want to be deprived of your company.

While the guys stayed passed out on the couch, you offered Minghao one of your spare rooms, something which made you feel slightly excited. Sure, you weren't sharing a bed or anything like that, but you'd still be waking up to Minghao in your home, and that was a win in your book.

Waking up, you headed to the kitchen, finding all your friends gathered in the interconnected dining room as they nursed their hangovers. Minghao had taken the liberty of making tea, smiling at you as he bid you good morning.

Heading over to where he leaned against the kitchen counter, you took the cup from him with a 'thank you,' blushing to yourself when his hand made contact with your hip as you turned around to lean on the counter next to him. The contact had clearly been with the intention to prevent you from hitting yourself against the counter, but it had still been to par with the cordial and charming persona Minghao carried with him, resulting in you swooning over him yet again.

Distracting yourself, you chose to make conversation with the two boys in front of you, chuckling at how exhausted they seemed (though out of their own volition).

"Do you guys have to drink yourselves into a coma every time you come over?" you deadpanned, earning a chuckle from Minghao.

"It'd be more fun if you joined us in blacking out," groaned Mingyu, "Not fair we're the only ones singing karaoke while drunk."

"Did I hold a gun to your head and tell you to chug or you'd die? You're just a sore loser. Not my fault Hao and I beat your score cause you were too drunk to sing," you retaliated, earning a hesitant hum in agreement from Seokmin, who was still silently suffering on the table in front of you.

"Anyways, what do you guys want to do today?", Mingyu changed the subject, "Norebang? Wanna call up Kook and Jaehyun? Or we could go to that Bruno Mars concert Jihoon suggested? Thoughts? Opinions?"

"How are you not dead right now? You drank twice as much as that guy and he's practically dead?" you gaped at him, pointing at the shell of a man that Lee Seokmin seemed to become during hangovers. Meanwhile, Minghao watched you with amusement, quietly enjoying your banter with his friend.

"Hao leaves soon, so we need to take advantage of all the time we have left!" he insisted, "We start promotions almost as soon as he returns and you'll probably be off your break by then. C'mon!"

"What do you think?", you turned to Minghao, "Concert? Norebang, again? What did you wanna do?"

He shrugged, "Whatever you want, I'm down," he sipped at his tea.

Seokmin began to gain consciousness again as he joined the conversation, "Jihoonie only has three extra tickets to Bruno Mars and Nonnie is going, remember, Gyu?", he stressed toward his friend, "And we already agreed we'd go, so you two are gonna have to find something else to do," he frowned, "Sorry, Y/N."

"What do you mean? Jihoon said he had five ti- ow, fuck," Mingyu groaned halfway through his statement, wincing as he hunched over on his seat in what seemed to be pain. Looking over at Seokmin for half a second before responding, his facial expression went from annoyed to normal as he responded again, "Right, I forgot, uh, he already gave out the tickets, sorry. I forgot I already made plans with Min and Jihoon for that," he rasped.

"Yeah, Hao can probably keep you company, though, right, Hao?", interrupted Seokmin, Mingyu nodding along, "We can meet at the afterparty after the concert. Jihoonie can probably get you guys in," he suggested.

As odd as the sudden lack of insistence that you join them at the concert was, you ignored it, opting to just take advantage of the opportunity to get some alone time with Minghao. Turning to your side, you could notice the remnant of a scowl on his face directed at Mingyu, but it immediately turned into a smile as soon as he faced you.

What you didn't notice, though, were the dumb smiles exchanged by your two friends as they watched you and Minghao for the rest of the time spent in your home, often removing themselves from the conversation if it meant you and Minghao got more alone time with one another.

Having any time spent without Minghao after that was practically unheard of. Being mutually on a break of sorts, it was easy to see each other quite often. The guys always enjoyed your company, and even more so that of Minghao's due to how rare it had been for him to join them in outings prior to this, so it was common for you to find yourself near the duo (+ Minghao) a few times a week.

Although you'd sometimes be joined by other 97 liners in the industry or various other members of Seventeen, it was hard to not take notice of the way in which Minghao would gravitate to you almost immediately. He gave you his utmost attention, opening doors for you, ordering your meals for you (with surprising knowledge of your taste), texting you good morning and good night, and even insisting he and the guys drop you off at home any time you hung out.

If you didn't know any better, you'd assume he was trying to show romantic interest in you. However, you had quickly caught onto Minghao's courteous behavior towards everyone in his life. This was something he had even let you in on, telling you about his upbringing and even sometimes apologizing if he appeared too formal for his age. You always encouraged him, however, letting him know how much you appreciated how much of a gentleman he was — it was a nice contrast from your brotherly dynamic with his groupmates.

Trying not to visibly swoon at every act of service Minghao did for you proved to be a feat. Sometimes you'd have to take a breather to hold yourself back from throwing yourself at him. It was pathetic, really, how into him you were within such a short time of becoming his friend. But this was something you had to keep to yourself, not wanting to ever make him uncomfortable or halt his behavior.

It only became worse with time as you spent more and more time together. Mingyu and Seokmin were quite popular amongst idols, each having various friend groups to hang out with during their time off. You were sure Minghao must've also had many friends (despite his claims otherwise — he was too likable to be friendless), but he had chosen to spend most of his time before going to China with you. Claiming your hopes were up would've been an understatement. It was impossible to not want nor hope for Minghao to make a move and explicitly ask you out, but he never did. What he did do, however, was choose you to be the last person he saw before leaving Korea for the following two weeks.

Inviting you over to his place that night, Minghao had let you know that this was his last night in Korea before heading to China for the next two weeks. After having gotten close to you for the past two months, he had decided that you'd be the best company possible for a quiet evening in before departing. You didn't have it in you to even question why he'd pick you over his own groupmates, simply happy to spend time with him with the knowledge that you wouldn't get to do so for a while.

"Sorry for the short notice," he apologized as he approached you on the couch with a glass of wine, "But we've been hanging out so much, it felt natural to ask you over."

You hummed in agreement, "Should I ask why Seokmin and Gyu weren't invited or should I ignore it and take advantage of the extra wine?", you asked as you took a sip of said wine.

"They're too loud," he groaned exaggeratedly, "You're quiet, like me. Your company's too nice to pass up while I can have it," he added, joining you in your drinking.

"You can always just call me while you're there," you reminded him, "The guys call me all the time when they're overseas."

"I will be calling you," he affirmed, "But it's different in person. I'll still miss your company," he shrugged.

"I really did become your favorite, huh?" you teased, "Beat them all for first place in just two months," you were joking, but he still nodded in affirmation, chuckling along with you.

Grabbing onto the wine bottle he had laid in front of you, you went to top him off when you realized his glass was almost empty, only to be stopped by him.

"My plane's in a few hours, I can't drink too much. Being tipsy on a plane is one of the worst feelings."

"A few hours? You said tomorrow," you gaped at him.

"Well, it's 11:38, so it technically is tomorrow," he shrugged.

You sat up straight, "Dude, you should be leaving already. Why are we even here? Should I drive you? I can call my driver, he'll be here in-"

He grabbed onto your shoulders, halting your movements, "Calm down, my manager already had all my things sent over and the airport is only like twenty minutes away," he started with a calm voice, "Sorry I called you so late, we had a short promo to do earlier today, so my day got taken up at the last minute and I really wanted to say goodbye," he explained.

"Minghao, it would've been fine if you just left, I don't want to make you late."

"I didn't want to leave with no warning. It'd be rude of me to neglect saying goodbye to someone I care about," he said in the plain and cordial way in which he always spoke, grabbing onto your hand and tracing it like he had grown a tendency of doing.

Once more, it was hard not to swoon at such a small detail — the insistence in complicating his day only to make sure he didn't somehow make you feel neglected. Most people would've settled with a simple phone call or even just contacting you incessantly he returned, but Minghao wasn't like most people.

You looked down, nodding, "Thank you. That's sweet of you to say."

"I know it's only two weeks, but I'll still miss you. It's rare for me to really get close to anyone in the industry," he explained.

You nodded in agreement, "Yeah, me too. It kind of sucks since I'll be off my break by the time you come back and we probably won't be able to hang out as much anymore," you mumbled.

"I'll still be free. I'll come to you," he reassured, "Maybe we can finally hang out without the guys getting in the way," he smiled, "Just you and me?"

There was a slight suggestion in the background of your conversation. It was somewhat clear to you that you weren't speaking of mere friendship anymore. The moment was tender and suggestive, leaving room for something more. If you were mere friends, Minghao probably wouldn't have insisted in seeing you or been as communicative as he been so far. He wanted to make sure he preserved the friendship through his absence, however short it would be.

However, this was too much to get into knowing he'd be leaving likely within the hour. Instead of getting into it, you simply nodded along, cracking another joke about how loud and all over the place your friends could be. Despite offering to go with him to drop him off at the airport, he declined, insisting his driver drop you off home before he left for his flight. With a hug goodbye, he left you there, promising to call once he arrived and expressing that he'd miss you once again.

After two months of spending almost every day together, you felt genuine sadness at his sudden absence. Maybe it was dramatic of you to feel sad over such a short period of separation, but Minghao just had that effect on people — or at least you. He had taken such a quick interest in you that made you feel like the only girl in the world. It was specially bothersome to know that you'd both be too busy to see each other by the time he came back, but you were happy he'd get to see his family after so long.

With these thoughts, you went to sleep, waking up the next morning to a call from Minghao informing you of his arrival and of how content he was to be with his family. Being the last person he saw and first he contacted made your heart soar, whilst also making you frustrated at the back and forth that had been going on between you since you met him.

You needed him to make a move soon, or else you'd grow insane.

"You know he likes you, right?", asked Mingyu quite abruptly one day.

Only five days after Minghao's absence and you found yourself hanging out with your favorite dynamic duo yet again. Any time you had off was usually spent either with your own group or with them; it was the same for Seok and Gyu, who would always seek you out if possible.

"Who?", you asked despite having certain idea of who he was talking about.

"Boo, don't play dumb, its boring," joined in Seokmin, sitting next to you on the couch whilst the three of you engaged in a somewhat intense game of Mario Kart in Mingyu's living room. Wonwoo had decided to join in this time.

"Who are we talking about?", murmured Wonwoo distractedly as he annihilated the three of you at the game.

"Minghao," they both responded at once.

"Oh, yeah, absolutely," he agreed nonchalantly.

Suddenly you fell off a cliff in the game, having your character be fished away from the precipice and placed back on the race track as you widened your eyes at the statement.

"What? You know? How would you even know?," you rasped, completely caught off guard by the sudden (yet somewhat expected) revelation. You had hoped Minghao would confess to you at some point, or even occasionally convinced yourself it was all in your head. What had been low in your list of expectations had been your friends informing you of his feelings in his absence.

"He talks about you any time you're not around," Wonwoo began with a monotonous tone as most of his attention was taken up by the game, "He never leaves home, yet he's been doing it every day since he met you, he has that dopey smile all the time now. I don't know, it's just kinda obvious," he finished, chuckling when he realized he crossed the finish line.

"If Wonwoo can tell but you can't, we have a problem," said Seokmin, groaning at his loss in the game.

"I don't know," you shrugged, completely ignoring the game now, "We're friends. I know he acts a certain way, but I think he would've already said something if he liked me like that."

"He's just shy. And he's very particular about who he lets in. The fact he keeps coming back means he must really like you," emphasized Mingyu, sitting back against the couch with you.

"We've already been trying to get you guys alone as much as possible, but you're taking too long to tie the knot," added Seokmin, followed by nods from the other too.

"So what am I supposed to do with this information? Do I ask him out or-"

You were met with a chorus of 'No!'s, making you immediately shut your mouth.

"Distance makes the heart grow fonder," quoted Wonwoo, "He'll ask you out once he's back for sure."

Mingyu nodded in agreement, "He wasn't super direct about it, but he implied to us that he would, so yeah, be ready."

The thought made your heart race. How were you supposed to speak to him again after this without becoming a mess at the thought of your crush being reciprocated? Fuck, you even went as far as to wish you'd followed him all the way to China. The two wait week for him to come back suddenly felt like too much.

Both your thoughts and conversation were interrupted by the sudden vibration of your phone, leading three sets of eyes to turn to your direction.

"Let me guess," laughed Seokmin, wiggling his eyebrows at the implication of who may be calling at that moment.

"He never calls me, yet you've known him for two months and you get a daily call," Mingyu sulked jokingly as you went to pick up, ready to leave the room so you could answer the phone, "If you don't realize he likes you, then you're dumb."

"Don't tell him we told you," rasped out Seokmin before you were out of his line of fight, earning a nod from you before you picked up and left.

Walking into the room next door, you sat on Mingyu's bed as you finally responded, "Hello?"

"You looked beautiful today, you know," were Minghao's first words in response, "Gyu sent me some pictures you guys took yesterday. God, you look breathtaking."

You were unaware that Mingyu had sent Minghao the pictures he'd taken of you the day prior in which you went clubbing, something you were yet to do with Minghao as of yet. The implication of Minghao asking Mingyu for pictures of you made you blush.

"Stop flattering me," you groaned, attempting to keep control of your voice, knowing your nosy friends likely had their ears to the door.

"What, can't I appreciate beauty? I'm kind of jealous the guys got to see you all dressed up," he mumbled with amusement in his voice.

"Well, maybe don't leave the country next time," you teased, "I'll tell the guys to take you clubbing as soon as you're back," you promised, "Then maybe you can see me in a dress."

"Oh, is that a promise?", you could hear the teasing lip bite from your end, "Nah, not really a clubbing person. How about I make you dinner? Then you have another reason to wear a dress for me," he suggested.

For him. God, he wanted you dead.

You internally groaned at how smooth he was, "I feel like I should be the one cooking you dinner. As a welcome, you know?," you suggested instead. There was something about Minghao that made you want to throw everything away just to husband him up.

"You don't have to go out of your way. I should be the one treating you, it's what's right," he argued softly, "All you have to do is meet me at my place in a pretty dress, okay? I'll take care of the rest."

"Okay, you wore me down," you whined, "Damn you, Xu, you're good at this."

"Only with you," he murmured back.

The rest of the conversation went as your talks usually did. It was filled with updates from his day to day with his family and your own occurrences with your groupmates and friends. You kept him up to date with the happenings with Seok and Gyu, knowing he was more privy to calling you than them. The unspoken suggestion of you being of his utmost interest remained there, though nothing was ever explicitly said. Even as he asked you to go over to his place, you were unsure if it was meant as romantic date or if that'd come later. It made you giddy, but also far too excited to wait.

The two weeks passed faster than expected. Minghao's absence was barely felt, specially due to how constant his communication with you remained. The good morning messages, pictures, updates and lengthy phone calls never ceased, even consistently interrupting your time hanging out with your two shared friends. Any time you were on the phone with Minghao, you'd be met with teasing looks and exaggerated kissy sounds coming from either Seokmin or Mingyu (occasionally even Wonwoo or any other member who was present at the moment).

You had been completely worn down by both Minghao and his friends. The constant back and forth was enough to make you completely defenseless to Minghao's charm, but his friends' open teasing only made you more and more certain in Minghao's feelings for you.

Today was finally the day of his return, in which you found yourself getting ready to go meet him at his place. You'd insisted in picking him up (knowing Mingyu and Seokmin would also be getting him), but Minghao insisted you stayed behind, telling you he wanted to wash himself up and cook dinner before seeing you — Mingyu would be helping with the cooking.

You were anxious yet excited as you knocked on his door, though unsure if you'd be walking into a group meeting or a one-on-one between you and Minghao.

As soon as he opened the door, he offered you a soft hug, burying his face in your neck before even speaking, "Missed you," he mumbled, humming when you parroted the words back at him.

Disconnecting from him, you blushed when his hand immediately went to your own, leading you into his apartment with ease. His thumb played with the back of your palm whilst moving towards his couch, which had two plates of what looked to be like a luxurious meal — courtesy of Mingyu's cooking.

Sensing your eyes on the food, he spoke up, "Mingyu helped me make it. It's my mom's recipe," he informed you, "I'll let you eat soon, okay? Just ... There's something else I want to show you first, wait here," he let go of your hand as you stood in the middle of the living room, leaving the room for a few moments before returning with a small box.

Walking towards you with an excited smile, he became a little shier once he made eye contact with you. Your hands went up to receive the small box from him, his fingers gracing your own as he handed it over. A slight meeting of shy gazes was shared, but both your eyes went back to the box mere seconds later.

"You got me this? Hao, you really didn't have to," you murmured, opening it and gasping lightly at its content — it was a golden necklace; a little worn, but beautiful.

"It's my mother's," he started, enveloping your hands as they held onto the necklace, "I, uhm, I told her about you, and she insisted I bring this back to you," he explained, smiling down at you as you gaped at him, surprised he'd tell his mom about someone he'd just barely met, "She said I should give it to someone special. My dad gave it to her when they first started dating and she's kept it ever since."

"What?", your eyes widened attempting to hand back the piece of jewelry, "Hao, I- I can't accept this, it must mean a lot to your mom, I-"

He chuckled, interrupting you as he enclosed the necklace in your hands, "Please, Y/N, it's fine," he murmured once securing the necklace in your hold, "Here, at least try it on," he suggested as he gestured for you to turn around, now grabbing onto the necklace himself.

You followed along wordlessly, removing any obstacle from your neck and baring it for him to secure the necklace around your neck. His nimble feelings traced the back of your neck softly, leaning down to practically breathe you in as he adjusted it to perfection. Slowly, his face approached the back of your neck, nose and lips tracing your skin silently. You could feel the breath of his touch grace against your skin, forming goosebumps in its wake.

"You're so special to me, which is why I wanted you to have this," he breathed out, "But you already know that, right? How special you are to me?", he slowly turned you around, face still semi-buried in your neck. It was impossible to make eye contact due to the close proximity between you, but you could tell his eyes were heavy as he stared down at the skin of your neck.

Just as slowly as before, he separated from you, noses practically touching as he finally looked down into your eyes. His hand went up to your chin, making sure you were facing him just like he was you.

"Hao, I-"

"Sorry I waited so long," he chuckled lightly, "I wanted to make sure you liked me back before I made a move. Wanted to make you comfortable and get to know you, but it was hard to hold back sometimes," he explained, eyes going from your eyes to your lips, "Did I already tell you how beautiful you look tonight?", he interrupted his confession with a breathless chuckle as he allowed himself to look you up and down.

"Not yet, but-"

"Sorry, you look amazing. Is it all for me? Or is this reserved for friends too?", he asked as he bit a smile back, letting it break through when he registered your confusion, "I, uh, I used to think maybe you liked Mingyu, but that's not the case right? This is mutual. The guys see it too, I think. I know I haven't been too forward, but you understand my feelings, right?", he questioned, practically breathing you in.

Your breath was heavy at the confession, eyes trapped between locking on his eyes and lips, but eventually remaining stagnant on his lips. At some point, his hands went down and hesitantly made their way to your waist, pulling your body towards his when his act met no resistance.

"Hao, I- I like you too, I thought-," you cleared your throat and tried again, "I thought maybe you only liked me ad a friend, but, fuck, you like me too? I- I need to hear you say it," you let out, shocked any words could possibly come out of your lips when your brain kept screaming at you to kiss him.

Minghao appeared to have a similar idea, choosing to let hid actions speak for him rather than his words. The minute space between you became nonexistent when he kissed you, sighing softly into your lips when your mouth instantly opened for his.

The kiss wad soft and innocent; simply a demonstration of his feelings for you. He breathed out an 'I like you; so much,' into your lips after a few moments, but no response from you was permitted as he locked lips with you once more.

Any softness or innocence left the kiss soon after. It wasn't filthy by any means, but it was unexpectedly intense. Minghao seemed to be reading into your reactions, drinking in any sighs and moans coming from your lips and acting on them by kissing you harder, by slipping his tongue in your mouth, by softly pushing you against a wall and trapping you with his touches.

"Ha-hao," you moaned out between kisses, unsure of what you even wanted to say.

"Is this okay? I'll stop, just-"

You shook your head, cutting him off with a kiss, "Don't stop. Take me to your room," those were the last coherent words to leave you that night, earning a breathless chuckle from Minghao as he held your hand and led you to his room, food completely ignored.

Once in his room, you were led to his bed, though he stopped you before you could get in it, turning you around to kiss you again. His hands went back to your waist, rubbing up and down your back almost innocently. Your hands were the ones to become braver, going from playing with his hair to the front of his dress shirt, toying at the buttons and undoing the first few.

This silent demonstration of need made Minghao's hands become bolder, going down to your ass and kneading it. It was a back and forth. Any time you did something bold, he did too, going from your unbuttoning of his shirt to him throwing off your dress. You quickly ended up in your underwear while he stood in front of you shirtless and with unbuttoned pants.

His lips finally left yours, kissing down your neck and collarbones, heavy breath fogging against your skin while his hands explored your body. Your sighs occasioned groans from him along with mumbles filled with praise.

"You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen," he sighed as he rested his forehead on your chest, taking a moment to breathe you in. Disconnecting himself from you, he finally looked you up and down, smiling softly at you before biting his lip from preventing his smile from growing any bigger, "You're gorgeous ... You're art. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and ... and I want you so bad," his voice grew deeper by the end of his statement.

He gently pushed you down, allowing you to lay back on the bed while he knelt before you. His hands felt the expanse of your legs, mouth gluing to the side of your knee and laying a soft kiss there. Upon noticing your reaction, more kisses joined the first one, trailing up and down your thighs while you looked down at him with a pained look in your eye. He seemed troubled with what he wanted to do first, needing to touch and kiss you all over.

"Can I?" he asked when his lips came far too close to your center, eyes hooded with desire.

No words left you, just a nod, but it was enough for Minghao to push your panties aside and go to town.

With a single lick, he went from slit to clit, groaning at the first contact. No more tentative touches came after that, only a mess of his tongue and lips drowning in you as his arms held your legs to prevent the incessant grinding of your hips against his face.

He ate you out expertly, moaning liberally against you as if the pleasure was all his own. His lips trapped your clit, sucking it in while his eyes rolled back. As much as your eyes attempted to close, you couldn't stand a single second in which you didn't get to see him as he gave you pleasure.

Your first orgasm came quickly, but it never fully subsided as his lips continued to lick and suckle at you, with his fingers even joining in to open your lips up for better access for his tongue. The wet noises were too explicit for you to process, but they only added to your sensitivity. Minghao ignored any whines for him to stop, taking note of how your words contradicted your actions. — your hands kept pushing his head back in while you whined 'it's too much!' at him — Your body clearly wanted more, and Minghao seemed too pleased to provide.

"Cum again," he rasped, "Wet my face and cum," he practically demanded, "You're so beautiful when you cum."

His hips would occasionally cant against the mattress, which made your eyes roll back any time you felt it. It wasn't a conscious nor active action, seemingly only happening every so often when he was too distracted to hold back. It made your stomach cave in, only able to picture how those same hips would likely be hammering into you in just a few moments.

With only a few more seconds of exploring your cunt with his tongue, Minghao happily claimed your second orgasm, licking into you throughout the entirety of your high as he had done the previous time. This time, however, you pulled him away, silently encouraging him to make his way back to your lips and trapping him in a wet kiss.

He practically fed you your own juices, murmuring praise into your mouth as his hips began grinding into your sensitive cunt.

"You were so good for me, sweetheart."

"Tasted so good for me, fuck, taste just as beautiful as you look."

"Yeah? Too sensitive, baby? 'm sorry, angel. Couldn't help myself."

"Do you feel that? I'm- I'm gonna fuck you with that. Is that okay, beautiful? Hmm? You want it, huh?"

He took advantage of every whine and cry of his name that came after each statement, sucking into your tongue any time your mouth would open for him. His hips took no rest either, grinding directly against your swollen cunt as the zipper pressed up against you in such a painful yet pleasurable way.

Pulling away with a low chuckle at your whines in complaint, he threw off his pants and boxers, smiling down at the thirsty look in your eye upon seeing him.

"Want it, pretty?", he coo'd, bringing your hand up to his cheek and turning his face to kiss the back of your palm lovingly, "I'll give it to you, beautiful. Don't even have to do anything, just stay right there, okay, angel?", he said as he reached back to his pants, taking out a condom and wasting no time in putting it on.

He teased you no further, likely very sensitive himself after granting you two orgasms and dry humping you against his better judgment. You made him lose control, and you enjoyed it greatly despite being such a mess under him at that moment.

Entering you, he kissed you, swallowing your gasp of pleasure. He gave you a few moments before silently asking for permission to move, humping into you the moment you nodded in agreement.

As per usual, his gallantry showed once more as his hands found your own and intertwined above your head. His hips moved expertly yet at a pace that could only be described as sensual. The only time his hands left you was to remove your bra, but immediately went back to holding your hands while his lips found their way to your nipples, calling you every synonym of beautiful as he made love to you.

"Like you so much, beautiful," he breathed, his lips finding your own again, "Want to keep you all to myself. Can I? Wanna take you back home and- fuck, and introduce you to my parents," he rambled breathlessly as his hands wrapped around your waist, bringing you impossibly closer, "Wanna give you a ring and a house ... Make you a mom," he groaned at the mere mention, "Is it too soon? Just ... Like you so fucking much."

You wanted to reciprocate so badly, but your mouth would not emit any noise that wasn't an incoherent whine of his name. You opted for nodding enthusiastically, dragging your nails down his back as your orgasm approached.

Like the perfect man he was, he knew when to bring his fingers to your clit, causing your back to arch against him and rob you of the last bit of your voice that remained. You cried his name as your high arrived, gasping hiccups of pleasure that drew him into his own orgasm. Confessions of care and affection for one another were had, though no proclamations of love were made. That would come later, you were sure. Your shared words were enough for you to know the feeling was there.

He gave no time for you to move as he slipped out, throwing away his condom and tucking you next to him as he nuzzled against you whilst attempting to regain his breath. Kissed were laid against any bit of skin available to him, hands pressing you up against him.

"I'll clean you up and let you go pee in a second, just let me keep you for five minutes," he sighed with contentment.

"No complaint from me," you responded, equally in need of his affection, "We still have to talk about what you said, though," you giggled, earning a loving bite from him.

"I meant it," he mumbled, "I know it's soon, but I also know how much I like you. And I know you like me just as much," he said with certainty.

"You'll have to wait til at least the third date for further discussion about impregnating me," you joked, "But I'm not against it," you whispered the last part, earning a squeeze from him as he chuckled along with you.

"Go pee," he said when he finally separated from you, "I'll keep the bed warm for you and then I can finally give you that meal I made you."

Reluctantly, you got up, looking back at him from the bathroom door as he smiled with unfiltered happiness in his eyes.

You practically squealed with giddiness as soon as you closed the door, far too happy with today's events. Unbeknownst to you, Minghao had a similar reaction on the other side of that door.

to read short 2.3k word continuation (+ all other previously written bonus content) you can go join my svt monthly tier on patreon!

content: newbf!minghao, idol!au, hao is down bad horribly, teasing from his members, afab reader, smut, body worship, very soft!!, fingering, penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 755 (teaser); 2304 (full drabble)

sneak peak:

"So, how long did you guys plan this?", you asked as you mindlessly toyed with Minghao's hair, his attention likely in another dimension.

"Since the first time you guys met," responded Mingyu nonchalantly, continuing to press at the buttons of his controller and paying you almost no mind. Similarly, his gaming partners Dokyeom and Wonwoo had their focus at least 90% on the screen rather than on the conversation.

"What, so years ago? We've only really known each other for like five months," you questioned, not believing your relationship with Minghao had truly been orchestrated by the three dummies sitting one couch away from you.

"Six months and two weeks," corrected Minghao lazily, humming at your fingers running through his hair.

"He knows the exact date? God, he's whipped. Kyeom was right about setting you guys up," commented Mingyu with a chuckle.

The conversation felt entirely one-sided, though you knew your friends had developed a finessed skill at gaming whilst still giving you just enough of their attention for a conversation.

Currently, you were the main character of the conversation at hand, seeing as Seokmin had let it slip that he and the rest of your friends had designed a plan play Cupid and form a relationship between you and Minghao. You believed them to be too disorganized and impatient for such a thing, but decided to question them regardless — for entertainment if for any reason.

"Oh, so now it was Seokmin's idea?", you asked with amusement, shuffling to the side of the couch when you sensed Minghao getting up from lying on your lap. Without much effort you morphed into another comfortable position, this time with your legs on top of Minghao's as he cuddled into you, face buried in your neck to nuzzle into your skin.

Your friends had gotten used to your couple-y disposition quite quickly, only gagging at the sight occasionally but never truly bothered by it.

"Yes, ma'am," responded Seokmin in a jokingly formal manner.

"How did this come about?", you continued with the questions while Minghao continued to remain completely disengaged in the conversation, his only interest being the quiet and occasional pecks he could land against your skin.

"Well, it was obvious he liked you from the first time we brought you back to the dorms," started Seokmin, having given up on beating his friends at the game and instead leaning back against the couch to converse with you as he watched the match play in front of him, "He was a little more shy back then, so he never said anything, not even to us," he continued up until you interrupted him.

"Wait, back when?", your surprise went unnoticed by Seokmin, but not by Minghao who subconsciously tightened his arms around you, now actively listening to the conversation.

"2016? Maybe 2017?," Kyeom wondered out loud, turning to Mingyu for confirmation and receiving a hum and a nod from both him and Wonwoo, "Yeah, late 2016, I think. Anyways," he continued, "We never said anything, but we all knew. We'd always try to get you guys in the same place, but he never budged. It wasn't til a few months ago when we mentioned you might be dating someone that Minghao decided to—"

The commotion from your side of the room prevented Seokmin from continuing, followed by the landing of a pillow to his face, resulting in a whine from the boy. Unexpectedly, Minghao had gotten up, pulling you up with him and accidentally causing a remote to fall in the process.

"Seokmin, shut up!", he demanded, a shade of red you'd never seen on him invading his ears while he attempted to avoid your widened eyes.

Three sets of eyes were set on you now, with some being amused while others confused. The game was mostly forgotten as they all stared at the usually quiet and put together Minghao make a commotion as he attempted to leave.

"We have to go, come on, babe," he urged, dragging you away from the room.

"But I wanna hear the end of the story," you let out as he pulled at your arm, not truly dragging you away but still struggling to convince you to leave. Giggling, you waved your friends bye as you finally allowed him to finally lead you out of the room, giving the guys a death stare to express his displeasure with them. It wasn't genuine anger, you could tell, but it was still amusing to see him embarrassed at his years-long crush being aired out.

...

find the 18+ continuation on patreon!

if you have trouble finding it on there, just let me know!!<3

#seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen oneshot #seventeen smut #svt smut #minghao imagines #minghao smut #minghao fanfic #minghao scenarios #minghao x reader #the8 x reader #the8 fanfic

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seungcheorry · 2 months ago

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"so...", you say, playing with whatever is in front of you.

"so", minghao repeats on the other side of the line, his voice sounding so soft.

"is it time to say bye?"

"it doesn't have to be if you don't want to", he sincerely says.

minghao has been on the phone with you for over 2 hours now. he told you everything about how the soundcheck went, how his members accepted to record this tiktok with him for his birthday, then the show, then the weverse live...

it's clearly too late where he's at. he clearly needs to rest, recharge his energy before going on with the tour. still, he doesn't even think of hanging up - and he hopes you don't too.

"you sure? you must be tired."

"that i am", he confesses. "but i don't mind talking to you. actually i think i only talked about myself, i'm sorry. please tell me how your day went."

"nothing much", and you mean it. "just work, domestic chores, an asshole cutting the line at the grocery store."

"hope i run into him when i get back."

that makes you laugh, as always.

"i hope too."

it's quiet for a bit. minghao likes to listen to you breathing, it soothes him. and as he starts to hum some unknown melody, you realize his mere presence - even though not physically - soothes you too.

"i might not always say this", you begin. "but i love you. very, very much. i hope you're always happy, my myungho."

"ya...", he chuckles. "using the korean name now too?"

you laugh too.

"it suits you."

"you suit me", minghao sighs happily. "i love you too. thank you for being with me."

"i promise i'll be, for as long as you'll have me."

"great. forever it is, then."

a/n: happy birthday, minghao. i truly hope you're always happy and i wish for your life to be even greater than it already is. thanks for welcoming me into this diamond life, i could never regret becoming a carat when i did because of your talent, your beauty, and when it brought me so much joy. i love you, the8. ❤️🐸

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hoshifighting · 1 month ago

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rival fashion designer!minghao

— synopsis: where minghao flexes his fashion awards whenever your brand competes against him during fashion week. — WC: 3k — WARNINGS: explicit language, smut, reader uses a transparent clothing (just like rihanna in oscar x swarovski), oral (f. receiving) ENORMOUS DICK!MINGHAO, slight face slap, mentions of choking on a cock, penetrative sex—or trying to.

look, you weren’t trying to start beef with minghao. you don’t even know why the dude hates you so much. okay, maybe you said one thing about his fall line looking like it got snatched off the clearance rack at an IKEA. but that was a year ago. and also? you were drunk and kinda bitter ‘cause your show got bumped for his stupid avant-garde puff-sleeve renaissance clowncore shit.

but now, every fashion week is like a personal vendetta for him to humble you. you’ll be vibin’, sipping your overpriced latte in the designer lounge, and this man will just stroll in, decked out in some vintage runway piece that costs more than your annual budget, flashing that “i won best emerging designer again” smirk like it’s a fucking weapon. and then he’ll throw some casual shit like:

“oh, y/n, is that your collection over there? i thought they were setting up for the kid’s line showcase.”

[...]

so this year, you swore you wouldn’t let him get in your head. you’d play it cool, professional, unbothered. except you walk into your studio late one night, the day before your big runway debut, and this man is just there. sitting on your worktable. wearing a pearl-studded harness and leather pants so tight it should be a crime.

you freeze, halfway through the door, holding the iced coffee you begged your intern to grab five minutes before starbucks closed. “what the fuck are you doing here?”

minghao barely glances up from his phone. “your assistant let me in.”

traitor.

“why?” you slam the coffee on the counter, praying your voice doesn’t shake. the audacity of him just existing in your space is enough to make your blood boil.

he stands, slow as hell, like he’s got all the time in the world. he’s tall—annoyingly tall—so when he steps close, you’re immediately at a disadvantage. but you refuse to back down.

“just wanted to check out the competition,” he says, eyes flicking lazily over the chaos of fabric swatches and half-finished sketches strewn across the room. “cute line. very... simple.”

“fuck you, hao,” you snap, crossing your arms. “it’s called ‘minimalism.’ not that you’d know anything about taste.”

he laughs, soft and low, the kind of sound that creeps under your skin and lingers there. “oh, i have plenty of taste. i just don’t need to keep it basic to get attention.”

and here’s the thing: you hate how much he gets to you. he’s a smug asshole with an overinflated ego, but he’s also stupidly talented, and you can’t ignore the fact that his lines always sell out in under a day. or how his press coverage makes yours look like a local craft fair feature.

but what really gets you is how hot he looks right now, with his ridiculous cheekbones and the glint of that tiny silver chain peeking out from under his collar. it’s disgusting. you hate it.

you’re about to throw a cutting remark his way, something about how he’s overcompensating with all that jewelry, but he beats you to it.

“you know,” he murmurs, stepping even closer, “you’d look good in my designs.”

your brain short-circuits. “excuse me?”

“if you ever want to elevate your style...” he trails off, dragging his gaze down the length of your body like it’s a runway.

“you are so full of shit,” you hiss, but there’s no heat behind it, because your stupid traitorous brain is suddenly imagining what it’d feel like to have his hands on you.

he smirks, all teeth and danger, leaning in so close you can smell his expensive cologne. “maybe. but you’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?”

you don’t answer.

[...]

the next morning, you’re running on zero sleep, fueled by pure spite and caffeine, but your runway show? flawless. models everywhere, hair spray choking the air, seamstresses practically sewing on skin ‘cause the deadlines were that tight. and you were doing a thousand fucking things at once.

fixing a hemline here, shouting at a makeup artist there—“no, not clean girl aesthetic, we’re going full grunge today, wake up!”—all while struggling to get yourself into the swarovskied transparent gown you planned to wear for the night.

no bra, because tits were the least controversial thing in fashion. and the way the crystals draped over your skin looking likew pure art. nipples out and proud, paired with modern curls swirled to perfection and makeup that screamed chaos-but-make-it-glam.

by the time your collection hit the runway, your nerves were shredded. but watching the models strut, each piece shining under the lights... fucking worth it.

and then, the finale: your dress sweeping dramatically across the stage as you closed the parade. you bowed to the crowd, letting the cameras and whispers soak in every inch of you, and as you turned to leave, you felt it.

minghao’s sharp eyes.

you caught his eyes just as they traveled the length of you—from the swirl of your hair, to the unapologetic sharpness of your nipples under the crystals, to the shimmer of your dress, down to the towering heels on your feet.

you just smirked to yourself as you headed backstage, knowing full well your collection didn’t just crawl under his skin this time. it slithered under his flesh, wrapped tight around his ribs, and squeezed.

[...]

minghao’s models stormed the runway like it was their goddamn birthright. and of course, you watched. no designer worth their silk ignored the competition, and minghao wasn’t just competition, he was a walking masterclass in making everyone feel like second place.

he closed his show with his usual flare, stepping out like he already knew the applause was his. fast-forward two designers later, and the nominations for the fashion academy awards started rolling in. you didn’t have to look to know minghao had already claimed half the early awards.

you watched him backstage through narrowed eyes as he balanced four trophies—two tucked in his arms, two in his hands—posing for a picture with that smug-ass smile. you knew that pic was already blowing up on his Instagram. your jaw clenched, nails digging into your palm as the last nominations were announced.

and then, plot twist of the year:

your name came up five times.

designer of the year: you.

new vision in fashion: you.

collection of the year: your brand.

runway innovation: your brand.

showstopper of the year: your brand.

walking out with those five heavy-ass awards in your arms? victory tasted better than champagne. your models and team practically swarmed you, hyping you up ‘cause they knew how much blood, sweat, and tears went into this collection.

but what you really wanted... minghao. definitely minghao. minghao, in your line of sight. because after all the times he flaunted his wins like a smug bastard, you wanted him to feel this.

and lucky for you, fate delivered.

you spotted him in the back hallway, leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. clearly, he hadn’t heard the last nominees. his head snapped up when your heels echoed through the space.

“oh, hey, hao,” you called out, voice sweet as honey but sharp as glass. you stopped just short of him, shifting the five trophies in your arms so they pressed against your chest. the weight of them pushed your tits up just enough to catch his eyes.

“looks like I’ve got... a plus one on you this year.” you smirked, shaking the awards a little for good measure, the motion making the crystals on your dress catch the dim hallway light.

his eyes flicked down—brief, subtle, but not subtle enough—and then back up, his expression neutral, but you could feel the shift in his ego.

“congrats,” he said, the word clipped like it physically hurt him.

“thanks, babe,” you purred, turning on your heel with a sway of your hips. “see you next season. maybe.”

and with that, you left, letting the click of your heels carry the weight of your victory.

[...]

days later, you were lounging in minghao’s big leather chair, legs crossed up on his table, showing the expensive ass high heels you always wore. his assistant had let you in with barely a question, and you weren’t one to waste an opportunity.

when he finally walked in, his eyes narrowed immediately. “what the hell are you doing here?”

“relax,” you drawled, leaning back like his office was a spa. “your assistant said I could wait. guess they like me more than you.”

he folded his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “didn’t think you’d show your face here after the other night. thought you’d be busy polishing all those trophies.”

you grinned, slow and smug. “oh, i polished them. just thought i’d stop by to see how you’re doing. must be hard, you know—losing.”

his jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. instead, he stepped closer, looming over you. “you done?”

“not even close,” you said, standing up to match his energy. you stopped just shy of his chest, tipping your chin up. “but don’t worry, hao. i’ll let you borrow a trophy sometime if you really need the validation.” you patted his shoulder.

he scoffed, his lips curling into something between a smirk and a sneer. “you know, i like your attitude.”

you raised an eyebrow. “yeah? you must, considering how much you stalk me every season.”

“maybe that’s why we should work together.”

you laughed, loud and sharp, tossing your head back. “oh, that’s rich. you? work with me? what, so you can take credit for my ideas and call it a ‘collaboration’?”

he tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “i’m serious. we’d be unstoppable.”

for a second, you almost believed him. “unstoppable, huh? what makes you think i’d even want to work with you?”

“because you like the challenge... admit it. you love it when i push you.”

“you’re intolerable.”

“and yet,” he murmured, stepping so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, “you haven’t left yet.”

your laugh came out breathy this time, your pulse quickening as his hand grazed the curve of your hip. “you think I’m staying here for you? please. your assistant let me in, remember?”

“sure,” he said. his thumb traced slow circles against your side, almost lazy. “but you’re still here.”

you were about to snap back with something cutting, something to wipe that stupid smirk off his face, but then he tilted your chin up with two fingers, his gaze locked on yours like a predator sizing up prey.

“stop thinking,” he whispered, leaning in just enough for your lips to almost touch. “you might actually enjoy yourself.”

his lips were soft and plump, moving against yours so fucking good that felt unfair. his hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him, and you couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped.

your hands found his chest, the fabric of his shirt warm under your fingertips as you pushed him slightly, breaking the kiss with a smirk. “you’re bold, i’ll give you that.”

“you’re still thinking,” he teased, catching your bottom lip between his teeth before pulling back.

your hands slid up to his shoulders, gripping just enough to feel the flex of his muscles. you threatened to sit on his table.

his eyes widened slighty, his hands immediately grabbing your ass to lift you up, making you yelp. “don’t!”

“what? scared i’ll break it?” you teased, wrapping your legs around his waist.

he places the needles that were spread lazily on the table, inside of a box. he turned, his grip firm as he carried you a few steps and sat you on a nearby armchair.

“there were needles on that table, genius,” he scolded, his tone sulky but his fingers tracing slow lines along your thighs. “you’d be bleeding before I even got started.”

“aww,” you cooed, dragging your nails down his neck. “you worried about me, hao?”

“no,” he muttered, kneeling, dipping his head to kiss along your jawline, his teeth grazing just enough to make you arch towards him. “just don’t want to ruin my night with a trip to the hospital.”

your laugh turned into a soft moan as his lips found the spot just below your ear. “guess you’re not as heartless as you act.”

he pulled back slightly, his smirk sharper than ever. “you talk too much.”

you pulled him in for another kiss, your tongues colliding this time. when you tried to take control, tilting your head for a deeper angle, he pulled back just enough to make you chase him.

minghao’s hands were firm on your thighs, his thumbs brushing against your skin like he wasn’t about to wreck you in the middle of his office. his eyes dragged down, lingering on the way your skirt was pushed up, the space between your legs bare and unapologetic.

he clicked his tongue, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “no panties, huh?” he said. “came here like this?”

“what can I say?” you shot back, shifting slightly so his hands pressed harder against your skin. “i had a feeling you’d end up on your knees.”

his smirk deepened, his fingers tightening slightly as he leaned in, close enough for you to feel his breath. he pressed your legs further onto the armrests, spreading you wider, his hands splayed like he wanted to leave imprints.

his tongue flicked out, close enough to make you tense—but he didn’t touch you. instead, he pulled back, his eyes locking with yours as a smirk tugged at his lips.

he leaned in again, his tongue brushing so close you could feel the warmth from his breath, but once again, he pulled back just as you tilted your hips forward.

“hao..” you warned.

“what?” he teased, his lips hovering over your folds.

your hands gripped the armrests as you glared down at him. “if you don’t stop playing, i swear—”

he cut you off with a broad, strong lick, dragging his tongue from your entrance, through your folds, and up to your clit in one unbroken suck. your head fell back as a gasp tore from your lips.

“that shut you up,” he muttered, his voice muffled as he dipped lower, his tongue swirling around your entrance before moving back up. “needy much?”

“shut up and do it again,” you shot back, your voice sharper than the way your thighs trembled under his grip.

and he did the same. your clit throbbing at the rough skin of his tongue, making you melt on his armchair, he smiled at the sight, he knew how a good head felt after months dealing with needles and sparkly cloths.

his lips latched onto your folds, sucking them into his mouth before he pulls back just slightly, his tongue flicking against your clit in quick, teasing strokes. you let out a pornographic moan, before your clap a hand on your mouth, remembering the team outside the office. he chuckled darkly, his hands tightening on your thighs to hold you still. his lips wrapping around your clit again. this time, he sucked it fully into his mouth, his tongue flicking against it as his eyes flicked up to yours.

“you’re so good at this, hmm—fuuuck!” you said, your nails drowning in the leather of the armchair. “you must’ve practiced on a lot of other girls, huh?”

his eyes narrowed slightly, and his teeth grazed your clit just enough to make you wwhimper. “jealous?” he asked, his voice smug, though he didn’t stop the relentless motion of his tongue.

“please,” you shot back, though the way your breath hitched betrayed you as he did a zig-zag on your bud with the tip of his otngue. “you’re better when you’re silent.”

he smirked against you, his lips curving as he pulled back just enough to speak. “then shut me up.”

your fingers tangled in minghao’s hair, tugging him closer, harder, until his face was buried against your pussy. his groan vibrated through you, desperate, and his hands clamped down on your thighs to steady himself as you rolled your hips against his mouth.

“that’s it... mhmm, just like that...”

he obeyed, his head bobbing as his tongue slid against you in broad, wet strokes, his lips sealing around your clit every few seconds to suck, deep and rhythmic. the wet, obscene sounds filled the room, and your nails scraped lightly against his scalp as you held him there, guiding him exactly how you wanted.

the heat in your core coiled tighter, and you barely had time to register your orgasm hit.

your back arched, your mouth falling open as moans spilled out shamelessly. your hips rolled against his face as you came, and minghao didn’t stop—not for a second. he worked you through it, sucking and licking as though he felt your climax before you did.

he only pulled back when you began to squirm, your breath coming in sharp gasps as overstimulation took hold. his lips and chin were slick as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes glinting as he looked up at you.

“had fun?” he asked, sarcastically.

you gave a breathless laugh, your chest heaving as you leaned back in the chair. “you talk too much for someone who just spent five minutes swallowing my pussy.”

his smirk widened, and he stood, his hands braced on the armrests as he leaned down, his face inches from yours. “and you talk too much for someone who’s about to beg me to fuck her.”

your gaze flicked to his lips, and then lower—to the bulge straining against his pants. “big words,” you said. “let’s see if you can back them up.”

his hands slid to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he walked you back toward the desk—no needles this time. you didn't even had time to register what was happening before your skirt was pushed higher, his fingers brushing over your thighs as he settled you on the edge.

his hand worked his belt, the clink of the buckle making you clench around nothing.

“this isn’t gonna be quick,” he said as he freed himself, the sheer size of him making your breath catch. it was big both in length and girth.

you swallowed hard.

“relax... mhmm”

he teased your entrance with the tip, sliding it slowly against you, and the stretch was immediate, even as he slightly pressed in. your breath hitched, your hands gripping the edge of the desk as he pushed forward, achingly slow, giving you time to adjust.

“ngh—fuck!” you gasped, your voice breaking as he filled you inch by hard inch.

“breathe,” he murmured, his tone gentle despite the tension in his body. mouth glued on yours to make sure he feels your puffs of air.

“trying”

he paused, his hands tightening on your hips as he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. “you’re okay,” he whispered. “just breathe for me.”

you hiccuped, your chest rising and falling in shallow gasps as your body struggled to adjust.

“there you go,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your jaw as he waited “good girl. just like that.”

you exhaled slowly, your body relaxing slightly helping him to slid in further, the fullness stealing the air from your lungs.

your hands gripped his arms, your nails digging into his skin as he finally bottomed out, his body pressed flush against yours.

“fuck,” he muttered, his voice tight as he buried his face in your neck. “you’re—so fucking tight.”

you swallowed hard, your head tilting back as you tried to catch your breath. “you’re—so fucking big.”

he pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting yours as a smirk tugged at his lips. “think you can take it?”

your breath hitched, and you nodded, your hands sliding to his back as you wrapped your legs around his waist. “try me.”

minghao hips pulls back just an inch before thrusting forward experimentally. the sound that left your lips was somewhere between a moan and a strangled gasp, your nails biting into his shoulders as your body clenched around him.

he paused, a smug smile tugging at his lips as he tilted his head to the side, his eyes flicking over your face. “yeah, knew that’d happen.”

“don’t—” your breath hitched as he moved just slightly, a tiny shift that made you clutch at him even harder. “don’t fucking smile like that.”

his laugh was quiet, he leaned down, his forehead brushing against yours. “why not? you’re almost cummin already.”

“i’m not—” the words caught in your throat as he slid just a little deeper, your body trying desperately to adjust to his size.

“not what?” he asked, his tone playful as he stilled again, waiting for you to catch your breath.

“not—cumming” you managed, though your voice shook with the effort of speaking.

“hmm.” his thumb grazed your clit, circling it trying to soothe your nerves. “then why are you holding on to me likethat?”

you glared at him, though the effect was probably ruined by the way your mouth fell open with a gasp as his thumb pressed down just slightly harder.

your body tensed as he began to move again, sliding in slowly, each inch dragging against you in a way that made your head fall back. the wet squelch of your body adjusting to his girth filled the room, obscenelly.

“shit,” he muttered, his voice tight as he wrapped his arm around your waist, holding you steady. “you’re so—tight. feels like you’re trying to squeeze me out.”

“maybe i am.”

he laughed softly “you’re all talk,” he murmured, his thumb still circling your clit. “that pussy is begging for me.”

“hao,” you whispered, your hands clutching at his arms as your legs tightened around his waist. “i—fuck, i can’t—”

“you can,” he said softly, his lips moving against your neck. “breathe for me, baby. you’ve got this.”

you exhaled shakily, your chest rising and falling against his as you tried to relax, tried to let the tension in your body melt away. his thumb pressed a little harder against your clit, insistent, coaxing pleasure to override the discomfort.

“that’s it,” he murmured, his voice soft as his arm tightened around your waist. “just like that. let me in.”

your head fell back, your eyes fluttering shut as he finally slid deeper, his hips pressing flush against yours. the sensation stole the breath from your lungs, and your fingers dug into his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor you.

“you okay?”

you nodded weakly, your hands sliding up to grip his hair as you whispered, “move.”

he chuckled as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “not yet.”

your eyes snapped open, frustration bubbling in your chest as you glared at him. “hao—”

“relax,” he murmured, his thumb circling your clit again, making you cry out slyly. “i’m not gonna ruin you all at once. gotta make sure you can take it.”

“i can,”

“we’ll see,” he said, his tone smug as he finally, finally pulled back, his cock dragging against you.

“hao, just—fuck me already.”

his laugh was quiet. “you’re not ready for that yet, look—” he roll his hips, making you hiccup again. “but don’t worry—I’ll get you there.”

“how about you?” you ask, feeling your orgasm building up as he circled the thumb faster, your hips rolling slightly, weak, like the cock inside you was to heavy to make you roll them freely.

“i can get off just by looking at this pretty face...” he slaps your cheek weakly, twice, making you squeeze around him. “listen to what i'm telling you… you're still going to model for my brand.” he chuckles.

“i’d rather choke to death than work with your brand.”

“why don’t you choke on something else, then?”

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wheeboo · 7 months ago

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whatever you want, my angel | xu minghao

SYNOPSIS. in which your boyfriend calls you a term of endearment from his native tongue. PAIRING. xu minghao x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, a little bit of humour, established relationship WARNINGS. a singular kiss WORD COUNT. 845

requested by anon: Hey congratulations 🎉 on 2k! Hope you grow more (Ik you will!)! Fighting! 💓I wanted to request Minghao + #32 from List 1 (Fluff Dialogue Prompts)💖💖💖 - #32: "Did you just call me (pet name)?”

notes: hao looks so angelic in those photos i found omg going crazy. anyway, thank u sm lovely i hope u enjoy this 🥹🫶 short but cute hehe. this was the first thing ive written in 2 weeks sorry 😭😭

join the 2k celebration!

"Just a few more minutes, tiánxīn."

You never thought you could spin your head around as fast as now, eyes locking on your boyfriend casually stirring a spoon in a pot on the stove, low hums escaping his lips as if he was minding his own business.

Though as you get yourself to squint your eyes, you notice the extremely subtle curve that he has to his lips while the steam swirls around his head.

"Repeat that."

"Hm?" Minghao perks his head back up, eyelashes batting together innocently. "Did I say something?"

You place a hand at your hip, cocking your head to the side as you point a finger accusingly at him. "That. That nickname. Did you... did you just call me tyenshan?"

Minghao nearly bursts into a chuckle at your mushy pronunciation, and you feel your face growing red from the slight embarrassment. He bites his bottom lip, trying to stifle his amusement, and reaches over for the lid to cover over the pot before turning to face you with a small smirk.

"Tiánxīn."

You blink at him, still a bit puzzled. "Tyanshin? Tyen..."

Minghao just quietly watches as you struggle to grapple with the unfamiliar term. There's a hint of teasing in his eyes, but also a warmth that makes your heart skip a beat. He wipes his hands on a towel before stepping up to you, letting an arm sneakily wrap around your waist to pull you towards him.

The sudden closeness steals your breath for a moment. Minghao's arm feels warm and secure around your waist, and you can smell the faint scent of spices clinging to him from his cooking. Yet his gaze at you is filled with nothing but affection, even under the dim lighting of the kitchen light, and you can't help but melt into his touch.

"Sweetheart," he mutters casually. "That's what it means."

Your eyes grow wide momentarily, as if taking in the weight of the singular term of endearment. It's such a simple word, yet the way he says it𑁋with such tenderness and a hint of playfulness𑁋sends a warmth radiating through you.

You feel your fingers knead lightly at the fabric of his shirt at his side, and a curl passes through your lips as you get yourself to lock gazes with him.

"Can you say it again?" You ask again, a teasing tone to your voice.

MInghao just chuckles. "Tiánxīn𑁋"

He's cut off when he feels your lips softly press against his. The contact is all too brief, and nearly has him chasing after your mouth when you part away from him. There's a mischievous look blanketed to your features, but he finds himself still caught in a daze at whatever boldness you just unleashed.

"I like the sound of it," You say wistfully. "Tell me another one."

Minghao lifts a brow. He has no idea what you're trying to plot (if anything), but he complies nonetheless.

"Wǒ de tiānshǐ," he murmurs, voice soft yet confident as he gazes into your eyes. "My angel."

Your heart seems to do a tumble and a flip simultaneously in your chest, and grasping onto the urge to teasingly rebuttal seems to dissipate away right under his eyes and his cute ass smile. You can feel your feet practically melt into the floor below, and you resist the need bury your face into his shoulder out of pure, giddy shyness.

"Oh," You mumble bashfully, heat crawling up your neck and to the tips of your ears. "Hao..."

"Ah, and another one," he jests, and you perk up once more. "Bèndàn."

"Bèndàn?" You repeat right after him, before letting out a feigned gasp. "Wait, dàn? Aren't you literally calling me an egg?"

"Mhm," Minghao answers charmingly. "My beautiful, silly little egg."

An airy scoff escapes your lips, the tension dissipating into hearty laughter bouncing off the walls as you swat playfully at his chest with a hand, making Minghao bring his arms up to shield away from your playful attacks.

"Alright, alright," he utters out between breaths as he steps his way back to the stove. "I'm sorry, you know I don't mean it."

All you do is roll your eyes before placing yourself directly behind him and letting your arms wrap around his waist. You nuzzle your cheek against his back, closing your eyes for a few moments to relish the comfort of his warmth coursing through you, a few contented sighs leaving your mouth. You could probably stay in this position for hours and not get tired of it; his presence enough seems to soften away whatever worries you had throughout the day.

"Call me that more often."

Minghao just grins. "What? Bèndàn?"

"I𑁋No!" You lightly flick him with your finger. "Just... more of those other ones, please?"

Minghao lets out a soft chuckle, the rumble travelling through his chest and sending shivers down your spine. He swiftly turns off the heat to the stove, then reaches down to gently squeeze your hand where it rests on his stomach.

"Of course, tiánxīn," he replies softly, affectionately. "Whatever you want, wǒ de tiānshǐ."

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junkissed · 11 months ago

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midnight cravings

member — minghao x f reader genre — smut word count — 1.7k synopsis — what better way is there to get a good night's rest than having minghao fuck you to sleep? warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, praise, nicknames (baby, honey, good girl), established relationship notes — june onlyhuis posting 2 days in a row... unheard of ! i was gonna wait a bit longer to post this but a) am impatient and b) i still feel bad about disappearing off the face of the earth for so long so i’m making up for it <3 pls feel free to reblog/comment/send an ask if you liked this!! i'm really trying to get back into writing again and any feedback helps me a ton :) enjoy!

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it's not often that you wake up in the middle of the night feeling restless.

sometimes it's because you desperately need a drink of water, and sometimes it's because you need to pee. sometimes it's because you had a nightmare that startles you so bad, you just need to lie awake for a second to calm yourself down.

but sometimes it's for a different reason. sometimes, you have a dream that's so good, you can't stop thinking about it when you wake up. thinking about… minghao.

rolling onto your side, you watch him, eyes still adjusting to the darkness as you try to ignore the throbbing between your legs.

as you start to wake up you notice the way his long hair falls across his face. his barely audible snores fill the room, the sound much too peaceful for the thoughts you're currently having.

you inhale quietly, hesitating as you debate your next move. finally you decide to reach out, tapping his shoulder as lightly as you can.

“hao?” you whisper, pushing the sheets down to your waist. seconds turn into minutes as you wait for a reply, but the snores continue.

you tap his arm again, almost holding your breath.

the snoring stops, so you whisper his name a little louder, hoping to wake him up gradually and not startle him. “minghao?”

there's a mumbled noise, then finally a “hmm?” as he lifts his head off the pillow.

you don't reply, not knowing quite how to reply, so he breathes out slowly and starts to shake himself away from sleep. “what time is it?”

“late,” you tell him hesitantly, voice hushed.

he squints his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again. “why're you up?”

you pause for a moment. “had a dream.”

“good one or bad one?”

you feel your cheeks burn, but it still doesn't compare to the heat building in the pit of your stomach. “good. really good.”

he hums with a little chuckle. he knows exactly what you want now, but he never lets you off easy. “and what do you need me for?” he asks.

you try to hold back a whimper, knowing you're gonna have to use your words if you want something. “fuck me back to sleep, hao, will you? please?”

your hand slips beneath the sheets, gently resting on his thigh before trailing over the waistband of his silk pajama pants. before you even touch him you know he's already starting to get hard, just from the sigh he lets out at the warmth of your palm against his leg.

“is that what you need, baby?” he asks, his voice breathy and deep from sleep. “need me to take care of you?”

you squeeze your thighs together impatiently. “please?” you ask again. you move your hand against his bulge, feeling his hips push up against you.

minghao groans, his hand on top of yours pressing into his cock. “roll onto your side,” he says, the words gentle but commanding.

you move to face away from him as he pushes up onto his elbows, leaning over your body and gently brushing your hair onto the pillow. “tell me about your dream,” he says, bending down to kiss your neck.

his lips are warm and distracting. “don't remember,” you sigh. “just thinking about you. always thinking about you.”

he hums against your neck and you can't help but smile. the action is so similar to what he'd do during the daytime, but at the same time so completely different. you love it when he's rough and hard and makes you feel like you're bursting at the seams, but you love the times like this too, whispers and spontaneous touches that feel almost like a dream.

his hand curls around your body, cold fingertips against your stomach making you shiver as they slowly move their way down between your legs and push your panties to the side.

“so wet already,” he whispers, running his finger between your folds. “have you been awake long?”

you gasp when he pushes into you, clenching around his index finger. “no,” you breathe out. “i woke you up as soon as i did.”

“you didn't even try to take care of it yourself?” he asks, and you can almost hear the proud grin in his words.

“knew you could do a better job,” you whine as he pushes another finger into your heat. “a-always take such good care of me, i just wanted you.”

“such a good girl for me,” he breathes out in agreement, and you hear him groan as he presses his bulge into the back of your thigh. “are you prepped enough or do you need more?”

“need your cock, hao, please?” you beg him, and reluctantly he pulls his fingers out of you but quickly replaces them with his cock.

it's completely dark in the room save for the moonlight shining through the window. but it doesn't take minghao long to position himself behind you, guiding his length between your legs with the practiced ease that could only come from knowing someone as long as you have.

“fuck… not gonna last long, honey,” he groans as he slides into you, gently holding your thighs apart.

he draws back out of you, pushing himself into you harder and harder with each snap of his hips. “don't need to, just don't stop,” you moan at the slow and rhythmic motion. “just make me cum.”

he leans over to kiss your temple, his body almost completely surrounding you under the covers. with his free hand he brushes your hair out of the way, cradling your head against his chest.

you can tell he's more tired than usual because of the languid pace he's set, giving you slow, deep thrusts that make you feel so light, like you'd float away from the bed if it weren't for his arms wrapped around you.

each stroke seems almost deeper than the last, and you swear you can feel every ridge and vein of his cock ingrained inside you.

he pauses for a beat, adjusting his hips to get a better angle. you gasp, back arching away from him as each thrust kisses you in the spot that makes your knees weak.

“right there—fuck! right there, please keep going,” you babble to him, balling your hands into fists and gripping your pillow as you struggle to find something to hold onto.

he doesn't say anything in reply, concentrated on keeping his pace.

your walls throb with pleasure and you're sure he can feel it too, judging by the guttural moans he lets out each time he pulls out of you.

“minghao, close, c-close!” you whimper, voice shaking as you try to warn him. it only takes a couple more deep thrusts before an orgasm overtakes you that blurs your vision with stars, and all you can do is gasp for breath as you shudder in his arms, clenching uncontrollably around his cock.

you release your grip on the pillow and move your hand onto his, squeezing him so tightly you think you might break him as you struggle to ride out the waves of pleasure.

he exhales sharply as his thrusts begin to get sloppier, and you know he's close, too.

“cum for me,” you plead, breathless whispers cutting through the dark. “wanna feel you.”

minghao curses and pushes his face into your neck, his hot breath making your skin prickle. the weight of his body atop yours has an almost calming effect as you recover from your orgasm, even as he continues to desperately thrust into you, chasing that last bit of pleasure.

within just a few more strokes he's coming undone and you feel your walls flood with warmth. he leaves open-mouthed kisses and moans across your shoulder, his entire body tensed against your back as he empties into you.

the moment seems to last forever until he finally loosens his grip around you, keeping his cock inside you as he breathes out slowly.

“feel better, baby?” he asks, gently kissing your cheek as he pushes your sweat-drenched hair out of the way once more. “just like your dream?”

you sigh, unable to hide the smile on your face. “perfect. better than the dream.”

“i love you,” he mumbles against your neck. “always so good for me. anything you need, darling, i'm all yours.”

your face warms and you don't reply, but you squeeze his hand again and he squeezes back.

after a moment you throw the covers off and exhale, mentally preparing yourself to get out of bed as minghao pulls out of you with a groan. you can feel his cum beginning to seep out so you force yourself up before it can get on the sheets, not wanting to clean up any more than you have to.

your exhaustion hits you all at once, and you rush through clean up as fast as you can so you can finally relax. minghao follows you to the bathroom, cleaning himself up and handing you a cold washcloth once you're finished, seeming just as eager as you are to get back to sleep.

the second you're finished he tugs your hand back into the bedroom, both of you falling onto the bed. even with the overhead fan circulating cool air the room is much too warm to sleep with pajamas now, so you settle for just a clean pair of underwear before jumping under the covers again.

silence settles in quickly once you're both back in bed, lying on your side with minghao's arm draped across your waist. it's not long before he starts to snore again, but you barely stay awake long enough to hear it, the familiar sound lulling you back to sleep in no time at all.

it's not the first time you've woken him up in the middle of the night, and it certainly won't be the last.

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i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

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talkingsaxy · 2 months ago

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PHOTOS YOU'VE TAKEN OF YOUR BOYFRIEND MINGHAO

please don't repost, requests open!

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icyminghao · 8 months ago

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why didn’t you tell me?

pairing: minghao x gn!reader genre: (some) angst, fluff, comfort, drabble, idol!minghao, established relationship warning(s): mentions of eating, fainting word count: 0.8k

summary: minghao sends you some alarming texts in the middle of the night, and you’re left to speculate the abundance of reasons why he would have sent them.

a/n: inspired by 21:20 of this video with minghao and park myungsoo! the ‘mala story’ segment really fueled my delusions omg

xu baobei ♡ [21:23]: We need to talk.

xu baobei ♡ [21:24]: Call me when you see this.

Those two text messages glare at you every time you pick up your phone, waves of dread coursing through your body as you start speculating the reason as to why your boyfriend had sent the texts so out of the blue.

Is he angry at you? For what reason? Is he going to break up with you? For what reason? You don’t think you’ve done anything to upset him lately, so what could be the issue?

Countless thoughts are flooding your mind as you pace around the living room of your apartment, debating whether to call him or not. If he really wanted to break up with you, wouldn’t you be sending yourself to death’s door by calling him?

Sighing, you bite your lip and decide to text him instead.

you [22:12]: talk about what?

Almost immediately, your ringtone blares through the speakers of your phone, and you nearly drop the phone in shock. Sure enough, the caller ID reads your boyfriend’s contact name, and you sigh in dread, taking a seat on the couch and mentally preparing yourself for what’s about to come.

“Hello?” you say as soon as you pick up, your heart rate picking up.

“y/n,” Minghao replies, his voice stern yet soft, like he can’t bring himself to be fully angry at you.

There’s silence for a short while, and you feel like you’re going to explode any second.

“Are you…” you break the silence, nearly trembling, “are you breaking up with me?”

On the other end of the line, you hear something drop. “What? No, y/n, I’m not breaking up with you. What made you think that way?”

“You- you sounded really scary in your texts,” you mumble, internally relieved that your boyfriend isn’t planning on breaking up with you.

“Text messages don’t carry tone in them, silly,” Minghao chuckles.

“I heard you went to the hospital. From Mingyu,” Minghao pipes up after a moment of silence, and everything clicks in your head.

You had indeed been to the hospital the day before upon suddenly passing out while hanging out with Mingyu’s sister, who’d sent you to the emergency room immediately out of fear that something serious had happened to you. Thankfully, the reason why you’d passed out had been due to fatigue, and you subsequently begged her not to tell anyone about it, despite her objections.

You’re guessing that she had told Mingyu about it, which you don’t blame her for, and that’s how you’ve ended up in this situation now.

“I did,” you reply simply, looking down at your feet.

“Are you feeling better now? What happened?” Minghao asks immediately after your reply.

“I’m okay now, it wasn’t serious,” you assure your boyfriend, “The doctor said it was due to fatigue.”

“Are you not eating and sleeping well?” Minghao replies with yet another question, worry laced in his voice. “Should I move back in?”

You start to panic a little at the idea of Minghao coming back to live in your shared home, seeing as to how he had moved to the dorm temporarily to prepare for their upcoming comeback, quickly refuting, “It’s okay, Hao, I’m okay! I think I just skipped a few meals because of work, I’ll make sure to have my meals regularly!”

Minghao pauses, then hums in response, seemingly not satisfied with your answer.

“Why… didn’t you tell me? I could’ve been there,” Minghao’s voice becomes softer, and you sense a bit of hurt in his tone, breaking your heart a little.

“I— I didn’t want to worry you, Hao,” you began, eyes downturned, “You have a concert and a comeback coming up that’s more important.”

“Nothing’s more important than you, y/n.” Minghao replies without missing a beat, catching you by surprise. “I’m your boyfriend, y/n, you can talk to me if anything happens. What if- what if something serious had happened, and I wasn’t there?”

Minghao’s vulnerable tone breaks your heart, and you frown at his words. Throughout your relationship, such a situation had never happened before, and thinking in his perspective, you completely understand why he’s upset, making you all the more upset at your actions.

“I know, Hao, I- I would want you to let me know if anything happened to you, too. I’m really sorry.” you apologise, wishing he were physically beside you so you could hug him.

Minghao sighs, clearly not wanting to escalate the issue for no reason. “It’s okay, darling, just let me know in the future, hm? I love you.”

“I will, Hao. I love you too,” you reply like it’s second nature, because it is.

A comfortable silence ensues for a while, the two of you at ease knowing that your hearts beat for each other despite the physical distance.

“Also, I’m moving back in. Comeback preparations are more or less done, anyway, and I believe making sure a certain someone eats regularly is much more important,” Minghao jests, and you hear some rustling in the background. “I’m on the way.”

You chuckle. You really don’t know what you did to deserve this man, but you know you won’t be letting him go anytime soon.

a/n 2: i’ve come to a realisation that i’m an absolute horror at writing endings LOL

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masterlist

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kozukensgf · 5 months ago

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bf texts with the8! nana tour edition

character: xu minghao

warning(s): using of cursed words

note: here’s the reference for 10th pic

masterlist

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svtswhorehouse · 2 months ago

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DATING MINGHAO INCLUDES…. — sfw

• indulging in his tea parties lollll.

• you actually never liked tea — always considering yourself a coffee girl until you met him. now, it’s your drink of choice.

• you’re the only person he never catches an attitude with.

• he won’t EVER judge you, even if the things you do are questionable sometimes.

• you learned how to make his favorite dishes from his hometown and it was one of the most heartwarming things anyone has ever done for him.

• you’re actually a terrible cook, but it’s the one thing you can do right and perfectly (shoutout to his mom and countless youtube videos for teaching you.)

• you raid his closet from time to time, letting him know that his fashion taste is superior whenever he complains about it.

• he secretly loves seeing you wear his clothes.

• you bought him one of those frog hats. he doesn’t necessarily like the hat, but wears it anyways because it makes you giggle.

• calm bf x hyper gf dynamic for sure. even if you are also calm, he’s a lot calmer.

• he has the habit of buying tea cups as souvenirs for you whenever he’s on tour.

• he insists that you try meditating whenever you’re feeling overwhelmed or have a bad day.

• he looks at you so fondly, it’s almost as if he has stars in his eyes.

• minghao was never one to see himself as a lovey dovey person until he met you.

• when you can’t sleep at night, he turns on ocean or rain sounds to help soothe your brain.

• when you two get into arguments, he’s a very good listener. he takes your side into account and tries to see where you’re coming from. you learned that he’s very level headed and because of this fights never get out of hand and are normally resolved very quickly.

• he always asks if you wanna come with him whenever he goes back home to china. (his parents love you and told him they wouldn’t allow him in the house if you weren’t with him.)

• your favorite dates are the ones in which he chooses and yall go to a museum. you actually don’t know what you’re looking at, but at least you’re spending time with him so you’re okay with it.

• if someone is ever rude to you, best believe minghao is not having any of it. he’s very quick to snap back, especially if it’s to protect you.

• he’s always buying you clothes. he’s quite the fashionista himself and considers himself an expert so best believe he’s going to use you as his model and dress you up.

• always looks at you questionably when you suggest something crazy, but nevertheless goes along with it just to see you smile.

• your outfits won't exactly match, but they would be coordinated somehow.

• he always finds a way to subtly include you in his instagram feed.

• definitely the type to soft launch your relationship on social media.

• he acts cool and calm when he finds out you're learning his native language for him (he's actually giggling and kicking his feet on the inside.)

• he's the logical one in your relationship.

• he knows you almost as better as you know yourself.

• your apartment hallways are filled with endless canvases that he painted for you.

• he's the type of person you can sit in a comfortable silence with.

• he always lets you do your own thing, but is a quiet protector. he always has his eyes on you whenever you two go out together and is ready to step in if you're ever uncomfortable.

• slow and sensual kisses !!!!!

• minghao takes the most perfect photos of you. he knows all your angles and how to do you justice through a camera lens.

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miniseokminnies · 8 months ago

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deserve it —- x.mh

♡ pairing: xu minghao x fem!reader ♡ genre: roommates to lovers ♡ wc: 1.5k ♡ warnings: 18+ MDNI, oral [f. receiving], possessiveness, descriptions of female anatomy, dom!hao, jealousy

“You’re wearing that?” Your roommate, Minghao, hissed incredulously, not even looking up from his book.

“What do you mean,” you pouted at him, “you didn’t even look” swiftly attempting to snatch the book from him, his hands gripping instantly, causing it to slip from yours. He smiled at the attempt and closed the book, two of his slender fingers sliding between the pages, holding his place for him to return to after your little tantrum was over.

“What I mean, y/n,” he took in your form from over his reading glasses, “is: will he appreciate you in it?” the combination of the question and the way his eyes lingered just slightly, almost not enough to notice, on how your dress hugs your curves, made you flush.

“I—-“ you hesitated, “what?” is the best you could settle on, in the years Minghao and yourself cohabitated, mostly for money saving and convenience purposes, he has never said anything like this to you. A heat crept up Minghao’s neck, and he attempted to rub it away with his free hand, he knew he had said too much this time. He opened his mouth to attempt to come up with some lame excuse, but a knock on the door took the words away from him.

“Never mind,” he smiled slightly, “have fun y/n, call me if you need anything,” and with that he opened his book and continued reading.

***

The date was going terribly. This guy was nice enough, but your mind was elsewhere. He was currently droning on about his degree in finance, which in your current state you couldn’t care less about.

Why did Minghao say that, and why did he say it like that. You replayed the way his eyes raked down your frame, almost too subtle to realize what was happening. Does he do that often and you’ve just never noticed?

“Are you okay?” the man who was actually across the table, actually on a date with you pulled you out of your thoughts. You had just started to push the vegetables on your plate around with your fork.

“Uh…” you looked up at him, who was looking at you expectantly, “Yeah, I’m fine, I’m just not feeling the best” which wasn’t technically a lie.

“Oh!” he nodded, “let me get the check, I’ll get you home, I wouldn’t want you feeling worse because you stayed out here with me”

He was a nice guy, too bad this wasn’t going to work out.

***

“Xu Minghao” you threw open his bedroom door. He sat up in bed, his hair falling in his eyes, taking his headphones off. He took in the sight of you, still in your dress, fuming in the doorway to his bedroom.

“You’re home early,” he pointed out, as you walked further into his room.

“Yeah!” you threw your hands up dramatically, “Because of you!” you got close enough to poke him in the chest, “what the fuck did you mean by that”

“By what?” his eyes lowered to your finger, still prodding his chest, “I don’t know what you’re talking about”

“Yes, you do,” you almost growled, pushing your finger into his chest slightly more forcefully, “you have to tell me what you meant.” He reached up and closed his lithe fingers around your single one, eyes traveling from where your hands met to your eyes.

“Beg” he said simply. The single word had heat pooling in your stomach and color flooding your cheeks.

“What?” you squeaked trying to avoid the intense eye contact.

“You heard me” he lowered his voice, “beg”

“Minghao….” he looked at you, waiting, “please tell me what you meant…” you whispered hesitantly. He dropped your hand, which fell to your side, as if it weighed a thousand pounds. He then swiftly gathered your hair at the nape of your neck and pulled until your head tilted up, forcing you to look at him.

“I need you to really show me you want to hear this,” his breath fanned over your face, you didn’t even realize he had gotten so close to you, “because once it’s said there’s no going back” he searched your eyes frantically for understanding. You simply nodded, “ask again”

“Minghao, I need to know,” you whined. The heat in your stomach was undeniable at this point, and unconsciously you squeezed your thighs together, “I need to know why you said those things earlier,” his grip in your hair tightened, “and why you looked at me like that”

“Oh” the flush in his cheeks was back, “Y/n, was he worth it?” he asked, “did he deserve to see you in that pretty dress that you’ve been saving for something special?” You shook your head, honestly surprised that he remembered, “use your words, baobei”

“I don’t know Hao” your hands found purchase on his thighs, he moved to the edge of the bed and dangled his feet off the side and pulled you to stand between his knees, “I couldn’t think about anything but what you said,” his hand dropped out of your hair and moved to take a fistful of the fabric of your skirt instead,

“Good” his other hand mirrored its opposite, “I want to be the only reason you wear this dress, I want to see it on you, but y/n, god right now all I really want is to see it on the floor of my bedroom” pulling you as close as possible his plush lips crash into yours. To say you were surprised would be an understatement, but not that you were complaining. His lips moved feverishly while his careful fingers found the zipper on the back. You shivered as the cool air hit your exposed back as he unzipped the dress painfully slowly.

The dress pooled around your feet as he let it fall off of you. He pulled away from your lips and took in the sight of you, wearing a lacy matching bra and underwear set. “You were going to let him fuck you” he muttered knowingly, “you never fuck on the first date”

“This wasn’t the first date”

“He deserved a second date, and he could’ve even had you” he smirked, “I messed things up pretty bad” before you even had time to think he was pulling you up onto his bed and flipping you so you were under him. He took his time, worshiping, kissing, licking and biting. You could feel your panties sticking to your pussy at this point and you were desperate for some relief. A whine escaped your lips as you once again squeezed your thighs together. You heard Minghao click his tongue, before he was taking your panties off.

He looked at your glistening cunt, all wet and ready for him. Lowering himself to greet you with his tongue, he never broke eye contact with you. Until he licked the first fat stripe, getting a taste of you. At this, your eyes screwed shut. Minghao had no trouble finding your clit, he attached his lips to it and began to suck. A breathy moan escaped you, and as if spurred on by the reaction Minghao began slowly swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud. Your hand flew to his hair and tugged at the longer pieces at the nape of his neck. You earned a moan into your pussy in return, the vibrations making the coil in your stomach tighten.

“Do that again,” he begged, breathlessly, before returning his tongue to its duties. You did as you were told, pulling his hair a little harder this time. You felt Minghao line up two fingers at your entrance and slowly slip them inside.

Somehow despite never doing anything like this together before, Minghao seemed to know your body, he found the spongy spot inside of you and curled his fingers to reach it. He slowly pumped his fingers, in and out, in tandem with his ruminations on your clit. You were quickly becoming undone, and Minghao could tell by the way you were bucking your hips.

He took his mouth away from your cunt, and the cool air hitting you made you whine. He moved back so he could watch his fingers disappear inside you. He felt the wetness drip down his fingers as he added a third.

“Fuck yourself on my fingers” he watched as you picked up your pace, desperately trying to reach the rapidly approaching high. Your moans grew desperate as you moved your hips, the drag of his slender fingers feeling delicious on your walls, “He never deserved to see you like this, only me”

“H-Hao” you desperately called.

“I know” he watched your hips sputter, “Cum on my fingers, baobei” that was all you needed for the coil in your stomach to snap. Your eyes shut so tight you were seeing stars, and practically screaming for Minghao.

He slowly removed his fingers and ran to go get supplies to clean you up. Neither of you really knew what this meant, but what Minghao did know was that he liked the visual of your dress on the floor when he came back with a towel and a glass of water.

#xu minghao x reader #xu minghao smut #the8 x reader #the8 smut #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #minghao smut #minghao imagines #xu minghao imagines #svt smut #minghao #the8 #the8 imagines #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #bennie’s works

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ylangelegy · 17 days ago

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every day is a sunday 💫 minghao x reader x vernon.

footnotes: when your biases release a song, you write the goddamn smut. ⓘ mdni. porn with no plot, mentions of female anatomy, pet names (v: 'babe', m: 'pretty', 'sweets', 'good girl'). v: riding, unprotected sex. m: exhibitionism, praise. not proofread. word count: 1.4k.

your thighs feel like they're on fire.

you've been riding vernon for the better half of the past hour, your knees pressed on either side of his thighs. between the three of you, vernon was usually the one who gave in first. there's no sign of that tonight.

your movements are getting erratic, desperate, and the two boys in the room can tell. vernon shoots you a lazy grin from underneath you, his gaze half-lidded as he merely rests his arms on the back of the couch.

"what's wrong, babe?" he practically coos. it's almost cruel, the way he's kept his hands away from you this entire time. "you're gettin' sloppy."

"vernon," you hiss, your tone edged with annoyance. your hands dart out to grasp his shoulders as you try to better control your thrusts. "can you just— please—"

vernon chuckles, the sound breathless and low. "please what?" he taunts.

"hansol."

vernon's gaze flicks past you.

you can't see him, but you can imagine how minghao looks from where he's seated across the room. one leg over the other; arms crossed over his chest. that clench of his jaw.

"what?" vernon huffs, the word practically whined out as you punish him with an intentional roll of your hips. "i was just asking."

"you're being mean," minghao accuses.

when you hear the sound of minghao's chair scratching backward, you could almost cry with relief. you're not sure, yet, what reprieve the other man might offer; the mere thought of it coming is victory in itself.

you keep your stuttering pace on vernon, your cunt fluttering around his dick in a way that usually has him finishing quick. but he's just a little bit distracted, caught between muffling his moans and watching minghao approach.

when you feel minghao's lithe fingers press into your ass, you let out a low whimper.

"need some help, pretty?" minghao asks, his voice deceptively soft and sweet for what he's offering. his words are barely above a murmur, spoken as he presses his chest to your back.

you give a jerky nod of your head, your body still moving mostly on its own volition in your pursuit of getting vernon to finish. all the while, the boy below you looks like he's holding his breath, his hands now clenching at the couch cushions.

"please," you breathe. "please, hao."

"so polite," minghao teases, but he's already maneuvering to get a better hold of you. you pause to hold yourself up by your shaky knees. vernon's cock slips out of you, the leaking head just barely pressed into your entrance.

once minghao's a little more certain with his hand placement, he wastes no time.

minghao practically pushes you down onto vernon. your greedy cunt swallows him right up, his tip sliding straight home into one of your sensitive spots.

you gasp. vernon lets out a keening whine.

minghao lifts you up then thrusts you back down until vernon's dick is spearing you once again. you try— you really, really do— to match minghao's pace, but he seems dead set on manhandling you like you're nothing more than a doll that's meant to get vernon off.

vernon's knuckles are white where they're against the cushions. his head is thrown back against the back of the couch as minghao works you down onto him with brutal efficiency.

"fuck," vernon gasps, his chest begin to heave. "that's so— fuck—"

minghao drops you back down onto vernon's lap with punishing sharpness. you feel vernon fill you up, the sensation of which draws a moan from you.

"you were taking your time," minghao grouses. "and i was feeling a little more impatient than usual."

despite your fucked out state, you vaguely register the feel of minghao's clothed hardness pressing behind you. you arch your back enough to give the other boy some friction.

minghao responds with a soft sigh. "always so considerate," he says, not once ceasing in the way he's guiding your bouncing on vernon. "but let's get hansol to finish first, hm?"

vernon's hips begin to twitch underneath you, his control slipping with every drag of his thick cock against your walls. he bucks up, a string of cusses falling from his lips.

"there it is," minghao says a little too smugly.

minghao shifts from behind you, just enough so that he can lean forward and have his lips right over your ears. you can feel his eyelashes fluttering against your skin as he whispers conspiratorially, the words still loud enough for vernon to hear.

"why don't you do that thing with your pretty little pussy, sweets?" minghao prompts. "milk him dry."

somehow, you manage to nod. your body complies unquestioningly— your warm heat clenching around vernon's hardness.

"christ!"

vernon lets go of the cushions and finally touches you, his hands landing on your hips. minghao lets out a tut of disapproval.

"come on, 'sol." there's just enough unquestionable authority in minghao's words that you know vernon will comply to whatever the man commands. "reward her for being a good girl."

another lift, another thrust. vernon's teeth sink into his lower lip as one of his shaking hands delves between your bodies, finding your clit. he begins to draw tight circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves, his own movements uncoordinated with the pace that minghao has set.

your breathing grows more ragged, the onslaught of sensations beginning to take its toll.

vernon's cock, twitching inside you with every buck of his hips. minghao's guidance, which has now gotten faster to meet vernon's impending climax.

"doing so well for us," minghao tells you, his fingers pressing just a little tighter against your skin. you can just imagine what he's seeing— the way your tits bounce, the way vernon's throbbing dick is completely sheathed, the way the pair of you look so, so gone.

"hao," you choke out.

vernon pinches your clit, drawing out a surprised moan from you.

"don't moan his name while you're fucking me," vernon chides, his voice hoarse. "you'll have time for that later."

the thought of that, of a later, makes you dizzy. you give a whimper at the warning before practically slumping against minghao, giving him more carte blanche to move you as he deems fit.

whether or not he cares to admit it, minghao is beginning to get a little desperate, too. his hold on you slips for a brief moment and he lets out an annoyed huff before grasping your ass even tighter.

he knows he has to get the two of you to finish soon if he wants to have any fun himself.

minghao presses you down again, leaning forward until his teeth have caught on your earlobe. your breath hitches in your throat and even vernon groans, knowing what's about to hit.

"need you to come for me, pretty. can you do that?" minghao murmurs. "he's not gonna finish 'till you do, and i really want some of that pussy for myself. i've been dreaming of fucking his cum right back into you, sweets. wanna make a mess of you—"

the absolute filth of minghao's words sends you careening over the edge, your orgasm temporarily blindsiding you. your walls flutter around vernon, so tight that it's almost like you're pushing him out.

minghao holds your body up as waves of pleasure wash over you. vernon has absolutely given up on all pretenses of being cool at this point, his hips ramming up against yours as he abuses the tightness of your cunt.

vernon climaxes with a drawn out whine of your name. his release spurts into you, overflowing enough that there's a rim of white at your entrance as his thrusts grow weaker.

you can feel the gentle press of minghao's lips against the top of your head.

"such a good girl," minghao says, his hands moving up and down your arms as he settles you just enough so that vernon is bottomed out, stemming his own cum.

you lean against vernon's heaving chest. he reaches up to shakily run his fingers through your hair. "what he said," vernon breathes, and you huff out a laugh.

you're still catching your breath when you hear the unmistakable sound of minghao's belt clinking off.

you finally deign to glance at him, and you're treated to the sight of his lips curling into a smirk around his next two words.

"my turn."

#vernon x reader #vernon smut #vernon imagines #minghao x reader #minghao smut #minghao imagines #vernhao #the8 x reader #the8 smut #the8 imagines #୨ৎ penned by ylangelegy #୨ৎ muse .ᐟ svt #svt smut #seventeen smut #svt imagines #seventeen imagines #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #( couldn't move on from 54321 (Lift Off). please accept whatever the hell this is )

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hannieehaee · 1 year ago

Text

WANTED U

18 + / mdi

summary: everything about your relationship with minghao was perfect, leaving you with no complaints. except maybe in one area: minghao's stoic attitude during sex, making you entirely insecure about whether he wanted you as bad as you did him, or if he was maybe just too in love with you to let you down.

content: misunderstandings, established relationship, he's very very in love with reader, he's just a bit backwards, smut, afab reader, miscommunication (shocker), oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, dry humping, mentions of fingering, etc.

wc: 5.7k

a/n: based kind of maybe a lil bit on personal experience but 100% reimagined for fanfic purposes lmao

masterlist | kofi/patreon

support me through a one-time tip! <3

You were absolutely head over heels in love with your boyfriend. There was no way to fight it - not that you wanted to. It was as if his sole goal in life was to love you. He had even told you that before, claiming that his parents had been the greatest love story he had ever seen, and that he had wanted nothing more in life than to find a love like theirs. He'd said that his father had once told him, 'live to love, and love to live', advice which Minghao took to heart.

His father was a wise man when it came to love, even letting Minghao in on the secret that all his ambitions were driven by his love for his mother. Minghao had communicated their entire love story to you soon after meeting. You had only known each other for a short period of time before Minghao confessed to you, claiming that a friendship would not suffice for his heart, which had been taken by you upon your first meeting. He would've respected your decision if you had decided to remain friends, but was relieved to hear your enthusiastic agreement in becoming his girlfriend.

Being his girlfriend came with endless perks. For one, you got to be with the absolute love of your life; a man who was never shy to express his love to you through any means possible. He was also a successful idol, something that came with its troubles, but allowed you to see and support your boyfriend in all his passionate endeavors. He'd spend every free moment tending to you and showing you what it meant to be loved. There was no world in which you weren't completely enamored by the man.

You'd only been dating for four months by now. He had already introduced you to his friends and family, proudly letting them know that you'd be around for a long time, being completely certain that you were the love of his life. Sure, it might've been a bit soon, but the moment Minghao saw you, he knew you were the one. His certainty always made you a bit shy, a reaction which he'd kiss away by reassuring you that he'd never meet a love greater than yours. It was all perfect. You felt at home with his friends and family, quickly growing used to what would now be your forever family, as you also believed Minghao to be the one and only love you would ever come to know.

He showed you love through every means possible. He insisted on taking care of you financially, while also supporting your independent and professional endeavors. He took care of you emotionally, always lending an ear to listen to your problems and lips to soothe your worries. He'd constantly feed you with words of affirmation, almost as if he'd grow sick if he went a single day without you knowing how enamored he was. He'd make love to you ... and that was it on that matter.

Not to misunderstand, your sex life with Minghao was magnificent. There was no form of pleasure the man could not achieve to give you. He had you delirious with arousal with one single touch, making you beg even when he never demanded it from you. As many of his fans guessed, Minghao was just as experienced as he appeared. There was large variety of things he would entertain in the bedroom, never leaving you dissatisfied.

The issue laid in you, truly. Although you were always enthusiastic in the pleasure your boyfriend gave you, you weren't sure you could say it was the same for him. He would always shower you with endless praise and affection in every other circumstance, but while in the throes of passion the most you could really get out of him was a few muffled groans or one or two short-lived praises. You felt as if there was a imbalance in the pleasure you gave one another; almost as if he didn't want you as much as you did him.

You had recently realized that you were often the one to begin any sexual encounter, never having to beg for reciprocation, but also very rarely being enticed by the man himself. You almost felt embarrassed at the realization, having already been feeling a bit off at his lack of reactions towards you during the fact. Was he simply entertaining you out of pity? Did it not feel as good for him? Was he not into you physically as he was emotionally? You knew he always came when being intimate with you, always letting out a lone groan of your name when he finished. It was still hard to feel confident about your sex appeal when your boyfriend never gave you much to work with. You also felt a bit pathetic knowing he gave you the utmost pleasure while you seemingly gave him the barest minimum of it.

Talking to him about it was out of the question. You knew your boyfriend thrived off of healthy communication, but he hadn't mentioned any issues in your sex life, so you felt embarrassed to bring it up. Not only that, but you didn't want to come off as desperate or ungrateful. He was your best friend; the perfect boyfriend. You didn't want to open a can of worms that would have things go awry. So you decided to come up with a plan; maybe test your hypothesis.

Getting Minghao undressed and ready to fuck you was never too difficult. Just a few kisses and whispers asking him to please take care of you and he was ready to take charge. Currently you were in the middle of it, sitting on the couch as he kissed your neck, pulling breathy sighs out of you as you moaned his name, but received no reaction in return. You decided to act as usual, maybe gauge what got him going and what didn't. So far, he had spoken no words as he simply did what he knew you liked. He ran his hands through your body and kissed you deeply, drawing moans and whines out of you at the simplest of touches.

You felt a bit embarrassed, realizing how easy it was for him to get you going while it was the complete opposite for him. Now on the bed, he ground against you, still making no sound or any other indication of pleasure as he thrusted his hardness against you. You wondered how that felt for him. He was hard, so surely he was aroused, right? Shouldn't that equal some type of pleasurable reaction to the feeling? You weren't able to ponder on this for long, as he suddenly knelt next to bed, going straight to business against your heat.

"H-hao ... fuck!", you pulled at his hair, extremely sensitive to his touch as you usually were.

You couldn't help yourself in pulling at his hair, even grinding against his skilled tongue. You were completely lost to the bliss, moaning endlessly at the pleasure, unlike your boyfriend, whose only sounds were the slick of his tongue dragging against your pussy. If the tables were turned and Minghao was growing delirious on the feeling of your mouth on him, you'd be just as affected, getting off on the sound of his voice moaning out your name. So, you couldn't help but still feel disappointed at him eating you out with no further reaction.

However, the feeling of your orgasm overtook your disappointment, making you forget about any ill feelings and cumming against his tongue. What followed made you hollow out again, though.

He got up from his knelt position, nodding at you and asking a simple, "ready?" before undoing his pants and climbing on top of you, entering you immediately after putting on a condom.

You moaned and whined against his ear, scratching at his back at the pleasure; all things you usually did when he fucked you, but received no reaction in return. He'd give you the occasional muffled grunt, not even seeming like he was holding back, but more like he had nothing to give. It was a conflicting feeling. On one hand, you felt an insane amount of physical pleasure, but on the other, your emotions couldn't help but feel hurt by his lack of arousal towards you. Call you shallow, but you just wanted to feel like your boyfriend found you sexy, damnit!

"F-fuck, Hao! Gonna cum, don't stop. Shit!", it was easy for him to get you there, knowing all your weak spots by now. And it was just as easy for your body to take control of your mind, making you forget all worries as you came once again. He didn't take long to reach you, releasing into the condom with a grunt.

What made it worse was how sweet he was afterwards, calling you his beautiful girl and helping you clean up, only to cuddle you afterwards.

"You okay, my love? Felt good?"

Now, to any reasonable person, this would've been the perfect chance to speak up, maybe let him know about your concerns, but you just felt too pathetic. What were you supposed to do? Force your boyfriend to moan? Force him to give you the reactions you wanted rather than the ones that came naturally from him? You were supposed to accept him as he was, just like he did you. So, you responded with evasion.

"Yes, baby. Felt amazing. Love you."

You decided to go for a different approach this time.

Within the few months that you and Minghao had dated, you had really only spent a little under two months physically around each other. His job had a tendency of pulling him away from you for extended periods of time, so you were lucky if you ever got a whole week with him. This meant that the two of you would always try to make the best of the time you did get to spend together.

Within those two months of physical proximity, you two had a healthy sex life. You had sex for the first time only two weeks into the relationship, then proceeding to have it very regularly after that. Although, you were usually the one to initiate it.

In order to change things up, you decided to stop. You wanted to see how long it would take Minghao to approach you himself. Maybe gauge what it'd be like if you suddenly took it away. Would he react then? Would it feel better for him if you allowed a short period of time for things to mellow out?

The answer was no.

Only three days after your previous time having sex, he came home from dance practice, greeting you with a kiss. Except that instead of pulling away, he kept your lips connected, grabbing onto your waist to pull you close to him. Things went pretty much as usual after that. No words were exchanged (at least not from his side of things) as he undressed you and entered you while laying on the couch.

It was insanely pleasurable as per usual. His pace was slower than normal, and you heard a few more muffled grunts, which excited you like crazy.

"H-hao ..." you couldnt help but sigh as he angled himself perfectly to hit that sensitive spot inside you. You scratched at his back, arching your back against his chest.

He made no response, only going faster as he clearly realized your end was coming. He held you close to him, caressing your body tenderly despite the rapid movement of his hips. It was all perfect, sans the thing you wanted most; his lust for you. He cleaned you up afterwards, sheepishly apologizing for jumping you with no warning, giving you a quick peck as he said it. The conversation regarding sex ended there, with him expanding about his day and you yours. Had this been progress? You weren't sure.

Next attempt felt a bit pathetic.

You looked amazing. You needed no confirmation, you just knew it. You had bought a pretty lacy number, exactly in a style you knew your boyfriend would like. You hadn't had a chance so far to really dress up for him yet. So far, you had worn pretty panties and matching bras while being sexually active with him, but there had been no instance in which you really pulled out a whole set for him.

It felt a bit silly, resorting to perfectly trimmed lace in order to see if maybe your boyfriend would show some lust towards you. You even lit some candles, for god's sakes. This had to work, or else you'd feel like the biggest loser alive. You were a bit anxious, to be honest. You had never dressed up for a guy, but you'd heard it worked wonders in the bedroom. You knew the sex itself would be amazing, but you hoped that everything else also lived up to standard.

It wasn't long until you heard the keys unlock the door, which signaled that you should put into position. You had a matching silk robe, throwing it on as if to hide Hao's gift under a perfectly tied knot. He hadn't noticed you upon entering the room, having to do a double take to take notice of your pretty hair and makeup, way too fancy for an usual occasion.

"Love? W-what's with the look? You look beautiful," he approached you with a sweet smile, arms going directly to your waist

"Just wanted to do a little something for you, Hao. Do you like it?"

"Of course, angel. You look so pretty. Is there anything under the robe?", he lifted his eyebrow at you, hands playing with the knot.

"Find out?", you wanted to give him free rein, wanting to once more gauge his reaction. This was all for research purposes, after all.

"Oh ... Baby, you didn't have to do this ... You look gorgeous ..." he breathed out upon undoing the tie on the robe, immediately pushing it off as he ran his hands up and down your body. Yes, this was a good start. An amazing start, actually. He wanted you? That had been just your goal. His breathy sigh? God, that had you reeling.

He seemed to get distracted by the sight of your body being hugged by the expensive fabric, but eventually snapped out of it, shaking his head as if to get himself out of a trance. He kissed you after that, no longer paying any mind to the lingerie, nor to his previous reaction to you. He kissed and kissed you, same as he always did. Your moans against his lips fell to deaf ears, as he did not reciprocate with more moans of his own. You kissed him back, unable to not match his enthusiasm in making love to your lips.

What had just happened? You were going in the right track! He had suddenly just snapped himself out of it, basically willing the lust away. Had he wanted to hold back on purpose? Did you just need to incite him?

You let him kiss you for a while before gesturing for him to kiss down your neck, playing up your moans a bit and pushing your chest towards him. Eventually you placed his hands on your chest, now being a bit more direct.

"H-hao ... Do you like it? Did I do good?", okay, now you were a bit more embarrassed. You had never really delved into dirty talk with Minghao, much less submissive speech. There had never been a need since the man had no tendency to speak during sex at all - sans the times he'd check up on you. You hoped maybe he would react well to it.

"Yes, angel. You're perfect. Let me take care of you now, yeah?"

That was code for be quiet and let me get to business. Or at least that's how you took it. You were disheartened, but allowed him to continue, still enjoying his touch regardless of anything. You appreciated the compliments, but you did not feel sexy anymore. What you were feeling could better be described as childish and dejected. You felt like you'd shown a desperate side of yourself only to be met with nothing in return.

Your thoughts faded away the moment he began to drag his thigh between your legs, quickly drawing moans and cries of his name out of you. Was it that hard for him to do the same? What more did you need to do?

Logically, it didn't take him long to make you cum. You came in your lace panties, still earning a groan out of him upon feeling your cunt spasm against his bare thigh.

"Hmm, baby. Looked so pretty today ... Are you okay? Need me to clean you up?", he gave you a sweet kiss, running his hands up and down your sides in a caring manner.

"I'm fine, Hao, thank you. I, uh, what about you? Are you ... ?"

"I'm fine, baby. Don't worry about it," he smiled at you despite the obvious boner concealed by his shorts, "Get changed, angel. You'll get sticky and cold."

And that was it once again. Your outfit had given you a favorable reaction, but it died off quicker than you expected. You were back to square one all over again.

You had one final plan. If this didn't give you answers, you weren't sure how to proceed from there.

What if you pulled a 'Minghao' on Minhhao? Would he react if you suddenly became stoic while in his arms? It felt disingenuous, and the mere thought honestly made you feel a little mean, but you had grown desperate by now. It had been months of amazing sex that you were sure was gratifying only to you.

Next time you and Minghao found yourselves in that mood, you decided to lay pliant in his arms; not react to his touches and movements the way you usually would.

It was weird, not letting him know how much you loved his touch. You kissed him back, even held him back too, but your mouth was silent, as was your body. He kissed down your neck, soft hands touching at every corner that usually had your eyes rolling back, but you persisted. There were no reactions out of you, only muffled groans just like his own. You felt some hesitance in his touches, sometimes pausing as he didn't get the desired effect from his actions. He didn't vocalize his concerns, however, only continuing his path as he fingered you. His lips never left your skin as he worked you through your first orgasm.

It had been a feat, truly. The feeling of his lips against your skin was enough to have you mewling for more. His fingers curling inside you usually had you whining his name, but this time the most you could allow yourself to muster was muffled or broken cries as he drew you to completion. Even then he didn't question you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion with the question trapped between his lips. He moved on to undo his pants, prepping you a bit before sliding inside you. He let out the lone moan he always did upon sliding through you, but made no further noise.

You were going insane, toes curling and body completely tense, trying your hardest not to react. It wasn't just the pleasure, but your intense feelings for the man. The way he felt against you and gave you all his love through his touch. You felt like crying at the thought. Which is what you did without realizing. You couldn't help yourself. The love you had for your boyfriend was indescribable, even if you had been dating for so little. He felt the same, which was something he'd always let you know on the tender nights you'd spend sleeping in each other's arms. Right now, though, you felt like shit. It was hard for you to even enjoy his touch, which was a new experience for you.

Minghao must've noticed your cries, which had been louder than you realized, instantly halting his movements and checking on you.

"Angel? My love, what's wrong? Are you hurt?", he pulled away completely, still keeping his arms at your sides in an attempt to soothe you, but pulling his still hard cock out of you.

The sudden lack of proximity only made you cry louder, sniffling as you tried to catch your breath.

"Baby, tell me what's wrong, please. I'm so sorry, I didn't- I didn't mean to hurt you. Where does it hurt. How can I make it better?"

"Why- why don't you want me?", the question left your lips before you even realized, face heating up at your own words.

"What? Want you? What do you mean?"

There was still time to run it back, maybe make some type of excuse about why you'd been crying. But your emotions decided for you, not allowing your brain to formulate a lie before your mouth was opening again.

You took a quick breather, allowing yourself to catch your breath before responding. Minghao seemed to understand this, running his hand up and down your back in a soothing manner.

"I just ... I just don't understand. I love you, Minghao. I love you so much. I want you so much. Why don't you want me back? What do I need to do? I cant ... I can't keep doing this," you had stopped crying by then, but your emotions were still heightened.

"Love? I love you. What are you talking about? I'm in love with you, you know this. Please tell me what you mean? Tell me if you're hurt. I can't- I'd never want to hurt you."

He was now sitting right by you, your legs now closer while his hand came up to your cheek, wiping one of the last few tears remaining on your face. It made you feel like an asshole. He was being the amazing boyfriend you always knew him to be, reassuring you of bis affections while being worried for your wellbeing, not once stopping to care about himself. Meanwhile, you were crying because you wanted your boyfriend to feel lust for you. It was pathetic, really.

"I know you love me, Hao. You're the perfect boyfriend. I'm okay, I just ... fuck. I'm so embarrassed, I'm sorry. I don't want you to worry about me, it's so stupid, I'm sorry, I-"

"Angel, please stop apologizing. Tell me what's wrong. You don't have to be embarrassed. I need to know what you're thinking so that we can talk through it, okay? I'd never judge you," he was sincere in his words, taking on a soft smile as he tried to welcome the idea of an open conversation about whatever was on your mind. It was now or never, you guessed.

You took a deep breath, avoiding eye contact at all costs, "I feel like ... I feel like you don't want me."

"Want you how, angel?"

"I've tried everything Minghao. I've pursued you, I've let you pursue me, I've been loud, I've been quiet. Fuck, I even threw myself at you with stupid lingerie that you didn't even care about, but it never works. You don't want me, and it's driving me insane. I'm sorry, I know it's so stupid. I don't want to- I don't want to force anything on you or make you feel uncomfortable, but I feel so, fuck, I feel so pathetic. Like you have sex with me just to humor me. Like you're giving me something and I have nothing to show in return. I'm so- I'm so sorry."

You weren't sure what you were apologizing for. It was either the embarrassment or the warm gaze that wouldn't leave your own as you rambled.

"My love ... You think- you think I don't want you?"

"You don't have to humor me, Minghao, I already know. I've made peace with it, it's just .. tonight was too much. I tried to keep my emotions out of it, but it only made me break faster."

"Oh, angel," he closed the gap, pulling you even closer to him as he put his palms on your cheeks, drawing you closer while looking into your eyes, thumbs caressing the skin there, "I think I owe you an apology."

"No!", you grabbed onto his wrists, interrupting him before he could continue and separating yourself in the same breath, knowing you could never speak your mind while he held you so lovingly, "You don't have to apologize for anything. I'm sorry. I should've never tried to pressure you, I did this to myself, I-"

"I need you to let me talk, angel, please. I need to explain myself."

"Oh. I- okay. Continue."

"I adore you, my love. You know this. To think that you could ever think I don't want you breaks my heart. It's all my fault, I should've never done this, I- I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like I don't ache for you the way you do me. I want you in ways I can't describe."

"But-"

"Let me finish," his hands were back on you, one caressing your cheek while the other ran up and down your arm in an almost sensual manner, "You think I don't think about you every passing moment? That you don't plague my thoughts every day? My beautiful girl ... You're the prettiest thing I've ever had. Holding you in my arms as you writhe under me is the biggest form of pleasure I've ever felt. You- you think-" he took a deep breath before continuing, "You think I don't think about you on my lonely nights away from your touch? That I don't touch myself thinking of you; your curves, your soft skin, the way you cry my name ..."

"H-hao ..." your breath was just as heavy as his by now, mouth dry as you heard him recite his one and every emotion towards you.

"You think you don't plague my mind at the most inopportune moments?", he continued despite your interruption, "I think of you every day. When I'm at practice, when I'm performing, fuck, I think of you when I'm having dinner with my parents. Your body invades my every thought. You beautiful, gorgeous thing. I ... I've had to hold back. Didn't want to scare you away with the impossible lust I feel for you. Every time you let me have you, I have to hold back. I can never fully have you. I don't know what it'd do to me. I've wanted you from the moment we met. I've wanted to explore every inch of your body and make you mine. But your pleasure is my main priority. Always. As long as you're satisfied, I could never ask for more. But to think you ever believed I didn't want ache for you every passing moment pains me. I ... I want to .. Can I show you? Will you let me show you how badly I need you?"

"Please .. Fuck, Hao, please, I-"

He moaned the moment he finally connected your lips, hands going crazy at the way he squeezed and caressed every inch he could reach. His moans against your lips did not halt as you whined desperately at his kiss, relishing in the speech he had just delivered to you. What you were feeling was beyond lust at this point. You felt something you had never before, having waited months for your boyfriend to finally want you the way you did him. You weren't sure if he was playing it up for you, but you didn't want it to stop regardless.

"My love," he finally disconnected your lips, "Going to give you everything. Everything I've been holding back, I- I don't even know where to start."

His eyes could not stay in one place, darting around every inch of your nude body. You had known Minghao to be attracted to you, it was something he expressed many times, but you had never seen the calm man so frantic before. His calm nature was completely gone.

"You can do anything you want, Hao. Just, please ..."

He shut you up with yet another kiss, laying you down on the bed in the process. He dragged his dick against your cunt, groaning at the feeling. You were still drenched from your ruined orgasm from earlier, and he was hard due to your prior interruption, so it wasn't difficult to get the two of you ready for each other.

"Wanna be in you so badly, but .. Fuck, you just feel so good like this angel," he was grabbing onto your thighs by now, lifting them up in order to angle himself just right to drag his cock right against your clit. His eyebrows were furrowed and his face flushed. He was a broken version of himself, with his only purpose in mind being to bring the two of you the most pleasure imaginable. You felt like an idiot for never expressing your concerns to your boyfriend, not imagining that it'd end up so favorably for you. The pleasure you felt at his lack of self-control as he played with you couldn't compare to any previous time in which you'd made love.

He separated himself from you before either of you could come, muttering something along the lines of 'Wanna savor you, my love.' He still seemed frantic, not fully sure where he wanted to touch first or what part of you to enjoy at that moment. He went from kissing your chest to rubbing your pussy with his long fingers. He put you in all positions he could think of to kiss up and down your body, waxing poetic at you repeatedly as he sighed against your skin. The occasional times in which his cock would accidentally grace against you had you burning, wanting him inside you more than anything. Now that you knew he wanted you just as bad as you did him; now that he was fully yours.

"My beautiful girl ... Love you so much. The pleasure you bring me .. You have no idea. How could I ever let you think I didn't carry a torch for you night after night. Is this okay? Is it okay to want someone this badly? To ache for you day and night, only thinking of your touch?," he was finally facing you again, close enough to invade all your senses.

"Gonna have you now, okay, angel? Gonna show you how strongly I feel about you. How you make me lose all my inhibitions."

He entered you with no further warning, letting out the groan he always did, but this time his mouth would not stop running, moaning and sighing your name against your ear, letting you know how your cunt around him made him lose his mind.

"My most beautiful, girl ... fuck. Gonna break you ... I've held back for too long ... Need you every day," the way he was fucking you was nothing short of animalistic, with both his words and the slapping of your skin filling up the silence of the room.

"God, that day you showed up with that pretty set for me? Do you have any idea how difficult it was to not pin you against the wall and rip it off of you? Make you cry as you took all of me until every single drop of my cum was leaking from your cunt? The image has not left my mind for a single moment, angel. Can't think, shit ... Can't breathe without thinking of you," despite his insane dancer stamina, his breathing was becoming disheveled as he continued to piston into you.

You had thought that Minghao had already given you all types of pleasure throughout your relationship, but now that he had finally snapped you had truly reached heaven. And it seemed like it was the case for him too. He was unable to stop himself from telling you his every thought, with his emotions getting the best of him as he fucked into you almost animalistically. His fingers were bruising your thighs as he held you with all bis might; something you thought your soft and sweet Minghao was incapable of doing.

"Hao ... I need .. I'm gonna cum, Hao, please!"

"Yeah? Gonna let me have it, angel? Love when you cum for me. So soft and pretty, all for me. Cum, my love. Cum and I'll give you all of me in return."

The thought of his cum filling you up made you lose control, cumming as your back arched almost completely off the bed. You felt like you'd ascended, being given the most intense orgasm of your life, followed by a warm feeling inside you; the feeling of Minghao's essence penetrating you.

He almost fell on top of you as he finished, breath hot and heavy against your skin.

"My love? Are you okay? Was that too much?," it only took a few moments of silence for him to speak up, showing immediate concern for your limp and breathless state.

You had been more than okay, having never felt more loved and wanted in your life. From his words to his actions, Minghao had managed to make you realize how wrong you'd been all along. It wasn't that he didn't want you, but that he wanted you too much to hold back if given the chance to fully give himself to you. But now it was all out in the open. Now you could finally enjoy each other to the fullest extent.

"I'm okay, Hao. Thank you," you felt shy in the aftermath of it, now fully processing all the words of lust your boyfriend had whispered against your skin as he fucked you into the mattress. You had seen a side of Minghao you hadn't known existed.

"Are you sure? I didn't scare you off, did I?"

"Are you kidding? I've wanted you to do that for ages. I was going insane throwing myself at you!"

He chuckled, booping at your nose lovingly, "You were making my resolve break, my love. Wasn't sure how much longer I could go without going past my limit."

"Could've talked me through it at least once, you know. I wouldn't've objected," you humphed.

"How about I make up for it now, hmm? Let me clean you up in the shower?"

"Yeah? Gonna tell me how much you want me again?", you grinned against him.

"Yes, my angel. Every single day."

a/n: not proofread and i also had no idea how to end it my bad </3

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