#seventeen the8

[woozimightmuderyounme]

A Petition to bring back this fluffy blond haired Choi Seungcheol, cause just look at him-

Gods! the man makes me feel things! He looks so damn adorable!

[scarletwinterxx]

hiiii! i really enjoy reading your niki aus!! if the request are open, is it possible to request a vernon or minghao x oc one-shot/short drabble based off of niki's song 'facebook friends'? i just heard it again and thought about them :((((

YOU ARE IN LUCK BCS I JUST SAW NIKI 😭 when i read this request I JUST KNEW WHAT TO DO but i'm still working on my angst writing skills but i hope you enjoy this one🥺

alsoooo for reqs, i am slowly working my way through them. it might take some time tho so just a heads up😅🤍

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You stare at the name on your email inbox, double-checking to make sure you read it correctly. 

Xu Minghao. 

Your fingers tighten around the edge of your desk as Jihyo leans over your shoulder. "No way," she whispers. "It’s him? The artist you've been trying to track down is him?"

It almost doesn’t feel real. The elusive, secretive artist whose work has been making waves in the industry—the one you’ve been assigned to collaborate with for the upcoming exhibit—is none other than the person you once thought might be your forever. 

The one who slipped away from you like a dream fading in the morning light.And now, after years of silence, you have a meeting scheduled with him.

You exhale slowly, trying to push down the sudden wave of emotions threatening to rise. It's been years. Maybe he’s changed. Maybe you have. But there’s no denying that the name on your screen still has the power to shake you.

Jihyo nudges your shoulder. “Are you okay?”

You nod, though you’re not entirely sure if it’s true.

“I mean, what are the odds?” she says, still staring at the screen like it might change if she blinks enough times. “Are you gonna go?”

You give her a look. “Of course, I have to. It’s my job.”

“Yeah, but—” she pauses, studying you. “It’s him. You never really told me what happened between you two.”

You swallow, memories flashing through your mind—late-night conversations, whispered laughter, the way he used to look at you like you were the only person in the room. And then, the goodbye that came too soon.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “We just… lost each other.”

Jihyo hums, clearly not satisfied with that answer but choosing not to push. Instead, she gestures toward your laptop. “Well, whatever happened, you’re about to see him again. Are you ready for that?”

You glance at the email again, at the date and time of the meeting.

Ready or not, it’s happening.

The café you picked for the meeting is quiet, tucked away from the usual crowd. You arrived early, nerves buzzing under your skin, but you kept your posture composed. Professional. This is just work.

When Minghao walks in, the air seems to shift. He’s just as you remember—tall, effortlessly graceful, his presence commanding without trying. His dark eyes scan the space before they land on you.

“Hey,” he says simply, sliding into the seat across from you like this is the most casual thing in the world.

Like nothing ever happened.

Your grip tightens around your coffee cup. “Thanks for coming.”

He nods, leaning back slightly. “You were persistent.” There’s a ghost of amusement in his tone, but nothing more. No flicker of recognition beyond what’s expected. No acknowledgment of the past you once shared.

Jihyo, sitting beside you, clears her throat. “So, you two know each other?”

You hesitate. Minghao beats you to it.

“We used to.” His voice is light, indifferent. “It’s been a long time.”

That’s it. No warmth, no curiosity. Just a fact, stated and discarded.

Jihyo shoots you a glance, one eyebrow raised, but you can’t meet her eyes. Instead, you straighten your shoulders and force a professional tone. “Let’s talk about the exhibit.”

You pull out your tablet, tapping the screen to bring up the exhibit’s concept proposal. Your fingers are steady, your voice even as you start outlining the details, but you can feel Jihyo’s gaze flickering toward you every so often. She’s noticed. Of course, she has.

“This exhibit is designed to focus on themes of anonymity and identity,” you explain, keeping your tone neutral, professional. “Your work fits seamlessly with that concept. The way you obscure figures, distort reality—it makes the viewer question what’s real and what’s hidden beneath the surface.”

Minghao listens, his face unreadable. He nods slightly but doesn’t interrupt.

You glance up, trying to gauge his reaction, but his expression gives away nothing. This version of him—cool, detached—feels foreign to you. The Minghao you knew was quiet but warm, his words sparse but meaningful. You remember the way his gaze used to linger, the way his laughter felt like a secret just for you.

But this man in front of you? He might as well be a stranger.

Still, you push through, keeping your voice steady. 

“We’ll be dedicating an entire section to your work. Since you prefer anonymity, we can arrange for all communication to go through me directly—unless you’d like to be more involved in the curation process?”

Minghao tilts his head slightly, considering. “I trust your judgment.”

Something about the way he says it, so detached, makes something tighten in your chest.

“Then we’ll handle the layout and let you approve before finalizing. I’d also like to discuss any specific pieces you have in mind.”

Minghao hums, fingers lightly tapping against the table. “I’ll send over a selection tonight.”

And just like that, it’s all business. No hesitation, no awkwardness on his part. It’s like the years apart never happened. Like you never meant anything more than a fleeting acquaintance.

Jihyo clears her throat, leaning forward slightly. “So, Mr. Xu,” she says, feigning casual interest

“Minghao is fine”

“Right, sorry. Minghao, I heard you go way back, huh?”

You shoot her a sharp glance, but she ignores it.

Minghao, to your frustration, remains utterly unbothered. He gives a slight nod. “Yeah. We knew each other a long time ago.”

That’s it. No elaboration. No emotion.

“Minghao, we’d also like to arrange a preview event before the full opening—”

Jihyo leans back in her chair, clearly unimpressed with your deflection, but she lets it slide. For now.

The meeting continues, all smooth efficiency and professional formality. You and Minghao exchange words, but none of them are personal. Nothing slips through. Still, you can feel it. That undercurrent of something unresolved.

The office is quiet except for the rhythmic clicking of your keyboard as you work on the proposal layout. You’re determined to focus, to push past whatever lingering tension is still curling in your chest from the meeting. Minghao is just another artist, and this is just another exhibit. That’s all.

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

Then, from the corner of your eye, you see Jihyo.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just slowly rolls her chair over to your desk. The wheels squeak slightly against the floor, making her approach all the more dramatic. You pretend not to notice.

She stops right beside you, hands folded in her lap. Waits.

You continue typing, expression neutral.

Jihyo exhales. “So…”

You keep typing.

She leans in. “Who was Minghao to you?”

You knew this was coming. You let out a slow breath, still focused on the screen. “An artist I’m working with.”

Jihyo makes a noise—a mix between a scoff and a laugh. “Oh, please.” She swivels her chair so she’s directly facing you. “I may not have known you when you two were a thing, but I know you now, and you were not normal back there.”

You sigh, finally looking at her. “Jihyo—”

She lifts a finger. “No. Don’t ‘Jihyo’ me. The tension at that table? I could taste it. And I don’t even know what flavor it was. Bitterness? Regret? Unresolved yearning?”

You groan, letting your head drop onto your desk. “Can we not?”

Jihyo pats your shoulder. “Oh, we absolutely can.” Then, after a pause, she adds, “But we won’t.”

You lift your head just enough to glare at her. “It was a long time ago.”

Jihyo tilts her head. “And yet, here we are.”

You open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. Because she’s right. You did react. You did feel something. And the fact that Minghao acted like nothing ever happened? That stung more than you’d like to admit.

Jihyo smirks, clearly seeing the conflict on your face. “Look, I’m just saying… If this were a movie, this would be the part where you two have a dramatic, emotionally charged confrontation in the rain.”

You deadpan. “We’re curating an art exhibit, not starring in a K-drama.”

Jihyo grins. “Yet.”

The exhibit venue is quiet when you arrive. Sunlight filters through the tall windows, casting long shadows on the polished floors. You exhale, taking in the open space, already visualizing how the pieces will be arranged.

You came alone on purpose.

After the meeting with Minghao, you needed a moment to clear your head. No distractions, no lingering stares, no best friend dramatically rolling her chair toward you demanding answers. 

Just you and the work.

You move toward the center of the room, pulling out your tablet to review the layout. The space is perfect—high ceilings, just the right balance of natural and artificial light. The way the walls curve will complement Minghao’s pieces beautifully. You can already imagine the way his art will breathe life into the room.

You’re so focused that you don’t notice someone else entering. Minghao stands near the entrance, hands in the pockets of his coat, eyes scanning the space before they land on you.

Your fingers tighten around your tablet. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

He shrugs slightly. “I wanted to see the space for myself.” His voice is calm, casual like running into each other is just another normal occurrence. Like you didn’t sit across from each other yesterday, pretending you were just two professionals who had never been anything else.

You nod, forcing yourself to mirror his indifference. “It’s a good venue. Your pieces will stand out here.”

Minghao steps further inside, gaze flickering over the walls, the lighting, the empty space waiting to be filled. “It suits the theme.”

There’s a beat of silence. You shift your weight slightly, debating whether to say something more, but Minghao speaks first.

“You always wanted to do this, didn’t you?”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“This.” He gestures loosely around the venue. “Curating. Putting together exhibits. I remember you talking about it.”

You stare at him for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. He remembers?

You shake it off, nodding. “Yeah. I worked for it.”

Minghao hums in acknowledgment, stepping closer. “You’re good at it.”

It’s a simple statement, but something about it makes your breath hitch. You tell yourself it’s just the surprise of hearing him say it, not the warmth curling at the edges of your chest.

You clear your throat, shifting the conversation back. “We’ll need to finalize the layout soon. If you have any specific requirements for how your pieces should be displayed, now’s the time to bring them up.”

Minghao looks at you, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. “I trust your judgment.”

It’s the second time he’s said that, and yet, it still feels different coming from him.

For a moment, the weight of the past lingers in the space between you. But then, Minghao turns, walking further into the venue, and just like that, the moment is gone.

You pull up the digital floor plan on your tablet, stepping to the center of the space as Minghao watches. “The main area will have the larger installations,” you begin, voice steady, professional. “We want visitors to be drawn in immediately, so we’re positioning the most visually striking pieces here.”

Minghao nods slightly, his gaze sweeping across the room, already visualizing it. “This section will be more intimate. It’s meant to slow people down, to make them pause and really engage with the work rather than just passing through.”

You continue walking, feeling yourself getting more absorbed in the details. You’re in your element now curating, shaping the experience, making sure every piece has a purpose.

Then, you stop in front of a particular section of the room.

There’s something about this space. The way the light falls, the way it feels slightly tucked away yet still open. You can see it. something important should go here. Something that holds weight. But for some reason, the words to explain it won’t come out the way you want them to.

You frown slightly, trying to find the right phrasing. “This part—there’s just something about it,” you say, gesturing vaguely. “It’s like… I don’t know, it feels different from the rest of the space, like it—”

You cut yourself off, frustrated, but before you can try again, Minghao speaks.

“I can see that.”

You turn to him. He’s looking at the space, his expression soft, thoughtful. Then, he smiles—small, barely there, but real.

“You’re right,” he says simply.

And just like that, you know he understands. Exactly what you meant, even when you couldn’t find the words.

After walking through the space, you decide to stop by the small café tucked inside the venue. You were planning on going alone just a quick coffee before heading back to finalize more details but Minghao follows.

You don’t say anything as you both order, and he doesn’t make a move to leave once you find a quiet corner to sit. It’s not awkward, exactly. 

Just… unexpected.

Then, as you stir your drink absentmindedly, he asks,

“How have you been?”

You blink, looking up at him. There’s no bitterness in his tone, no underlying anger or resentment. Just a simple question, asked like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You hesitate for a moment before answering honestly. “I’ve been better.”

Minghao nods slightly, as if he expected that. He doesn’t push, doesn’t ask for details. Just lets your words settle between you. For some reason, that makes it harder to breathe.

Minghao watches you for a moment, fingers curled loosely around his cup. Then, in that quiet, thoughtful way of his, he says,

“You look good. More at peace.”

You freeze. Not because of the words themselves, but because of what he means.

He’s not just saying you look good. He’s talking about then. About the person you were when you left him. The version of you who didn’t know what to say, who let silence build walls between you both until there was no way back.

The wrong person at the right time.

You swallow, gripping your cup a little tighter. “I guess time does that.”

Minghao hums in response, gaze still steady, like he’s seeing through you rather than just looking. But he doesn’t say anything more.

You take a sip of your drink, staring down at the foam swirling in your cup. The air between you and Minghao isn’t heavy, but it isn’t entirely light either. It’s balanced on the edge of something unspoken. Something that neither of you seem willing to reach for.

Still, if he can acknowledge you, then you can do the same for him.

“You’ve done well for yourself,” you say, setting your cup down. “Your work is everywhere now. People are obsessed with figuring out the artist behind it all.”

Minghao exhales a small laugh, tilting his head slightly. “That wasn’t really the goal.”

You nod, because you know that. He never cared for fame, only the art itself. “Still. Congratulations.”

His eyes flicker to yours, and for a second, there’s something unreadable in his gaze. “Thanks.”

You lean back in your seat, studying him in a way you hadn’t let yourself before. He’s still him—still thoughtful, still composed—but there’s something different now. A certain ease in his presence.

“I always thought you’d make it,” you admit quietly. “Even back then.”

Minghao watches you, his expression unreadable. “Yeah?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Of course. You were never meant to be small. It was just a matter of time before people realized how good you are.”

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—something like surprise, something softer. He looks down at his cup, fingers tracing the rim. “You were the first person who ever said that to me.”

Your heart stumbles over itself for a moment. “I was?”

Minghao nods, gaze still on his drink. “Yeah.”

You sit with that for a moment, the weight of it settling between you. Back then, you were the one who saw it—the potential, the brilliance in him before the rest of the world did. You wonder if he remembers the late nights spent in quiet corners, sketchbooks spread out between you, his voice low as he talked about what he wanted to create.

You wonder if he remembers how much you believed in him.

Minghao lifts his head again, his gaze steady. “And you?” he asks. “Are you where you thought you’d be?”

The question catches you off guard.

You let out a slow breath, considering it. “I don’t know,” you say honestly. “I worked for this, and I love what I do. But… I don’t think I ever imagined it exactly like this.”

Minghao nods like he understands. Maybe he does. Then silence settles again, but this time, it doesn’t feel so sharp.

Maybe, after all these years, you’re both learning how to sit with unfinished conversations.

You don’t expect the call.

It’s late in the afternoon when your phone buzzes, Minghao’s name flashing across the screen. For a second, you just stare at it, debating whether to answer. But curiosity wins over hesitation, and you press the call button.

“I need to show you something,” he says, skipping the pleasantries.

You blink. “What?”

“My studio,” he says simply. “Come by if you can.”

And just like that, you’re standing outside his studio a few hours later, staring at the discreet entrance of a space you never expected to see. Minghao lets you in without a word, leading you through a warmly lit, open space that’s somehow both chaotic and meticulous. Canvases lean against the walls, paintbrushes sit in jars, and sketchbooks are stacked on nearly every surface.

It smells like paint, ink, and something distinctly him.

You take your time looking around, scanning the pieces scattered throughout the room. Some are finished, others half-done, waiting for something only Minghao knows. His style has evolved—bolder, more refined—but you can still see the traces of the artist you once knew.

Then your eyes land on something unexpected.

A random piece of paper, slightly worn at the edges, tucked between a few sketchbooks. And on it—

You.

A sketch, delicate and detailed, as if he had drawn it absentmindedly but with careful intent. The lines are softer than his usual work, more personal.

It looks like he made it a long time ago.

Your breath catches for just a second. You carefully pick up the paper, running your fingers over the edges. “This is…”

Minghao glances over, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t look surprised that you found it.

You look at him. “You kept this?”

He holds your gaze for a moment before shrugging. “It was never meant to be thrown away.”

There’s something in his voice—something quiet, something real—that makes your chest feel too tight. Minghao doesn’t acknowledge the sketch any further. No explanation, no lingering stares, no sentimental comments. Just a simple, indifferent shift in attention—like it was nothing at all. Like it wasn’t a quiet echo of something neither of you had spoken about in years.

Instead, he steps past you, gesturing toward a set of canvases against the wall. “These are the pieces I’m considering for the exhibit.” His tone is smooth, professional. As if the last few minutes never happened.

You exhale, steadying yourself before setting the sketch down carefully. If he wants to act like it wasn’t there, like it didn’t just pull you backward in time, then fine. Business as usual.

“I want this one in the main space,” Minghao says, tapping a particular canvas. It’s bold—strong lines, movement that commands attention. It’s exactly the kind of piece that pulls people in.

You nod. “It’ll work well as a centerpiece. We can adjust the lighting to enhance the depth here.” You gesture toward a section of the painting. “It should be the first thing people see when they enter.”

Minghao hums in agreement, moving on to the next one. He explains the intention behind each piece, his voice calm, collected. You listen, taking notes, asking the necessary questions. You keep your posture straight, your tone even. Like you’re just a curator working with an artist.

Like you didn’t just see a version of yourself from years ago, sketched on a piece of paper he never threw away.

You sit in the small office area of his studio, notebook open, pen moving as you jot down notes. Minghao sits across from you, leaning slightly against the desk, his arms folded as he explains his vision for the exhibit.

“This one should be near the entrance,” he says, tapping a photo of a piece. “It sets the tone.”

You nod, writing it down. “And the smaller installations?”

“Scattered,” he replies. “I want people to explore, not just walk through.”

You hum in understanding, scribbling another note. Your focus stays on the page, on the structure, on making sure everything is recorded properly.

Then—silence.

You don’t notice it at first, too absorbed in organizing his ideas into something tangible. But after a few beats, the quiet lingers, stretching between you like something waiting to be acknowledged.

You pause. Slowly, you look up.

Minghao is watching you.

His expression isn’t unreadable, nor is it piercing. It’s just… thoughtful. His dark eyes steady, observant, like he’s studying something beyond the notes you’re taking.

You hold his gaze, but he doesn’t speak.

It’s the way he used to look at you—when you weren’t paying attention, when you were lost in thought. Back then, you had pretended not to notice. You wonder if you should do the same now.

Instead, you blink, shifting slightly in your seat. “…What?”

Minghao’s lips curve just slightly, something almost amused flickering across his face. Then, as if nothing happened, he looks back at the notes.

“Nothing,” he says smoothly.

And just like that, he continues as if he hadn’t just looked at you like that.

Jihyo orders the second round before you even finish your first. She gives you a knowing look over the rim of her glass, waiting, letting the weight of the night settle around you. The bar is loud enough that no one else is paying attention to your conversation, but not so loud that you have an excuse to avoid it.

You sigh, pressing your fingertips against your temple. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Jihyo leans forward, eyes glinting under the dim lights. “How about the part where you and the mysterious, elusive Minghao actually have history? Because I’m still recovering from that revelation.”

You exhale a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “We met in university.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We were… close.”

Jihyo raises a brow.

You roll your eyes. “Fine. We were together. Sort of.” You take a sip of your drink, letting the warmth settle in your chest before continuing. “It wasn’t like some grand, dramatic thing. One day, it was just… us. And it made sense.”

Jihyo watches you carefully, sipping her own drink. “And then?”

You grip your glass a little tighter. “And then one day, I left.”

She stills, waiting.

You swallow, staring at the ice cubes clinking softly against the glass. “It wasn’t planned. Or maybe it was, but not in a way I let myself admit. One day, I was fine, we were fine. And then the next, I told myself it was too much. Too fast.” Your fingers trace the rim of your glass absently. “I convinced myself I needed space. That if I stepped away, I’d figure things out. And when I was ready, he’d still be there.”

Jihyo doesn’t say anything, just watching you carefully.

You let out a quiet laugh, but it’s hollow. “That was just me being selfish.”

There. You finally said it.

“I came back,” you continue, voice quieter now. “I thought—maybe I’d say something, maybe I’d fix it. But by then, he was gone. Really gone. And I couldn’t blame him for that.”

Jihyo exhales slowly. “Damn.”

You huff out a weak laugh. “Yeah.”

She tilts her head, eyes searching yours. “And now?”

Now.

Now, you’re a curator, standing across from him in a professional setting, acting like none of it ever happened. Now, he’s a well-known artist, more self-assured, more composed, as if the years that passed had only refined him.

Now, you sit here, trying to be happy for him. And you are.

But there are moments—like when he looked at you in his studio, like when he spoke about his art the way he always used to—when you wish you met now.

When you wish he met this version of you.

You shake your head, forcing a small smile. “It doesn’t matter. He’s doing well. I’m happy for him.”

Jihyo gives you a long look, then sighs, taking another sip of her drink. “You can be happy for someone and still wish things were different.”

You close your eyes briefly, exhaling. “Yeah.”

Neither of you say anything for a while, just letting the weight of old memories and unfinished stories settle between you.

Then Jihyo knocks back the rest of her drink and slaps a hand on the table. “Okay, I love you, but that was depressing as hell. We need another round.”

You let out a real laugh this time, shaking your head. “Fine. One more.”

Jihyo grins. “Atta girl.”

And for now, that’s enough.

A few days later you go back to check the venue. With the event fast approaching you wanted to make sure everything is perfect.

The venue is quiet, save for the occasional shuffling of canvases and the soft hum of the overhead lights. It’s late—too late for the rest of the team to still be here—but you stayed behind, double-checking the placements, making sure everything looked just right.

Your footsteps echo lightly as you walk through the space, stopping in front of one particular painting.

It’s larger than you remember.

You know this piece. Or rather, you know the first version of it, the one that used to sit in Minghao’s dorm back in university. He had painted it late one night, the room dimly lit, colors swirling on the canvas as he worked in quiet concentration. You remembered watching him, sitting on the floor with your back against his bed, knees pulled to your chest.

A voice breaks through the stillness.

“I didn’t think you’d still remember that.”

You turn to see Minghao a few steps away, hands tucked into his pockets. He isn’t surprised to see you here. Maybe he expected it.

Your lips curve slightly. “Of course I remember.” You glance back at the painting. “It’s right here.”

Minghao steps closer, stopping beside you. His gaze lingers on the canvas, something unreadable in his expression.

“This was the first piece I ever made public,” he says after a moment.

You blink, turning to him. “Really?”

He nods. “After you left, I thought about getting rid of it.” He exhales, tilting his head slightly. “But I couldn’t. So instead, I made it bigger. And when the time came to submit something for my first exhibit, I chose this.”

Something tightens in your chest.

You look up at him. His expression isn’t unreadable, nor is it particularly wistful. He’s just… there. Present. Real.

And maybe that’s enough. Maybe some stories don’t need rewriting. Maybe some things aren’t meant to be undone, only understood.

You look back at the painting, taking in every stroke, every layer of color. It’s the same, but it’s different. Like you. Like him. Like everything that’s changed between you.

You swallow, voice quieter now. “So this was it. The start.”

Minghao nods, his voice just as soft. “Yeah.”

You don’t know what else to say.

The painting stretches before you, a silent testament to the history you share—one that neither of you ever really put into words. You keep your gaze on the painting, the familiar swirls of color pulling you back to a time when things were simpler—when you didn’t question what you meant to each other, when you just were.

Your voice is quiet when you ask, “Why this?”

Minghao doesn’t answer right away. He stands beside you, hands still tucked in his pockets, his head tilted slightly as he looks at the painting.

Then, after a long pause, he says, “Because I thought even if we parted ways we were still under the same stars.”

Your breath catches.

His voice is steady, like he isn’t saying something that shakes you. Like it’s just a simple truth. “And maybe,” he continues, softer now, “somewhere, on rare days… you think of me too.”

You blink, staring at the painting but not really seeing it anymore.

Because the thing is...

he’s right.

There were days, rare but sharp, when your mind drifted to him. When a passing song or a quiet night sky would remind you of a version of yourself you hadn’t spoken to in years. A version that had loved him, once. A version that had left.

You exhale slowly. “I did.” A pause. “I do.”

Minghao doesn’t react right away. But then, almost imperceptibly, his lips curve—just slightly, just enough for you to notice.

Neither of you say anything for a while. You just stand there, in the quiet of the venue, looking at a piece of art that holds more history than either of you are willing to say out loud.

Then, finally, Minghao shifts. “Come on,” he murmurs, glancing toward the exit. “You shouldn’t stay here this late. I’ll walk you out.”

You hesitate, just for a second. Then you nod.

But as you follow him out, you glance back one last time—at the painting, at the stars you once saw in it.

And you wonder how many times you’ve looked up at the same sky, thinking of him without realizing he was doing the same.

The event is a success.

People linger in front of Minghao’s pieces, murmuring their admiration, pointing out the details, the emotions woven into every brushstroke. Critics and collectors alike speak highly of his work, and you hear words like breathtaking and transcendent float through the air as you move through the crowd.

And yet, he’s not here.

You knew he wouldn’t be. Minghao had always been private, letting his work speak for him rather than stepping into the spotlight himself. But still, as the evening progresses and the venue slowly empties, you find yourself glancing at the entrance, wondering.

When the crowd finally dies down and most of the guests have gone, you take a quiet moment to breathe.

Then the door opens.

You turn

And there he is.

Minghao walks in without ceremony, effortlessly slipping into the space that had been dedicated to him all night. He looks around briefly, taking it all in, before his gaze finds you.

And in his hands a bouquet of flowers.

You blink, caught off guard. “You bought me flowers?”

His lips curve into something close to a smile. “It seemed fitting.”

You accept them hesitantly, fingers brushing over the petals. They’re simple, elegant not overly extravagant, but thoughtful. Like him.

He exhales, looking around at his own work before settling his gaze back on you. “It turned out even better than I imagined.”

You nod. “People loved it.”

Minghao hums, glancing at one of the paintings. Then, after a beat, he says, “Thank you.”

You look up at him, tilting your head. “For what?”

His expression softens. “Because you were the first person who ever believed in me.”

Something catches in your throat.

You think back to university, to late nights spent watching him paint, to the way you had always known—even back then—that he had something special. That the world would recognize it one day.

“I just saw what was already there,” you say quietly.

Minghao holds your gaze for a moment before letting out a small breath. “Still.”

You don’t say anything else. You just stand there, surrounded by his art, by his success, by the quiet weight of everything that has led to this moment. And this time, there’s no regret. Just something warmer, something steady. Something that feels a little like peace.

You glance down at the flowers in your hands, fingers brushing over the petals. The colors are soft, warm—not unlike the way this moment feels. When you look back up at Minghao, he’s already watching you. Not expectantly, not searching. 

Just seeing you. The way he always has.

“I’m glad we met again,” you say, voice quieter now.

Minghao’s gaze doesn’t waver. He doesn’t ask what you mean, doesn’t press for something deeper. Maybe because he already knows. You’re content to meet this version of him. And you’re happy he got to see this version of you too.

Minghao exhales softly, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then he nods, just once. “Me too.”

Minghao reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. He hesitates for just a second before extending it toward you. You take it carefully, unfolding it with steady hands.

And there it is—the original sketch of his first painting. The one you used to watch him work on in that tiny university dorm, the one that reminded you of the stars. The one that started everything.

You trace the faded lines with your fingertips, feeling the weight of time in every stroke.

Minghao exhales, tilting his head slightly. “It’s fitting that you have it.”

You look up at him, surprised. “Are you sure?”

He nods. “You were the first person who saw something in it. In me.” A small pause, then, softer—“It should be yours.”

Something in your chest tightens—not with regret, not with longing, but with something steadier, something like understanding.

You fold the paper carefully, holding it close. “Thank you.”

Minghao doesn’t say anything else. He just gives you a small, knowing smile before turning back to look at his own paintings. The pieces of himself that the world finally sees.

And as you stand there, with the past in your hands and the present settling around you, you realize—this is closure.

And it’s enough.

[mi9yuz]

(( _ _ ))..zzzZZ MORNINGS W MYUNGHO

warnings. mentions of food!

late riser: Myungho moves at his own pace despite his schedules. While in bed, he’ll stare at the ceiling for a couple of minutes before getting up. If you’re still in bed, he’ll pull you closer and whisper, “Stay a little longer.”

loves when you play with his hair: If you absentmindedly run your fingers through his messy morning hair, he melts instantly. He might even close his eyes and drift back to sleep. “You’re dangerous,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t stop you.

wakes up looking effortlessly gorgeous: It's almost unfair how good he looks with his messy hair, sleepy eyes, and slightly puffy lips. You tell him it’s not fair to be that handsome in the morning, and he just smirks.

steals your blanket: If you wake up cold, it’s probably because Minghao stole the blanket in his sleep. When you try to take it back, he groggily grumbles and pulls you under it with him instead.

quietly observes you: While you’re brushing your teeth or getting ready, Minghao will lean against the doorframe, watching you with a soft smile. If you ask why he’s staring, he just shrugs and says, “I like seeing you like this.”

breakfast preferences: He prefers a light breakfast—fruit, yogurt, or something simple. But if you want something heavier, he’ll cook for you without hesitation. If you ask him why he’s doing all the work, he’ll reply, “Because I like taking care of you.”

sometimes reads in the morning: If he wakes up before you, he’ll quietly read next to you in bed, careful not to wake you. The moment you stir, though, he sets the book down and gives you his full attention.

loves when you wear his clothes: If you walk into the kitchen wearing his oversized shirt, he’ll smirk and pull you into a hug. “You should just wear my clothes forever,” he teases, resting his chin on your head.

super soft in the mornings: He’s usually the composed, cool type during the day, but mornings bring out his affectionate side. He’s more touchy, more clingy, and less guarded. You’ll catch him pressing random kisses to your shoulder or intertwining your fingers under the table.

lingers before leaving: Even if he’s running late, he always takes a moment before heading out. A lingering kiss, a soft “Take care, okay?”, a final squeeze of your hand—he makes sure you know how much he loves you before walking out the door.

texts you random thoughts: Once he’s gone, you’ll get messages like “Did you eat yet?”, “I left my book on the couch. Don’t move it, I want to find it exactly where I left it.”, or “I’m already thinking about coming home to you.”

[scoupsakakitty]

Hellooo! I saw your post about Scoups and His S/O,the sasaeng found out about their relationship then begun to threaten his S/O. Can you do a Minghao Version?

Safe in Your Arms | idol!The8 x Reader | angst, fluff

Minghao sat in one of the chairs at the airport in China, his leg bouncing as he checked the time on his phone. He and Jun had just finished an event earlier that day, and now they were waiting for their flight back to Korea.

It wasn’t supposed to take long—just one day in China and then back home. But even one day felt too long to be away from Y/N. He missed her already and couldn’t wait to see her.

Jun leaned back in his seat, scrolling through his phone. “Relax, we’ll be home soon,” he said with a smile, noticing Minghao’s nervous energy.

Minghao nodded but couldn’t shake the strange feeling in his chest. Something didn’t feel right.

And then his phone rang.

He saw Y/N’s name on the screen and quickly answered. “Hey, are you okay?”

But the shaky sound of her voice made his heart drop.

———————————————————————————-

Y/N gripped the steering wheel so tightly that her fingers hurt. The streetlights outside her car flashed by, but she barely noticed them. All she could focus on was the black car still following her.

Her phone buzzed against the dashboard. She grabbed it quickly and answered.

“H-Hao,” she stammered, her voice shaking. “I think someone’s following me.”

“What?!” Minghao’s voice was sharp, making her flinch. She could hear background noise—an announcement at the airport and Jun asking questions beside him.

“They’ve been behind me for a while now. I turned a few times, but they’re still there.” Her breath was quick and shaky. She checked her mirror again. The car hadn’t left. “I don’t know what to do. Hao, I’m scared.”

“Y/N.” Minghao’s voice softened, but there was still worry in it. “Okay, first, calm down. Are your doors locked? Windows up?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Listen carefully,” he said. “Don’t go home, okay? Don’t lead them there.”

“Then where do I go?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“Go to the studio,” Minghao said quickly. “Some of the members are there. I’ll call them and tell them you’re coming. They’ll keep you safe until I get back. Can you do that for me?”

“Okay.” Her voice was quiet, but she forced herself to stay calm. “I’ll go there now.”

“Good. Just keep driving and don’t stop. I’ll be home soon. I promise.”

He hung up before she could say anything else, leaving her heart pounding as she changed lanes and headed toward the studio.

———————————————————————————-

Minghao shoved his phone into his pocket and jumped out of his seat. Jun looked up, frowning.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Y/N,” Minghao said quickly, pacing as he ran his hands through his hair. “I think sasaengs are following her. She’s heading to the studio now.”

Jun’s expression turned serious. “I’ll call the others.”

Minghao barely heard him. His mind raced as he grabbed his bag. The flight wouldn’t board for another thirty minutes, and he hated the thought of Y/N being scared and alone while he was so far away.

“She’ll be okay,” Jun said after hanging up his phone. “Seungcheol’s at the studio. They’ll take care of her until we land.”

Minghao nodded, but his chest felt tight. He wouldn’t feel okay—not until he was there, holding her in his arms.

———————————————————————————-

Y/N pushed through the doors of the studio, her breaths shaky. The lights inside felt too bright after the dark streets, and her legs felt weak.

Seungcheol was the first to reach her, pulling her into a gentle hug.

“You’re safe now,” he said softly. “Come on, let’s sit down.”

Joshua brought her a glass of water while the others locked the doors and closed the blinds.

“Are you okay?” Joshua asked, his voice calm.

“I-I don’t know,” Y/N admitted, her voice trembling. “I just didn’t know where else to go.”

“You did the right thing,” Seungcheol said firmly. “We’ll keep you safe until Minghao gets here.”

She nodded, but even with their words, the fear didn’t fully go away.

———————————————————————————-

The members insisted she stay in Minghao’s old dorm room, promising they’d check the area and take turns keeping watch. After a while, her body gave in to exhaustion, and she fell asleep under Minghao’s blanket, the scent of his cologne calming her just a little.

Hours later, the soft creak of the door woke her slightly, but she didn’t open her eyes until she felt a gentle touch on her hair.

Her eyes snapped open, panic bubbling up again.

“Shh,” a familiar voice said softly. “It’s just me.”

“Hao?” Her voice was small, but when she saw him sitting beside her, relief hit her so hard that tears welled up in her eyes.

“I’m here.” He reached out, brushing her hair back gently. “You’re safe now.”

She didn’t wait. She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. Minghao held her just as tightly, one hand running up and down her back.

“I was so scared,” she whispered.

“I know,” Minghao said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

She pulled back slightly, her teary eyes meeting his. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You kept me safe. You always do.”

Minghao cupped her face, gently wiping her tears away. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Not ever.”

Her lips trembled. “I love you.”

His face softened as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“I love you too.”

And for the first time that night, Y/N felt safe.

[xiaominghao]

8:40 pm.

---------------------

“I’m sorry, I’m so…”

“I already told you not to apologize,” Hao interrupted with quiet voice. “We can go out another day.”

“B-but…”

“We'll have other opportunities,” Hao placed a hand on your forehead and sighed in relief. “The fever has gone down, but you still need to rest.”

You took his hand in yours and it felt quite warm compared to yours, which seemed to have lost all trace of heat. Hao hated seeing you sick, but seeing you with your low guard made his heart so, so flustered.

“Do you need anything else?”

“Can you stay with me for a while?” you responded with pleading eyes. “If you get sick, I’ll take care of you, I promise!”

Hao chuckled softly before lying down on his side of the bed, and you sought his chest as if it were your favorite pillow.

“Love?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve told you… How much I like to hear your heartbeat?”

He surrounded you with his arms to bring you closer to his body, leaving a small kiss on the top of your head. “No, but say it more often.”

You wrapped your arm around his waist and closed your eyes to rest, the fogged window from the cold being the last thing you saw before falling into a deep sleep. Outside, it was raining cats and dogs, but you were safe in the cozy embrace of your boyfriend. You were at home.

[kozukensgf]

bf texts with the8!

genre: smau, crack, fluff

character: xu minghao

note: he’s so savage and unintentionally funny sometimes (but also can be the most calm and laid back i LOVE him) i hope i get his energy right enjoy ❤️

masterlist

[imonanotherlebel]

Aftercare -Seventeen

--------------------

Warnings: Nsfw, Minors DNI, fluffy as fu-

--------------------

S.Coups:

Seungcheol is all about making sure you're okay afterwards. He'd pull you close, letting you rest against his chest as he whispers sweet things in your ear, his hand gently stroking your back. "Did I go too hard, baby? Are you okay?" He'd kiss the top of your head and keep holding you tight, running a warm bath for both of you to relax in, making sure to keep you hydrated and cared for.

Jeonghan:

Jeonghan’s aftercare is all about tenderness and attention. He’d wrap you up in a cozy blanket, pulling you onto his lap as he murmurs, "You did so well, love." His hands would trace soothing patterns along your skin, massaging any sore spots. He’d keep whispering sweet reassurances, feeding you bites of fruit or chocolates, and gently playing with your hair until you fall asleep.

Joshua:

Joshua would be soft-spoken and sweet, his demeanor completely different from his more dominant side during intimacy. He’d kiss your forehead softly and murmur, "You were amazing, angel." He'd bring you water, help you clean up, and cuddle with you under the covers, humming softly or singing a lullaby to help you wind down and feel safe in his arms.

Jun:

Jun's aftercare involves a lot of cuddling and gentle touches. He’d make sure to clean you up with a warm washcloth, his hands tender and careful. "You’re so beautiful, you know that?" he'd whisper, his lips brushing your skin. He’d pull you into his arms, stroking your hair, and wouldn’t let go until he knows you’re completely relaxed and comforted.

Hoshi:

Hoshi is all about physical reassurance. He’d immediately pull you against his chest, his fingers tracing up and down your spine. "You’re okay, right?" he'd ask, his voice filled with concern. He'd wrap you in his arms, make sure you’re hydrated, and keep you close with soft kisses, playful nose nuzzles, and lighthearted comments to make you smile and feel cherished.

Wonwoo:

Wonwoo’s aftercare is calm and soothing. He’d quietly get up to clean you both off with a warm towel, his hands gentle and caring. "You did so good, my love," he’d say softly, his deep voice a comforting presence. Then, he’d pull you against him, wrapping his body around yours protectively, and he’d read to you or talk about anything calming until you drift off.

Woozi:

Woozi might be quiet and reserved, but his aftercare is incredibly attentive. He’d softly ask, "Was that okay? Did I push you too much?" as he wipes you down with a warm cloth. He’d cuddle you close afterward, his fingers threading through your hair, and sing you a soft, calming song or hum a tune, making you feel cherished and safe.

DK:

DK's aftercare is filled with love and tenderness. He’d shower you with gentle kisses all over your face and neck, holding you close as he murmurs, "You’re amazing, baby. Did you feel good?"

His touch would be soft and comforting, and he’d make sure you’re well-hydrated and snuggled up in his arms, whispering sweet things until you fall asleep.

Mingyu:

Mingyu would immediately switch into his nurturing mode, his gaze softening as he sees the blissful exhaustion on your face. “You did so well, baby,” he'd murmur, gently pulling you into his chest and brushing your hair away. Without hesitation, he'd scoop you up in his arms and carry you to the bathroom, carefully cleaning you up with tender hands. “Are you okay? Was it too much?” he'd ask softly, his thumb stroking your cheek. Afterwards, he'd tuck you into bed, offering water and staying close, whispering, "I’ve got you, love. Just rest now," as he holds you, running his fibgers up and down your back, making sure you feel completely safe and cherished.

The8:

The8's aftercare is methodical yet filled with care. He’d be incredibly gentle as he cleans you up, ensuring you’re comfortable. "You did so well," he’d whisper, his fingers lightly massaging any tense spots. He’d cuddle you afterward, making sure you feel warm, safe, and loved, all while speaking softly in your ear, calming you down with his words and presence.

Seungkwan:

Seungkwan would be full of gentle reassurance. "Are you okay? You were amazing," he’d say, immediately bringing a towel to clean you up. He’d cuddle you close afterward, offering water and making sure you’re snuggled up in blankets. He’d be the type to crack a light joke or two to make you smile, but he’d always keep his tone soft and comforting.

Vernon:

Vernon’s aftercare is all about gentle, loving touches and reassurance. He’d quietly clean you up, his hands warm and careful. "Was that okay for you?" he’d ask softly, his thumb stroking your cheek. Then he’d hold you close, letting you rest your head on his chest as he plays with your hair or talks softly about random, comforting things.

Dino:

Dino would be super attentive and sweet. He’d gently clean you up and make sure you’re comfortable, asking, "Are you feeling okay? Was it too much?" He’d wrap you up in his arms afterwards, stroking your back softly. He’d whisper sweet nothings, kissing your forehead and holding you until you fall asleep, ensuring you feel completely safe and loved..

............................

[slytherinshua]

ALL MY LOVE

genre. fluff. boyfriend headcanons. warnings. minghao dreams abt marriage and starting a family. not proofread and written while i'm sick and have half a braincell so i'm rly sorry if this is a mess. pairing. minghao x fem!reader. wc. 558. request. no. a/n. babe wake up slytherinshua is back skdjskd GOD IM SO HAPPY I WAS ABLE TO WRITE SOMETHING FINALLY 😭😭 thought this blog was literally gonna die cause writers block was so strong. also surprised it ended up being svt that broke through my block esp minghao but yk ill take it no complaints !!!!

boyfriend!minghao who’s a gentle, slow lover. he never rushes, but he also never leaves you with any doubt. he can read you like a book, and any concerns on your mind seem to be instantly resolved before you even have time to bring them up. he’s steady and true; your rock that you always know you can fall back on when things get tough. no matter what, he’ll always be there. he gives you a soft passionate type of love that you would never get tired of even after decades. 

boyfriend!minghao who’s always been ambitious. he has dozens of things he’d like to do and achieve, but he also knows how to take life slow and enjoy the present. he knows he has time to do everything he wants, and he reminds you that you also have plenty of time as well. sometimes you need that extra voice to tell you that it’s okay to take a break sometimes. it’s okay to breathe and think. no matter what, minghao will always be your biggest supporter— always rooting for you to strive and reach your goals, even if they are small.

boyfriend!minghao who helps you relax after a long day. warm tea and a massage are enough to put your mind and body at ease. his hands work like magic over your neck, shoulders, and back. it’s so good, in fact, that you feel guilty for not paying him for his service. he would never accept anything like that from you, though. once he’s done working out the knots for 20 minutes, he’d fall on top of you, giggling into the crook of your neck as he acts like your personal weighted blanket.

boyfriend!minghao who has a whole collection of couple items with you over the years. whether it be clothes, jewelry, or even mugs, everything he buys seems to come in a set of two. he can’t even imagine buying something for just himself anymore when you always seem to cross his mind whenever he spots something cute.

boyfriend!minghao who scolds you (but truly only out of love). his attention to detail and observant nature is both his strength and his flaw. he’s quick with his tongue— too quick— and will catch himself lecturing or correcting you when it wasn’t strictly needed. although it’s rare for his scolding to get on your nerves, as you know its a way he shows that he cares about you and loves you, it sometimes does. but he’s quick with his apologies as well, so no bickering between you two can ever last long. 

boyfriend!minghao who is so happy and secure in your relationship. he knows he’s found the one with you, and now that he’s been able to call you his for years, there’s no way he would ever be able to imagine his life without you. the overwhelming fondness he holds for you plants itself in his head and his heart and always has him thinking about your future together. he’d tell you randomly over tea how much he’s been thinking and dreaming about spending the rest of his life with you. whether it be big milestones like your wedding and starting a family, or smaller ones like waking up in each others arms each morning, he’s excited to experience it all with you.

↳ svt taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @ddeonudepressions,, @hannahsophie0103,, @minholing,,

@shuabby1994,, @icyminghao,, @98-0603,, @weird-bookworm,, @candewlsy,,

@wonwooz1,, @blossominghunnie,, @haecien,, @amara-mars,, @okshu,,

@parkjennykim,, @wootify,, @svtoose,, @seunghancore,, @ujisworld,,

@heavenfilm,, @sobun1est,, @bananabubble,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,,

@talking-saxy,, @nicholasluvbot,, @cupidslovearrows,, @50-husbands,, @hursheys,,

@gong-fourz,, @nonononranghaee,, @forever-atiny

[woozinhos]

Minghao wakes you with a classic "just the tip my love" yet you know hes too horny to stop himself

Notes: stop guys I feel like my writing has come back and

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.

Minghao had been tossing and turning all night, unable to fall asleep despite his exhaustion. He kept glancing over at you, his mind filled with thoughts of you and the things he wanted to do to you. Finally, around 4 in the morning, he gave up on sleep and turned to you. He ran a hand down your side, admiring the way your body looked in the dim light of the room.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice low and rough with desire. "Wake up." You stirred slightly, but didn't wake up completely. Minghao smirked at your half-awake state and continued to touch you, his hand sliding under the covers to caress your thigh.

"Wake up, baby," he repeated, his voice taking on a more commanding tone. "I need you." You slowly opened your eyes, blinking up at him sleepily. "Minghao?" you mumbled, still groggy from sleep. "What's wrong?" He smiled at you, his eyes dark with lust. "Nothing's wrong," he said. "I just couldn't wait any longer. I need to feel you, now." You were about to protest, but the look on Minghao's face made you reconsider. You knew that look all too well - he was determined to have you, no matter what.

"Minghao, it's the middle of the night," you said weakly, even as your body responded to his touch. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear. "I don't care," he whispered. "I need you so badly. Please, baby."

Minghao kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth as he pressed himself against you. "Just the tip, I promise," he murmured between kisses. "I'll be gentle." He continued to kiss you as his hands roamed your body, tugging at your clothes until you were completely naked beneath him. You moaned into the kiss, your resistance fading away as he touched you. "Minghao, we can't..." you tried to say, but the words died in your throat as he started to kiss down your neck. He chuckled against your skin. "Yes, we can," he said. "You know you want it too."

Minghao smirked as he felt you give in, his tip sliding into you with ease. "That's my good girl," he praised, nipping at your earlobe. He began to slowly thrust his hips, just enough to tease you and drive you crazy. "You feel so good, even just like this," he groaned. "I can't wait to be inside you completely." Minghao teased you, pulling his tip out and then pushing it back in, never going any further than that. He was enjoying the way you whimpered and squirmed beneath him, desperate for more.

"You're so wet for me," he growled. "I can feel how badly you want me. But I told you, just the tip for now." Minghao's self-control was tested as he continued to tease you, his cock aching to bury itself deep inside you. But he held back, determined to keep his promise and only use the tip.

"Fuck," he muttered, his eyes clenched shut in concentration. "You're making this so hard for me, Y/N." You looked up at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of need and frustration. "Please, Minghao," you pleaded. "I need more than just the tip. I need all of you." Minghao's resolve wavered at your words, his hips bucking involuntarily. "You're playing dirty," he accused, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. Minghao couldn't hold back any longer. He thrust into you fully, groaning as he finally felt the tight heat of your walls around him.

"You're such a bad girl," he growled, starting to move at a relentless pace. "I said just the tip, but you couldn't resist, could you?" You moaned loudly as he filled you completely, your back arching off the bed. "I'm sorry," you gasped, but you didn't sound sorry at all. "I couldn't help it, you were teasing me too much." Minghao chuckled, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he pounded into you. "You're lucky I love you so much," he said, his voice rough with lust. "Otherwise I'd punish you for disobeying me." Minghao knew he was the one who was truly desperate for you, but he enjoyed playing the dominant role. He continued to fuck you hard and fast, his hips snapping against yours with every thrust.

"You feel so good, I don't know how long I'll last," he grunted, his fingers digging into your skin. "But I'm going to make you cum first, baby." Minghao could feel your walls clenching around him, a sign that you were getting close to your orgasm. He reached down and began to rub your clit in tight circles, wanting to push you over the edge.

"Cum for me, baby," he urged. "Let go and cum on my cock." It didn't take long for you to obey his command, your body shaking as you came undone beneath him. You cried out his name, your nails scratching down his back as you clenched around him. Minghao groaned at the feeling, his own orgasm approaching quickly. "That's it, that's my girl," he praised, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his release. "You're so beautiful when you cum." Minghao's head fell back as he came, his eyes rolling back in pleasure. He spilled himself inside you, his cock pulsing as he filled you with his hot seed.

He collapsed on top of you, panting heavily as he tried to catch his breath. "Damn," he muttered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You were both breathing heavily, your bodies slick with sweat. Minghao pulled out of you and rolled onto his back, pulling you with him so that you were lying on his chest. He stroked your hair gently, a satisfied smile on his face. "I love you," he said again, his voice softer this time. "You're everything to me."

[itssunshinetoday]

~ the boyfriend pictures series

boyfriend pictures

[sillyuin]

Have you seen my cat?

Genre: fluff, meet cute.

Pairing: Minghao x reader.

Yuin's note: I would love to write and develop this idea further but idk, let me know what you think.

It had already been more than three days since the last time you knew anything about him. The apartment felt strange even though all your things were in the same place, but he wasn’t there, and you were already starting to notice the difference.

You sighed deeply, sinking into the living room couch and staring at the horizon through the window in front of you. The tall buildings partially blocked the sunset, while you, in the same way, felt like you were fading away. That gloomy feeling stayed with you until you went to sleep.

The next morning, you got up with new strength and decided to look after him, it didn't even matter that you didn't know where to start your searching. After a routine workday at the office, you returned with the search for his whereabouts. However, just like the previous days, there were no results.

Head down, you took a seat in the outside garden of some house, and as you watched the sunset of the fourth day without him, thick tears filled your eyes and you didn't bother holding them back. But then, a voice interrupted your thoughts.

That person cleared their throat. “Good afternoon, do you need anything?”

You jumped in your seat and tried to dry your tears. “I’m sorry, I just… I was tired.”

You looked up with a certain fear, thinking you’d meet the angry face of some man annoyed that a stranger was sitting in his property. However, you found a young man standing next to you, his face glowing with curiosity and innocence. For a moment, he reminded you of him…

 “I don’t want to bother you, but…” his voice was calm and gentle, “if you need help, you can tell me, and I’ll see what I can do for you.”

He extended his hand toward you and offered a friendly smile before introducing himself. “My name is Xu Minghao, and I’m the owner of this nursery.”

You shook his hand and after saying your name in a whisper, you glanced toward the house behind you and your eyes couldn’t believe how such a beautiful garden had gone unnoticed by you.

Despite being your first time appreciating that magical place, you’d already heard his name (apparently quite popular in the small town) mentioned by your coworkers, as the couldn’t stop talking about the handsome young man who ran the old nursery a few blocks away, caring for the plants as if they were his own family.

But it wasn’t just his elegant demeanor or the way he smiled—there was something else that left you speechless and for a moment, he made you forget your intrusive thoughts. But it was only for a very brief moment…

You stood up and took a deep breath to calm yourself. “Excuse me… You…”

His gaze and his full attention were on you, and it made you a little anxious.

“It’s okay, I’m listening.”

“Have you seen my cat?”

Minghao tilted his head slightly, and his eyebrows furrowed in the middle. “Your cat?”

You rummaged through your bag, looking for your phone, and showed him your wallpaper. “This is my cat. He’s been missing for more than three days.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, it must be terrible for you.”

You didn’t respond, just lowered your gaze and nodded slowly. It was very difficult to put into words how much you missed his presence, coming home and being greeted by his purring, or the way he curls up with you for bedtime.

Small tears started to fill the corner of your eyes, and the last thing you wanted to do was to make that kind man feel uncomfortable with your presence, and before you could just run away, he spoke.

“Let me do something for you.”

“Something… for me?”

“Yes, let me help you,” he said, stepping back slightly and extending his hand as an invitation. “Come in.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t, I’m in a hurry, and…”

“It won’t take long, I promise.”

You swallowed hard, thinking about how much you simply wanted to turn around and leave, but you nodded, and with some hesitation, stepped into the garden.

“I’ll give you a gift,” he explained, walking ahead of you, “to keep you company in these difficult times.”

You shrugged and made a slight grimace. “Thanks, but I’m not good at taking care of plants.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he turned to give you a smile, “I have a friend that I’m sure you can take care of.”

You gave a faint smile. “A… friend?”

Minghao said nothing, just gestured for you to come closer. When you took a few steps toward him, you heard a very familiar sound coming from nearby. Behind a flowerpot, a white, fluffy tail stretched out, and when you called his name, it revealed itself as a white cat that happily ran toward you.

“I was starting to worry about his owner,” Hao said to himself.

You were so happy to see him again—the only friend you had in that city—that you forgot about Minghao for a moment. “Don’t run off like that again, please,” you murmured, cuddling the cat in your arms. “I missed you so much, Vanilla.”

“I found him three days ago, sleeping on a sack of seeds” Hao explained. “And I guess he liked my food, because he didn't leave”.

“Thank you for taking care of Vanilla” you said with a bright smile, “He’s such a docile cat and I was afraid someone might have hurt him.”

“It was my pleasure to have his company. Actually, it made me think that I should adopt a cat for me.”

“Oh, can I go with you?” you blurted out, just to end up shrugging in shyness. “You know, I have one, and… I know a thing or two.”

Hao smiled and tilted his head slightly, his deep gaze resting on you with curiosity and perhaps, just perhaps, something a little further. “How about this weekend? At two in the afternoon”

You nodded slowly, unable to articulate a word. The silence lingered for a few seconds, during which the two of you simply held each other’s gaze, until you felt a soft warmth on your cheeks, trying your best not to smile.

“Saturday, at two!” you stammered as you walked towards the exit of the garden. “I’ll come pick you up!”

And as you turned to leave he called out your name, making you slowly turn on your heels.

“Remember to put an address on Vanilla’s collar,” Hao hesitated a little, “you know… If he comes by again… I know where to go.”

[duachai]

PAS DE DEUX - THE8 | SEVENTEEN

Minghao is the mentor for a new batch of trainees and catches M/n, an unmotivated and conscious trainee in a way no one can quite explain. They spend time in the studio together. Maybe too much. The others are jealous. But nothing is stopping him from teaching his boy his body is beautiful.

Do it like how you taught me, Make bands by my lonely

♱ PAIRING : XU MINGHAO X MALE READER ♱ CONTENT WARNING : This writing contains VERY explicit sexual content and mature themes. ♱ AUTHOR'S NOTE : Um... so once again I got carried away... 20 pages... tah dah! LINKS : Wattpad

The studio was alive with movement, the rhythmic pounding of feet against the polished wood floor syncing with the bass-heavy track playing overhead. The air smelled of sweat and determination, a reminder of the countless hours poured into perfecting every step, every breath, every motion. 

M/n stood at the back of the room, trying to blend in, but it was impossible. His movements weren’t sharp, his footwork not crisp. He could feel the stares, the subtle shifts in the energy around him and other trainees noticing, judging. 

“Again,” the dance coach called out. The music restarted, M/n clenched his fists before throwing himself back into the choreography. He knew he wasn’t the best, but he refused to be the worst. 

The murmurs started the second he stumbled. 

“He’s still struggling?” someone muttered under their breath. A quiet scoff from another trainee followed. 

M/n bit down on the inside of his cheek. Then, the music cut off abruptly. 

"Alright, take five. Everyone, except you." The unfamiliar voice was firm but smooth, and the moment M/n turned to look, his breath caught. 

Xu Minghao stood near the mirrors, arms crossed, eyes sharp and assessing. The dancer, Seventeen’s performance powerhouse, was watching him. 

M/n swallowed hard. His muscles ached from overwork, his chest tight from exertion, but nothing compared to the weight of Minghao’s gaze on him. 

"You," Minghao continued, taking a step closer, "stay back. The rest of you, get some water." 

The trainees hesitated, some exchanging glances before filing out. Their silent judgment burned against M/n’s skin. 

Minghao watched him for a long moment before speaking again, pointing to the floor, still comfortably leaning against the mirror. 

"Show me the last section of the routine." 

M/n exhaled sharply, nodding, wiping the sweat on his palms on his sweatpants. He stepped into position, body tense with nerves, and the music started again. He moved, he tried. He failed. 

Minghao clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "You're too stiff," he said, stepping forward. "You're overthinking. Let me show you." 

Before M/n could react, Minghao was behind him, close enough that M/n could feel the warmth of his presence. Slender fingers traced his skin as he guided his arms into the right position, fingers skimming his wrist, adjusting his posture. 

M/n's breath hitched. 

"Relax," Minghao murmured, voice low, close to his ear. "Feel the movement, don't fight it." 

The words sent a shiver down M/n’s spine, but he nodded, forcing himself to focus. He had to. He couldn’t afford to fall behind. Not in dance, not in his dreams. And definitely not because of the sudden, unwanted spark curling in his chest. 

Not for his mentor. 

Not for Xu Minghao. 

M/n took a steadying breath, forcing himself to focus on Minghao’s instructions rather than the way his mentor’s touch lingered just long enough to make his pulse quicken. 

“Again,” Minghao said, stepping back. 

The music restarted, and this time, M/n moved with more fluidity. His muscles still burned from exhaustion, but the difference was immediate. The moment he stopped fighting the choreography, it started to feel… natural. 

Minghao watched intently, nodding slightly as M/n executed the steps with newfound ease. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. When the routine ended, the silence stretched, save for the sound of M/n’s heavy breathing. 

Minghao’s lips quirked slightly. “See? You can do it.” 

M/n wiped the sweat from his forehead, his heart hammering from more than just exertion. “Barely.” 

“If you were hopeless, I wouldn’t be wasting my time.” Minghao’s tone was calm, matter-of-fact. He wasn’t giving compliments; he was stating a fact. 

Still, something in M/n’s chest fluttered at the words. 

The studio door opened, and the other trainees filtered back in. Some shot him unreadable glances, while others ignored him entirely. The shift in atmosphere was subtle, but it was there; the quiet resentment of those who had watched M/n struggle, only to see him get special attention from Xu Minghao himself. 

Minghao seemed to notice too, but he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he clapped his hands together. “Break’s over. Let’s get back to work.” 

M/n exhaled, shaking off the unease creeping up his spine. It didn’t matter what the others thought. He wasn’t here to impress them. He was here to prove to himself, to the company, to Minghao; that he belonged. 

As the next round of practice began, M/n threw himself into the dance, pushing past the doubt and the whispers. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t ignore the weight of Minghao’s gaze on him. 

And he wasn’t sure he wanted to. 

`` Days blurred together in an endless cycle of training, evaluations, and exhaustion. The choreography became muscle memory, but M/n's mind never settled. The studio had become a battlefield; one where every misstep felt like a bullet, and every success only fueled the silent resentment simmering around him. 

`Minghao remained a constant presence, his mentoring sharp and precise. He pushed M/n harder than the others, but in a way that felt deliberate, almost as if he was testing him. 

One evening, after an especially grueling session, M/n lingered behind in the studio, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Sweat dripped from his temples, his shirt clinging to his body. He should have left already, but his frustration wouldn’t let him. 

Why do I still feel behind? 

The door creaked open. 

"You’re overthinking again." 

M/n startled, turning to find Minghao leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed. His sharp gaze softened slightly as he stepped forward. 

M/n swallowed. "I just… I don’t get why it’s so easy for everyone else." 

Minghao hummed, stopping just a step away. “It’s not.” 

M/n scoffed. “You don’t see them struggling like I do.” 

"Because they hide it." Minghao tilted his head. "Like you're trying to right now." 

M/n froze. He hadn’t realized how tightly he was clenching his fists until Minghao’s gaze flickered to them. 

"You’re improving, M/n." Minghao’s voice was quieter now. "But dance isn’t just about the moves. It’s about trust." 

"Trust?" M/n frowned. 

Minghao nodded. "In yourself. In your body. In the movement. You fight it too much." 

M/n huffed. "Maybe because I keep feeling like I don’t belong here." 

The words slipped out before he could stop them. 

Silence settled between them. Minghao studied him for a long moment before speaking again, his voice firm but calm. 

"If you didn’t belong, I wouldn’t be wasting my time on you." 

The words hit deeper than M/n expected. 

For the first time in weeks, the tight knot in his chest loosened just slightly. 

Minghao didn’t offer more reassurance; he simply turned toward the sound system. "One more time. Just you and me." 

M/n hesitated before nodding. 

The music started, and this time, M/n let himself move. He let himself trust. 

And for the first time, he didn’t feel like he was chasing the rhythm. 

He was dancing with it. 

And Minghao was watching. 

M/n woke up sore the next morning, his body aching from the extra practice with Minghao. But despite the exhaustion, a sense of accomplishment settled in his chest. For once, he wasn’t drowning in self-doubt. 

Yet, as soon as he stepped into the practice room, the atmosphere felt… different. 

The other trainees were already stretching, but the usual chatter was subdued. A few pairs of eyes flickered toward him, whispers exchanged just low enough that he couldn’t make out the words. 

M/n exhaled sharply, pushing down the unease. 

He knew the others had noticed the extra attention Minghao gave him. He knew they probably thought he was getting special treatment. But they weren’t there when I stayed late. They weren’t there when I worked myself to the bone. 

"Suck up," someone muttered as he passed by. 

M/n’s jaw clenched, but he ignored it, focusing on his warm-up. 

When Minghao walked in a few minutes later, the tension in the room only thickened. He greeted the group briefly, eyes scanning the trainees before landing on M/n for just a second too long. M/n looked away, hoping no one noticed. 

They did. 

Practice was brutal. Minghao wasn’t holding back today, pushing them harder than ever. M/n did his best to keep up, but every time he executed the moves, he could feel the weight of eyes on him. 

Then, during a water break, the whispering turned into something worse. 

"Did you hear?" one of the trainees said just loud enough for M/n to catch. "Minghao’s been giving private lessons." 

M/n’s stomach twisted. 

"I've noticed he’s a lot more flexible." another voice joined in. "I think he’s getting stretched out a different way then us." 

Laughter. A sharp, bitter kind. 

M/n’s grip tightened around his water bottle. He forced himself to stay silent, to not let them see that their words had gotten under his skin. 

But Minghao had heard. 

"Line up," Minghao’s voice cut through the tension, sharper than usual. 

The trainees scrambled into position, but the mood had already shifted. 

Minghao’s eyes flickered toward M/n, unreadable, but something about his posture had changed. 

He had heard everything. 

And he wasn’t going to ignore it. 

M/n forced himself to focus, but his mind raced with the words he had just heard. Private lessons. Getting ahead. It wasn’t just whispers anymore; it was an accusation. 

Minghao stepped forward, his expression unreadable as he scanned the group. His presence was always commanding, but today, there was something sharper in his gaze. 

"Let me make one thing very clear." His voice was calm, but the weight behind it made the room feel smaller. "In this industry, you earn your place. No exceptions." 

No one dared to speak. 

"If someone is improving, it’s because they’re putting in the work," Minghao continued, his eyes sweeping over the trainees. "If they stay behind after hours, if they push themselves past their limits, if they refuse to give up no matter how hard it gets; that’s why they get better." 

M/n’s breath hitched. 

Minghao took a slow step forward, gaze locking onto the group. "But if anyone here thinks they can undermine someone else’s progress because of their own insecurities, you’re free to leave now. Because if I catch any more of this petty, baseless gossip-" he let the words settle, his voice dipping lower, "you won’t last here." 

Silence. Heavy and suffocating. 

M/n could feel the shift in the room. No one met Minghao’s gaze, but the shame was palpable. The whispers wouldn’t vanish overnight, but Minghao had drawn a line. 

Then, just as quickly as the moment came, Minghao clapped his hands together. "Now, unless you’d rather gossip, we’re running the routine from the top." 

The music started, and M/n exhaled. 

For the first time, he didn’t feel alone. 

Minghao had defended him. Publicly. Unapologetically. 

And no matter how much M/n tried to ignore it, his heart raced at the thought. 

The shift in the atmosphere was undeniable. After Minghao’s warning, the whispers didn’t completely stop, but they dulled into background noise. The jealousy hadn’t disappeared, but no one dared to openly challenge M/n anymore. 

Still, the weight of their eyes lingered. 

Minghao didn’t treat him any differently in front of the others, but there was something there, something unspoken, simmering beneath the surface. 

It was in the way he lingered just a second longer when adjusting M/n’s form. The way his gaze followed M/n when he thought no one was looking. The way his voice softened ever so slightly when speaking to him. 

M/n told himself it was just his imagination. 

But then came the partnering exercise. 

Minghao had decided to challenge them with a new routine; one that required working in pairs to test their synchronization and connection. 

And when it came time to assign partners, Minghao didn’t hesitate. 

"M/n, with me." 

The room was silent for a fraction too long. 

M/n swallowed. "O-Okay." 

As the other trainees moved into their own pairings, M/n found himself standing directly in front of Minghao. The height difference was subtle, but noticeable enough that M/n felt it as they took their positions. 

Minghao placed a hand on M/n’s waist, his grip firm but controlled. "Relax," he instructed. "You’re too tense." 

"I’m trying not to be," M/n muttered. 

Minghao smirked, just barely. "Then let’s fix it." 

The music started, and M/n focused on moving with the rhythm. But it was impossible to ignore how close they were; how every shift, every step, brought him within inches of Minghao’s frame. 

When Minghao guided him into a turn, his grip tightened, steadying him effortlessly. M/n’s pulse stuttered. 

"You’re hesitating," Minghao said. 

"I-" M/n faltered as their eyes met. 

Minghao’s gaze was unreadable, but there was something intense in the way he was looking at him. Something that made M/n’s breath catch. 

"Don’t hesitate," Minghao said, voice quieter this time. 

M/n nodded, but his heart was beating far too fast for reasons that had nothing to do with the dance. 

They moved together, the world fading around them. And for just a moment, it didn’t feel like practice. 

It felt like something else entirely. 

The music swelled, and they moved as one. 

M/n had stopped thinking, stopped overanalyzing every step, every motion. His body followed Minghao’s lead instinctively, matching his rhythm, his energy. It was effortless. Natural. 

Minghao’s hand was firm on his waist, guiding him through the turn. The proximity between them was undeniable, but M/n barely had time to process it before Minghao executed the final move; a deep dip, pulling M/n flush against him. 

M/n’s breath hitched. 

His back arched slightly over Minghao’s arm, and for a split second, they weren’t just two dancers in sync. 

They were something more. 

The studio felt too quiet, the air thick with something neither of them dared to name. 

Minghao didn’t let go immediately. His grip on M/n’s waist lingered, just a second too long. And when M/n’s gaze flickered up, their eyes locked. 

The tension snapped tight. 

It was in the way Minghao’s fingers curled slightly, holding him in place. The way his lips parted, as if he wanted to say something but stopped himself. 

M/n barely realized he was gripping onto Minghao’s arm until he felt the heat of his skin beneath his fingertips. 

Then Minghao inhaled sharply; just a small, barely audible breath and that was enough to jolt them both back to reality. 

He released M/n, stepping back. "Again," he said, voice neutral, but there was an edge to it—like he was forcing himself to sound unaffected. 

M/n swallowed hard, nodding. "Right. Again." 

But as they reset into position, his pulse refused to settle. 

And when they moved together once more, M/n couldn’t shake the feeling that they had just come dangerously close to crossing a line neither of them was ready to acknowledge. 

The tension between them didn’t fade. If anything, it only grew stronger. 

Days passed, filled with grueling practice sessions and lingering glances. M/n told himself it was just in his head, but he could feel it every time Minghao adjusted his form, every time their fingers brushed, every time their eyes met for just a second too long. 

It was a slow, torturous build-up, a silent push and pull neither of them acknowledged. 

Until one night, when the studio was empty, and there was nowhere left to hide. 

M/n had stayed behind again, practicing long after the others had left. He was exhausted, his body screaming for rest, but he couldn’t stop. Not yet. 

The music played softly in the background as he moved through the steps, his reflection staring back at him in the mirror. But something was off, his timing, his balance. Frustration bubbled up, and he ran a hand through his damp hair, exhaling sharply. 

"You’re pushing yourself too hard." 

M/n startled at the voice, whipping around to see Minghao leaning against the doorframe. 

"Thought you left," M/n muttered, trying to steady his breath. 

Minghao stepped inside, his eyes scanning M/n carefully. "I was going to. Then I saw the lights still on." 

M/n huffed. "Figured I’d get in some extra practice." 

Minghao crossed his arms. "You don’t need more practice." 

M/n scoffed. "You sure? Because it feels like I do." 

Minghao exhaled, stepping closer. "You’re not struggling with the choreography anymore, M/n. That’s not why you’re still here." 

M/n froze. 

Minghao studied him, his gaze unreadable but intense. "You’re fighting something. And it’s not the dance." 

Silence stretched between them. M/n felt his pulse quicken, his body growing warmer under Minghao’s unwavering stare. 

It would be so easy to deny it; to laugh it off, change the subject. But in this quiet, empty studio, with nothing but the sound of their breathing between them… 

Lying didn’t feel like an option. 

M/n swallowed. "And if I am?" 

Minghao’s eyes flickered with something, something dangerous. "Then stop fighting." 

M/n’s breath caught. 

The distance between them felt smaller than before. He wasn’t sure who moved first, but suddenly, Minghao was right there, close enough that M/n could feel the heat radiating from him, close enough that if he just leaned in… 

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" Minghao murmured, his voice quieter now, lower. "I tried ignoring it. I tried pretending it wasn’t there. But every time I watch you dance, every time I correct you, every time you look at me like that-" 

He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "I can’t ignore it anymore." 

M/n’s heart pounded. "Then don’t." 

For a moment, they just stood there, breaths mingling in the stillness of the studio. 

Then, finally, finally, Minghao closed the distance. 

It wasn’t rushed or hesitant it was slow, deliberate, a silent answer to everything they had been holding back. M/n melted into it, his fingers curling around Minghao’s shirt, anchoring himself. 

M/n felt his world tilt on its axis as their lips met. It was soft at first, a gentle press of mouths, but quickly turned into a desperate kiss, the passion igniting. 

Minghao tasted of mint and determination. His hands, earlier strict and disciplined in their corrections, now explored M/n's back under his shirt with a tenderness that belied their usual professional demeanor. Fingers tangled in hair, breaths mingled, and the studio filled with the soft sounds of their mutual surrender. 

M/n was lost in the kiss, in the warmth and comfort of finally giving in to his feelings. He felt Minghao's arms wrap around him, holding him close as if he might disappear if he let go. The kiss deepened, becoming more frantic as their hunger for each other overwhelmed any remaining restraint. 

Minghao pinned M/n against the studio mirror, his body flush against the other's. He trailed kisses along M/n's jawline, pausing to nip gently at his earlobe. 

“Is this okay?” Minghao asked, keeping apart from M/n’s lips for just a second as he held his face close by the back of his head, fingers entangled in his hair. 

“Yes,” M/n reassured, looking through his long eyelashes up at Minghao.`  

"Good..." he whispered, catching M/n's bottom lip between his teeth gently. His hands started to trail down from M/n's neck, across his collarbones, to the hem of his shirt. "Can I..." he asked softly, fingers grazing the bare skin of his stomach. "Take this off?" 

“Mm,” M/n hummed. 

Slowly, almost reverently, Minghao eased M/n's shirt upwards. His calloused fingers brushed along M/n's sides, sending shivers across his skin as the fabric slid off completely. Minghao drank in the sight of M/n's bare torso, eyes darkening with appreciation. "Beautiful," 

“You’re just saying that...” 

“Look at me,” he demanded softly, his fingers hooking into the waistband of M/n’s pant. He wanted M/n to see the sincerity in his eyes, the way he was looking  at M/n like he was a prized possession. 

Minghao leaned in and placed a soft kiss on M/n’s neck, his warm breath fanning across his skin as he spoke. “I’m saying it because it’s true,” he murmured, his fingers slowly untying M/n’s sweatpants, “You’re so fucking beautiful, M/n.” 

He gently pushed M/n’s pants down, hooping around his thigh along with his undergarments, reveling his slim hips and thighs. He trailed kisses down M/n’s chest, his abs, and then finally his thighs as he helped M/n step out of his clothes, “Lift your arms,” he whispered. 

M/n followed instructions. The damp t-shirt slipped off his body, then their forehead pressed together for a moment, peppering kisses as Minghao drank in his junior's body, “Fuck...” he breathed, admiring M/n’s naked form in the studio mirror light, “You’re so perfect,” He trailed a hand down M/n’s side. 

Minghao began to remove his own clothes. His shirt was discarded quickly with the help of M/n, reveling taut muscles and smooth skin. His pants followed soon after, leaving his bare before M/n. M/n stood starstruck. He’d never in a million years think his idol would be au naturel right in front of him. 

Minghao stepped back closer, his hands framing M/n’s waist possessively. He nuzzled his face into M/n’s neck, inhaling his scent deeply. “Turn around,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “I wanna see you from every angle.” 

Guided by Minghao’s hand, M/n turned and faced the mirror. 

One hand snaked around M/n’s waist, resting low on his stomach. The other traced up his chest, brushing against a nipple. “Look at yourself...” 

M/n looked into the mirror. He was in awe at himself. He didn’t recognize himself. In Minghao’s arms, he felt sexier, more alive, more than what anyone could tell him. 

Minghao wrapped him arms around him, placing a kiss on M/n’s shoulder, smiling onto his skin, “See how stunning you are?” 

M/n’s lips curved into a soft smile as covered Minghao’s hands with his own, relishing the feeling of their naked bodies pressed together. “Every curve, every line...” Minghao cooed, his hands roaming over M/n’s torso, “Absolutely gorgeous.” 

“I want you,” M/n whispered breathy, almost not aware he said that out loud. 

Minghao’s breath hitched at M/n’s confession. A slow, wicked smile curved his lips as he felt a shudder run through M/n’s body. “Fuck, I want you too. You deserve it.” 

M/n leaned back into Minghao’s embrace as their fingers locked over M/n’s chest. His breath caught in his throat as he felt M/n’s weight settled against him. “Let me treat you like the prince you are.” 

Minghao slips his fingers into his own mouth, covering it in his spit. He slowly trails those wet fingers down M/n’s backside, pushing M/n gently into the mirror. 

He spread M/n’s legs apart with his thigh as he slowly circled his wet fingers around M/n’s entrance, teasing and preparing him gently. He looked at the scene in the mirror, his eyes darkening with desire as he took in the reflected image of M/n panting, sweat sticking to his forehead and the mirror. 

His finger slowly pushed inside M/n, watching carefully for any signs of discomfort, “Good, baby.” He cooed, his free hand slid around to grip M/n’s erection. He saw M/n’s reflection, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure as he hissed and ahed. 

Pushing his fingers deeper, he started stroking M/n in rhythm with each thrust, his hand working the younger’s length perfectly. In the mirror he could just see how turned on M/n was, “Look at how beautiful you are taking my fingers,” His teeth nipping at M/n’s ear. 

Minghao withdrew his fingers, leaving M/n trembling with need. Holding M/n by the hips, Minghao guided him to bend forward slightly, pressing his chest his back as he hooked his chin on M/n’s shoulder, locking a hand together in front of him as his other positioned himself at M/n’s entrance. 

He slowly pushed in, giving M/n time to adjust. Minghao’s fingernails dug into M/n’s hips as gently as possible, M/n’s hand gripping tightly in his. Minghao pulled back slowly. Almost withdrawing completely before snapping his hips forward again.  

“Fuck... God...” Minghao groaned deeply, pleasure rolling through him as he watched M/n accept him so perfectly. In and out, he had a set steady rhythm, his hips rocking forward and pulling back, watching the erotic sight of their coupling in the mirror. 

“Hao, f-fuck,” M/n choked, the vibration of his moans and whines bouncing off the mirror. Minghao’s lips curl into a smile at M/n calling out his name so lude. His togue ghost his lips briefly at the needy whimpers. 

M/n could feel his release building in his stomach, his thighs shook and he practically was scream for a resolve. Minghao reached his hand back around M/m’s leaking length, stroking him in time with his thrusts, “Come for me,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire but so sweet like his smirk as M/n came undone, him following suit. 

He felt M/n’s released pulse through him, hot and west against his hand. The sight of M/n falling apart in the mirror, pleasure contorting his features, stuttered as he came hard, burying himself deep inside M/n with a choked groan, then a sweet string moans straight in M/n’s ear. 

As the final shudders of their releases faded, Minghao stayed buried deep inside M/n, holding him close. He peppered soft kisses along his junior's shoulder blade, murmuring praises between each gentle press of his lips. 

The next morning, nothing had changed. 

And yet, everything had. 

M/n and Minghao returned to practice like nothing had happened. They kept their distance, their interactions no different from before, strictly professional, strictly normal. No one batted an eye. 

But beneath the surface, there were cracks in the facade. 

It was in the fleeting glances they shared when no one was looking. The way Minghao’s hand brushed against M/n’s lower back for just a second too long when adjusting his form. The way M/n held his breath whenever Minghao got too close, because now he knew what it felt like to have that distance erased. 

And then there were the nights. 

When practice ended and the others left, and Minghao would find an excuse to stay behind. When M/n would linger in the studio just a little longer, waiting. When the silence between them carried an entirely new weight; one filled with stolen moments, quiet confessions, and the unspoken promise of more. 

They weren’t reckless, but they weren’t distant either. 

Late at night, after the world had gone still, they met in empty studios and whispered things they couldn’t say in daylight. Minghao would pull M/n close, pressing lazy kisses to his temple, murmuring things like, "You’re getting better." "You’re going to make it." "I’ll be right here." 

And M/n would believe him. 

Because despite the secrecy, despite the world they lived in; the competition, the expectations, the scrutiny, this felt real. 

And for now, that was enough. 

As M/n packed up his things after another long day, he felt the familiar presence before he even turned around. 

"You’re staying late again?" Minghao’s voice was quiet, just for him. 

M/n smiled. "Depends. Are you?" 

Minghao’s lips twitched. "If you are." 

The answer was unspoken, but they both understood. 

So as the doors shut behind the last of the trainees, and the studio emptied once more, M/n turned to face Minghao; his partner, his mentor, his secret. 

And in the soft glow of the practice room lights, as they stepped toward each other again, M/n knew this was just the beginning. 

[okiedokrie]

Meet Me In Amsterdam

Summary: "Minghao finds himself under a mentorship program from one of the most brilliant artist in the contemporary circle, where he meets Y/N and bond with their journey through art, overcoming traumas, and hopeless romanticism of the life and love around them. But all things come to an end at some point, the mentorship program ends, and they both go back to their lives. But they do meet again to finish what they started; 'if there is a next time, meet me in Amsterdam.'"

Characters/Pairing: Artist!Minghao x Artist!Fem!Reader

Genre: smut, some angst, fluff

AU/Trope Info: Non-idol AU!, idiots to lovers

Word Count: 10.8k

Warnings: Religious themes, implication of past sexual assault, homophobia mention, some cursing, food mentions, smut warnings under the cut

Rating: 18+

A/N: this is for the @svthub 2024 world tour collab! Thanks to @whipped-for-kpop-fics and @hobeemin for beta-reading!

Smut Warnings: oral (f receiving), sex in a church, unprotected sex, implied creampie

The air in Minghao's studio is dizzying. A broken exhaust and paint fumes don't really mix, and his open windows could only do so much. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. Touching grass may solve his problem, but he doesn't feel like dealing with the morning dew on the grass.

He quickly closed his windows before packing all his belongings in his commuting bag, opting to rush to a recent exhibit that opened. Minghao knew very little about the artist, but a change of scenery might help quell his throbbing headache. 

Minghao took this opportunity to space out during the commute to the gallery, popping on his headphones and trying to ignore the touchy couples in the train car with him. He wonders what it'll feel like to find his person like them; Minghao only craves the warmth of another's arms.

He wonders what it'll feel like to fall for someone, to be comfortable with vulnerability and the trusting bond between two lovers. Ever the hopeless romantic, he'd love to love and be loved.

He snapped out of his thoughts when the intercom buzzed to life, announcing the arrival at Minghao’s stop. Adjusting the strap of his messenger bag, he pushed his way through the busy crowd to head out of the station. The walk to the gallery was calm and relatively quiet. This part of the city mostly had walking paths rather than roads, so it was really only bustling with people and the occasional bicycle. 

Arriving at the gallery, the pieces were gorgeous, as expected. This artist was well known in the contemporary circle, so it's no surprise that the gallery is almost busier than the outside. Minghao felt drawn to one piece in particular, the warm tones, swirling and melting into one another, blending into a flame-like flow; it was stationary yet moving.

He hears a chuckle behind him, only to see an older man, about mid-forties, smiling at him. “I see you enjoy this piece; you have great taste. What's your name, boy?” 

Minghao is a little flustered, but he introduces himself nonetheless. The man before him introduced himself as the artist and noticed Minghao's paint-stained hands before asking if he was an artist himself. Minghao confirmed the older man’s speculations, offering to show some of his work as photos on his phone. The older man was impressed by Minghao’s talent and potential, and he then mentioned that he had an apprenticeship program open, but it was in Amsterdam. 

Minghao agreed a little too enthusiastically, seeing as this man quite literally defined an era of art in a way nobody else has.

It was only a few weeks after that interaction, but Minghao found himself on a flight to Amsterdam.

Taking in the city's air, Minghao feels a sense of dread washing over him, and the hustle and bustle of a new city scares him a bit. Being alone in a foreign land wasn't why his nerves were all over the place; no, it was the fact that he felt this opportunity wasn't meant to be his.

Sure, his mentor got the opportunity to see his work before he accepted the offer, but still, he feels this mentorship program would've been more suited to someone more fitting.

Nonetheless, Minghao is here now. And he swears he'll make the most of the time he spends here.

Taking one of the many old trains out of the airport, the rumbling train rails helped ground him a little; the sound was new and familiar at the same time. He thought back to his small studio back home, wondering how well it'd hold up in the year he'd be gone.

Minghao is snapped out of his daydreams when the train arrives at his station. He lugs his luggage to what will be his living quarters for the rest of his time here. Wiping his palms over his sweats, he finally takes the time to haul his bags over the stairs to the small apartment that was provided to him. His mentor mentioned that he has a roommate, another artist in the program, so he doesn't let his stuff get too comfortable in the main room.

Instead, he randomly picks one of the rooms, hoping his roommate doesn't mind. If they did, it's not as if he's opposed to switching. 

He hums a simple melody while setting his bags to the side, still catching up to the jetlag and too tired to put anything away. He inspects the room, noting that it is a little dusty. He has to settle his sheets and wipe everything down before he can get too comfortable.

He thinks that heading out for brunch is a good idea, guessing that his roommate would most likely want to get situated in peace. He gets his wallet and phone and heads out to find somewhere to eat.

The streets weren't too busy. It was midday and the middle of the week, and most likely, people were still at their jobs. Still, they were full of people to the point that Minghao felt the pressure of needing to always be on the move. He constantly tried to go with the flow of the crowds while trying to find an establishment he could eat at, preferably something to quell his growing homesickness.

He stumbles across what seems to be a small business with very familiar-looking signs. Bingo! It's a Chinese restaurant! He thanks whatever force managed to lead him here before he enters the restaurant. The distinct smell of the classic spice mix calms his nerves, and his posture relaxes significantly. 

The man at the counter doesn't look up from his paper, pointing at a booth near the back where Minghao could set his stuff before ordering. The curt behavior of the man doesn't phase him; in fact, it comforts him. He sets his bag down before standing at the counter, reading over the signs that were both in Mandarin and English. He starts ordering his food in Mandarin, finally getting the man at the counter to notice him. He nods in understanding, taking his order diligently before yelling his order at the cook at the back.

He pays, nods at the man again, and gets situated at his table. Getting comfortable with the smell of the food cooking and the chatter of the people around him. He fiddles with his phone a little, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram to see what his friends are up to. Mingyu got another modeling gig, Jungkook with his new single, and Dokyeom got to play Orpheus in Hadestown. 

Soon enough, he doesn't realize how much time has passed, only noticing that his food was ready when the waitress hurriedly slides his food onto the table and takes his table number. Mumbling thanks, which he believes she ignores, Minghao starts to eat his food.

This is so good, actually; I need to post this to my story.

Minghao took a picture of his food. The digital camera shutter almost distracted him from the sound of someone bumping into the table next to him. 

“Oh! Sorry, sorry!” A feminine voice said, frantically apologizing to the patron at said table, holding her hip. She desperately tried to wipe up anything that was spilled, apologizing profusely. Minghao got up from his table and offered to help her, wiping up the mess with her like the gentleman he was. Once the table was free from any spills, she apologized again to the person at the table and Minghao for troubling him.

“It’s fine; accidents happen all the time. Just be more mindful next time.” He says calmly, returning to his booth before a smaller hand grabs his arm. 

“Uh, I can't find a place to sit. Would you mind sharing a table with me?” she asked shyly but politely. Minghao shakes his head no. Offering her a polite smile as they walk back to their now shared table, she leaves her items in his care before going to order her food.

Minghao finally gets to enjoy the food he ordered. The decadent aroma was mouth-watering, and most importantly, it reminded him of home. It helps warm him up, literally and figuratively. He chews slowly, savoring the flavors of his food as usual. He'd always been a slow eater, slow enough for the lady he shares a table with to get her food and finish eating with him.

They both get up from their table with a curt nod of acknowledgment. Thinking this would be the last time they'd ever interact, Minghao didn't bother introducing himself. And neither does she. 

Yet, Minghao can't seem to shake the feeling of disappointment once he leaves her.

Minghao finally arrives at his apartment, ready to settle down after a long day of exploring the city and taking photos of places that inspire him. He closes the door, running a hand through his hair to look around the living room. 

He nearly dropped his camera when he saw the girl from the restaurant staring back at him, and he almost dropped the tray of paints from the shock.

“What are you doing here?!” She asked, surprised and on alert. Minghao could only guess what emotions she was going through at that moment. A random man she met once is suddenly in her apartment. Oh dear.

Minghao starts to feel panic settle into him, too. Both of them look like deer in headlights, trying to make sense of the situation. 

“Oh- uh- fuck, I live here!” Minghao says frantically, holding both his hands up in a show of innocence, showing his copy of the keys to their apartment.

Her posture immediately relaxed a little, “Oh uh, so, you're my roommate? I'm Y/n, by the way.” She says, still a little weary of him. He doesn't blame her; he did come in unannounced.

“It's nice to meet you again, I mean. I'm Minghao. Let's try to get along for this mentorship program, yeah?” He says, scratching the back of his head. “I'm gonna go head to bed; I'm exhausted from all the traveling, so uh, yeah.”

Minghao hoped his exit wasn't too awkward. Maybe it was, but he was too tired to deal with the intricacies of small talk. He changed his sheets quickly, throwing the old sheets into the wash before doing his nightly routine. He crashed into his new, cool sheets and drifted off into dreamland. 

It was the next morning, and the warmth of the sunlight was seeping in through the cracks between the curtains. He blinks away the sleep from his eyes, rubbing his face into his palms. He sits up and shakes his head to fight off the rest of his fatigue. He was always a morning person, but the jetlag is making it a bit too difficult for him to uphold that. 

His morning routine was simple: shower, get dressed, make-up and hair, breakfast, and out. He rarely breaks from this simple pattern, which consistently makes life easier for him. So it came as a surprise to him that he didn't have to make breakfast this time since his roommate kindly left a portion for him. 

He thinks this is such a nice gesture to leave for the guy who scared her half to death yesterday. Maybe this was a sort of peace offering to make getting along easier? Either way, he won't complain—it's just another thing to make his life a little easier.

His roommate is nowhere to be seen, most likely already on his way to the studio to meet their mentor. So Minghao also leaves the apartment, making sure to lock the door on his way out. He pops his headphones on, listening to his favorite commute playlist with a lightness in his step, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

The train ride to the studio was calm; the morning train was much less busy than the afternoon one he took when he arrived, so he got the opportunity to sit down and enjoy the book he recently got. It was a story about two soulmates finding each other in the middle of a city that was new to both of them; he thinks that maybe he's starting to lean into the hopeless romantic stereotype that his friends would always compare him to, which, he could never beat the allegations. 

His mind drifts to his art, and he describes how the romanticization of life became a heavy inspiration for his work. Minghao loves the strokes of color on the canvas as much as he loves life, and his passion for existence weaves itself between the fibers of his canvas.

After being snapped out of his daydreams by the conductor, he feels a sense of deja vu; he finds himself in his head constantly these days. He is always such a dreamer.

The doors of the train open with a mechanical hiss, old rails squeaking under the friction. He thinks the train still needs to go through the desperately needed maintenance. Same train, same. He thought to himself, stuffing his book back into his back with a huff.

Minghao takes in the scenery around him; this part of the city is much less busy than where his apartment was, so he could finally appreciate the city's beauty without the pressure of constantly having to be on the move.

His mentor's building comes into view. It is an older building; the exterior has long since been weathered, but history still makes it gorgeous. He noticed that buildings, most of them having yet to be touched since they were first built, added a charm to an otherwise monotonous city.

He pushes in the door, noting that his only option for getting to the studio is a set of ancient, creaky wooden steps. Minghao is lightheaded from looking at the flight of stairs, so he doesn't bother counting how many floors he has to climb just to get to his mentor. 

I have to climb this every day. I don't need to bother with leg day here. He thought to himself, already making the long trek up the stairs. 

It wasn’t that long—about 5 minutes of walking time—but it felt like an eternity to him. Walking was no issue; walking upstairs? Torture. The first treadmill was a step design, so it may not be an exaggeration. 

Minghao finally reaches the top of the stairwell, pausing to catch his breath in an attempt to look presentable to his mentor and possibly his roommate. He stands by the door for a while, mentally preparing himself for the first day of the program. He arrives earlier than the agreed-upon time, so he's not in a rush to make his presence known.

He takes his water bottle out of his bag, puts cool water in it, and helps his poor self finally calm down from his mini workout. He curses whoever designed this stairwell. A five-story building should have an elevator, and arguing that it doesn't need one feels like a hate crime.

He stops himself before arguing with fictitious architects, who are probably long gone, about how old the building looks. Anyway, he finally has a hand on the doorknob to the studio; taking a deep breath one last time, he twists the knob and pushes the door open, the old wood creaking in protest from the force of him opening it. He cringes internally, the squeak passing straight through his skull, making him want to grind his teeth in annoyance.

Still, he doesn’t show his disdain for this geriatric building on his face since his mentor and roommate both whip their heads around to see him at the doorway. Suddenly, having two sets of eyes on you doesn't help the nerves. 

He offers a polite smile, successfully fighting his grimace with a more pleasant expression. Both his mentor and roommate smile back. He noticed his mentor was a lot more relaxed than when he first met him, which makes sense. He is where he's most comfortable—in his very own studio.

Minghao feels the same about his tiny studio back home. He steps further into the bright studio, closing the door behind him. The studio's top floor and many large windows bring loads of natural light, making it feel more comfortable and inviting. Couple that with the fact that it's in a relatively quiet part of the city, and he feels as if his mentor really put thought into every detail of his permanent studio.

Minghao wonders when he will be able to get the studio of his dreams in his art career, but for now, he admires the studio. His mentor greets him and urges him to explore and get acquainted with the space. Since he'll be spending most of his time here in Amsterdam. Minghao nods, dropping his bag on the cubbies near the door and carefully walking around the studio, avoiding the items and canvases scattered around the floor. His mentor seemed to have an organized chaos mindset, seemingly not bothered by the mess or the health hazard tripping on any of these might cause.

He finds it amusing how much of his mentor he finds out about just from looking around his workspace. He has a husband, married young, it seems. He has twin girls, who he can only assume are grown now. He used to have a dog, a poodle named ‘Cloud’ despite being a black poodle. He made prints of older paintings before sending them off to an auction for fundraisers. He remembers those fundraisers very fondly, it seems. 

Minghao also finds the bathroom and takes note of its location for future use; he’s definitely going to use that. He joins his mentor and roommate by the window, then takes the time to drink their morning coffee and watch the birds. His mentor offers him coffee, but Minghao asks if he has tea. His mentor confirms that he does and points toward his pantry, which is just a wooden cubby that he appropriated to be a pantry after he got tired of getting his snacks off the floor, sighting back pains.

Minghao calmly prepares his tea, passively listening to the conversation between his mentor and roommate. They seem to get along well. Maybe his mentor has some fondness for her because she reminds him of his daughters. He could only guess, though.

Minghao finishes making his tea and finally joins them by the window. “Are you guys birdwatching?” he asks, joining in the conversation. 

“Yes! Mr. Jones was talking about how his youngest loved visiting his studio just to view the birds.” His roommate answers, his mentor confirming it. Though he does mention that she doesn’t visit as often—after all, she has a family of her own now—when she visits, she brings his grandchildren with her, which makes the old man happy. 

He adopted his twin girls pretty early in life, seeing them as inspiration for most of his work. The way his mentor talks about his family and life with so much pride makes Minghao think about his future. He wonders if he’ll ever be as proud of his life as his mentor is, but considering he’ll be learning everything this man can offer, he’s pretty confident about that, at least.

After finishing their morning drinks, his mentor started his first assignment for them, one of many he’d assign throughout the program. His mentor was a patient and calm man. His instruction and tips for injecting emotion into your piece were very cohesive; it was almost like he got it down to a science. His enthusiasm and passion for his work were truly remarkable, and getting to witness it and learn from him felt surreal. 

Minghao feels proud of having the opportunity to have him as a mentor. At the end of the day, instead of feeling exhausted, he's excited to learn more from him tomorrow. 

You and Minghao are heading home together after a long day with your mentor, walking silently through the streets; you think that maybe he just doesn't like you, seeing how he practically jumps at every accidental graze of your hands with each other.

You don't really blame him either; your first impression wasn't exactly the greatest, seeing as someone cussed you out in the middle of a Chinese restaurant. That impression was a strong one, but unfortunately, not a good one.

Minghao and you shuffle into the same train car, getting pressed together as a consequence of rush hour. You try not to think about what your roommate, who is basically still a stranger to you, feels like. He's warm, and you can definitely feel that he is in shape. You definitely try not to think about how tall he is or how handsome he is.

He's so polite, too, and very gentlemanly. He's always conscious of his movement and language around you, protecting you from being squeezed in this tiny train car without him even noticing. It was basically second nature to him.

Oh, you're never going to survive with this man for a year; you're definitely not going to stay sane with him living with you. Your mind starts reeling, cursing whatever deity thought it was funny to send over a walking wet dream of a roommate to your sex-deprived self. 

You'd hope Minghao doesn't notice how you fought for your life, trying to have decent thoughts. You felt extremely guilty for thinking of him as such, he's just minding his business, and you're acting like some horny teenager. You hope you don't offend him with how much you flinch in every interaction with him. 

The last thing you'd want is for him to think he was the problem.

Luckily for you, Minghao always seemed to be in his head most of the time, mindlessly picking at the stitching of his shirt and spacing out, it seems. At least you don't have to worry about him secretly being a mind-reader. The chances are low, but they're never zero. 

You also take this as an opportunity to start spacing out, looking out the window to watch the buildings and trees pass by quickly, enjoying the golden glow of the setting sun over the city. This scene makes you feel bittersweet, as if another day has passed. 

You wanted nothing more than to crash in your bed and sleep until the next morning, but for now, in the middle of this train car, you had to be vigilant of your surroundings. Not just because you're a newbie to this place but because you absolutely cannot get so distracted that you start to lean into your roommate like some deranged weirdo subconsciously. 

The train conductor announcing your stop seemed to snap both you and Minghao out of your daydreams. “Could I hold onto you? I don't wanna get swept up in this crowd,” you asked politely, unable to meet his eyes.

“Uh, sure, hold on.” He said, adjusting his messenger bag so it doesn't block your reach of his arm.

Minghao navigates the flowing crowd with a form of familiarity. It surprised you how well he managed to adjust to the movement of such a busy city. Then again, he could have already come from a much busier city than Amsterdam. Still, you need to learn more about him to make assumptions.

Minghao weaves the two of you through the crowds and out of the station, successfully reaching fresh air once you make it to a calmer sidewalk that was already near your apartment. You wanted to ask him so many questions. You realistically had a little over a year to do so, yet you know how quickly a year actually goes by, so you wanted to work quickly, but not too quickly, that you scare the poor man away.

Arriving at your apartment, Minghao fishes his keys out of his pocket to unlock the door, opens it, and gestures for you to enter first. You say a small ‘thank you’ before entering, taking your shoes off at the entrance and hanging up your coat.

Minghao follows you after you hear the door click behind you. The shuffling of his items as they are hung indicates that he is settling down for the day.

“Hey, Minghao?” You start, wanting to lead a conversation to eliminate the awkwardness between you and your roommate; he hums, fully turning his body to you as if to signal that he is listening. “I just wanted to know what you thought of Mr. Jones. You know, not as a mentor, but as a person.” You asked, thinking it was a safe place to start getting to know him.

He thinks about it momentarily, “I can't say right now; I've only ever known him as a leading force in the contemporary circle, but other than that? Not much. Judging from his relationship with his daughters, he seems like a good father and good husband, as he still spoke about his husband fondly and was pleasant to be around. But other than that, I don't know.” He shrugged, “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I don't know,” You answer truthfully, “I like him a lot; he reminds me of my dad somewhat, you know, except maybe less of a religious nut.” You joke, gauging to see Minghao's reaction to it; luckily for you, Minghao finds it funny. Offering a restrained pfft- at your quip.

“Yeah, I get that; my dad was the same too. But I like him a lot less than Mr. Jones.” He said through laughter, running his hands through his hair. “I'll go take a shower; see you around, Y/n.” 

And with that, he disappears into his en-suite. 

You celebrate the tiny progress you made with your roommate, and you get to exchange words with him that aren't just common pleasantries. This motivates you to fan the spark of this new friendship, and maybe more, if you play your cards right.

It's too early to say you liked him, but he is objectively very attractive. So you can't really blame yourself for ogling at him. Respectfully, of course.

You also prepare for your night routine, opting to go through your entire skincare routine for the first time in forever after showering. You put on your best pajamas and tuck yourself into bed, dreaming of the day your hot roommate sees you how you want him to.

Kidding, not really.

Minghao has yet to learn what he's doing.

He'd been staring blankly at his canvas for what seemed like a solid 20 minutes, these inner thoughts fighting for dominance and splattering their metaphorical blood all over the pristine canvas.

He wanted to paint something so badly, but alas, getting struck with a severe art block on the second day of his mentorship felt like a sick joke from fate. His mentor watches over their shoulders, monitoring their progress. He seemed to notice Minghao's growing frustration from being stuck, “I think you should take a break, son. You should enjoy some tea by the window and clear your mind to make room for new ideas.” he said gently with a hand on Minghao’s shoulder.

Minghao agrees with him, finally setting his brush down to make his tea as usual before getting comfortable on one of the chairs by the window. He watches the trees sway in the wind, the birds playing on a random rooftop, and the clouds drifting slowly. All of these help calm his racing mind, which is preoccupied with so many things to think about that he doesn't have room to think about new ideas.

Minghao has a nasty habit of overthinking and holding onto ideas that no longer serve him a purpose. He thinks back to the first time he did this, the day he decided to become an artist. He's always known that he wanted to be an artist. He was eight at the time, telling his parents about his dreams for the future. 

Unfortunately, they disapproved of such plans. The first thought Minghao ever held onto was, “You need to aspire to get a real job, not just some useless skill that will leave you with no money.”

The second thought Minghao held onto happened at around the age of 17, just before graduating high school. He decided not to go to college, seeing that he still held out hope that he could become a great artist one day. He wanted to prioritize honing his skills, and his parents, once again, didn't approve of that.

That was the first time he ever felt fear from his parents. Before, he was only met with stern lecturing and maybe being grounded, but he never saw his dad that angry before or ever since. Since that day, Minghao has held onto the following: “If you're going to choose to throw your life away, then so be it. Just don't come crawling back here when you end up on the streets!”

Minghao doesn't want to recall the last thought he held onto; the memory is still fresh and feels like a weapon being used against him. He wished it didn't turn out that way, but it did. And there's nothing he could do to change the facts.

Minghao savors the flavors of his tea before finally trying his best to get rid of all those thoughts he holds onto. He's far away from his parents, far away from the people who could hurt him, and far away from the past.

He finally stops overthinking as soon as he sets his cup down, wiping off his palms on his pants before joining his roommate and mentor again. His head was finally free of any troubles he might've had. But he knows he's never truly free, only temporarily setting it aside to focus on his current goals.

He feels a sense of pride while he is painting this time. Strokes of vibrant color dance across the weaving of the canvas, and his brush glides smoothly and freely across it, finding a path of its own, making its mark like it was always meant to do.

In a way, it was freeing to paint without the pressure of making it look ‘good’, Minghao only had to focus on laying a color down the way it wanted to lay, and this show of emotion sparked a flame of determination in Minghao that he thought he lost so long ago.

Minghao finally sees the colors for what they are again, and in a way, he starts falling in love with creating again. His joy is evident on his face, and the controlled strokes slowly turn into free ones with every passing moment. 

He looks away from his canvas once to look at you, and he smiles the biggest smile you've ever seen on him. And you realize his smile is contagious, absolutely stunning in a way you've never felt before.

That smile was detrimental to your poor little heart, your small crush on him only worsening. You think it's a bit unfair that the universe had to dangle such a gorgeous specimen in front of you. You didn't even have an idea if he was single or not. He could have a wife and kids back home and you'd be none the wiser.

Still, you enjoy his company while you can. After all, it's not like you applied for this mentorship just to mingle. You were here to learn under a great artist, and to gain the experiences necessary to advance your career and skill.

Having a hot roommate is a nice touch, though.

“Hey Minghao?” You ask from the living room, looking up from your book to look at him in your tiny kitchen. 

“Yeah?” He replied, not looking up from the stove. It was the weekend, and Minghao offered to make dinner as you’ve been making breakfast for the past few days.

“Are you in a relationship? If you don’t mind me asking.” You asked, the question has been bugging you for a while now, ever since you realized your tiny crush. You’d feel incredibly guilty if he was in a relationship and you tried shooting your shot with him.

“No. But why do you ask?” He said simply, focusing more of his attention to not burning the food. Stir-frying the noodles with familiarity.

“Nothing, I just thought about it.” You paused, “We’re friends, right?” You finished with a question, thinking that maybe your line of questioning might be too much for someone who doesn’t even consider you more than a roommate.

“Of course. I like your company, I don’t have a reason to try and alienate you.” He said, now with more focus on you as he turned the fire of the stove down. Plating your food in one of the plates your apartment came with.

“Cool. We’re cool.” You said a little awkwardly, thinking that maybe your questioning was a bit too on the nose. Even if he wasn’t a mind-reader, he’ll surely be able to tell that you’re interested in him just from your weird line of questioning in recent days. Surely Minghao isn’t dense.

Minghao called you over to your dining room table, saying that dinner was already served. You rise from your comfortable position on the couch, making your way over to the tiny table in the space between the living room and kitchen.

“I hope you like the food, it's something I always used to make in college. It was one of the few luxuries I could afford, but it’s still very delicious,” he said, serving you a portion before taking some for himself.

“Thank you for making dinner. This looks amazing, I’m honored to try it.” You said, taking in the sight of the food that Minghao made with care. Minghao feels a sense of pride from your praise, sure, he’s not the best cook, but he’s definitely proud of the progress he made in recent years. 

Cooking was one of the first skills Minghao had to learn when he got kicked out of his parents’ place. Having focused all his energy on studying before, he only really had the time to learn how to take care of himself once he was on his own.

Watching you eat his food enthusiastically made Minghao unexpectedly happy. Sharing something he was proud of is often how he tries to get close to people, the little piece of vulnerability made him feel closer to them, like offering a piece of himself to them.

To you, this may have felt like a simple dinner, a meal between two friends in the comfort of their own home. But to Minghao, this was him accepting you into his space. Finally being comfortable enough to associate you to a dish he holds almost sacred.

The days easily turned into weeks, weeks into months, and before you knew it, it's already six months into your mentorship program. The days began to blur into each other, the most interesting thing that happened in the six months was your budding relationship with your roommate, whom you found out to be as much of a hopeless romantic as you are.

Your weekdays were spent at the studio, diligently working under your mentor and improving your art. While your weekdays were spent unwinding and spending time with your new friend. Minghao's taste in movies doesn't differ much from yours, opting to watch romantic movies with happy endings. 

It was during one of these movie nights that Minghao asked you a question, “Do you believe in true love? ‘The one’, so to speak. Someone that is a perfect fit for you as you are to them.”

You think about this question for a bit, “Yeah, I do. It's a little silly to ask for perfection, but if someone is perfect to you, I think that's pretty plausible. Though, I do think true love is more of a choice than just aimlessly searching for them, you know?” You answered carefully, eyes still glued to the tv screen.

“I see,” Minghao started, “do you have an idea what your ‘one’ might be like?” He asked, this time a little more determined to get a more pointed answer from you.

“Not necessarily, but I already have a feeling that I know them already.” You said, relaxing and leaning back onto the couch, “Or, at least I hope I do. And I hope they see me like that too.” You sighed, wishful thinking taking over you again.

Over time, your little crush on Minghao had grown into a genuine romantic interest, especially since learning that he was single a few weeks ago, you started to see him in a different light. Almost as if the confirmation of his availability gave your subconscious the green light to start thirsting over him like a horny teenager.

It also didn’t help that he got comfortable enough to walk around the house shirtless, or worse, with just a towel loosely around his hips, sitting low as he’s fresh out of the shower. This put you in a loop, almost all thoughts being occupied by him in a sick and twisted way.

Some days, you convince yourself that Minghao does this on purpose, trying to kill you in the reflection of the light from his sweet, wet abs.

“Y/n?” He said, breathless. With a whiny tone in his naturally airy voice. 

“Hao? You’re back from your run?” You ask from the kitchen. Trying not to think about how delicious his voice sounded.

“Yeah, I picked up some bread on the way back. Thought it’s go well with the soup you’re making.” He replied as he placed a paper bag of fresh bread on the counter. You turn away from the stove to check out the selection he brought back.

“Hm, you got good taste. I didn’t expect any less.” You say with a proud smile, Minghao’s chest fills with a sense of pride as well. It was always validating to hear from someone else that they trusted your judgment.

The two of you had the day off today, your mentor visiting his daughters somewhere on the other side of the country. Giving the two of you free reign to settle chores that you haven’t been keeping up with.

Minghao offers to help you set the table, but you tell him to take a shower first. Letting that sweat dry on him might make him sick. Or worse, sticky.

He laughs that off, “Oh please, I think you’d want that.” He said suggestively. 

That was a new development too. Minghao is getting bolder with his jokes. His jokes were always tasteful, never trying to push your boundaries. But sometimes you wish he did, just so you’d have the excuse to tell him how much you wanted him.

But for now, with Minghao not showing any interest in acting upon his suggestive jokes, you swallow down the urge to jump his bones. For now, at least.

Your mentor returned from his family visit the next day, with an assignment for both of you. 

Sitting in the studio as usual, your mentor explains what your assignment entails, and how it’ll most likely span the rest of your time here in Amsterdam. He took it upon himself to assign it as a final project for the two of you, finishing this would finish their apprenticeship.

“A local cathedral reached out to me looking for my services. They wanted a mural painted for the interior because it started to look a little too clean after renovations. I think this would be a good opportunity for the two of you to show me what you’ve learned. I give you half a year to finish it, and then, you’ll be done with your mentorship.” He said, voice wispy like a proud father recalling the time when his children were just small, not looking at them, all grown up, he can’t help but tear up.

You and Minghao look at each other, unable to fathom this amazing opportunity that has presented itself to you. You and Minghao eagerly accept the offer, excitedly heading out to check out the said church so you two can plan out what to do for the mural.

The people attending the church are already briefed on the situation, happily showing you around their shiny new church, happy to find new artists to commission for this project. You and Minghao take photos of the interior, wanting to plan around the implements and fixtures, to give everything a cohesive look.

You and Minghao do this for hours walking around the city to look for inspiration along the way, taking in all the sights you didn’t have the chance to take in before. The city was filled with inspiration, ideas flowed out the both of you like a river, and it was so easy to find passion for this project. With a giant canvas and free reign to paint whatever, you and Minghao felt like kids at a candy store.

But suddenly, the sky started to grumble, clouds darkening in a tell-tale way. You hadn’t anticipated the rain, so you both scramble to find shelter as the rain starts to pour. Taking shelter under the awning of an abandoned shop, you both watch as the rain pools and puddles around you. You turn to Minghao, he was a little damp but relatively dry, water dripping from his hair, soaking into his clothes. His mouth was slightly parted from panting, the unexpected run knocked the wind out of both of you.

 At that moment, Minghao looked delectable.

“Hao?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?”

He only smiles at your question, leaning down to softly press his lips to yours. He had an arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, pressing his body to yours. You can feel the warmth of his skin radiating under his clothes, warming you up from the chill of the rain. 

You felt a little light-headed, not just from the lack of air, but because you didn’t expect a random blurt of your desire would lead to Minghao kissing you breathlessly. Not that you’re complaining, not at all, in fact, this made you want him more, softly moaning against his lips before pulling away, remembering that you’re in public. 

“Oh, wow, um.” You start, heads still spinning from the dizzying kiss Minghao had pulled you into. 

He just laughed his signature laugh, joy coursing through his veins. How could he not be happy? An amazing opportunity to advance his career, getting to spend the day in the city with someone he cares deeply for, and getting to kiss her in the rain? Oh, he’s weak in the knees.

This day was perfect, you were perfect. Minghao couldn’t ask for anything more.

You and Minghao started the mural for the cathedral, buzzing with excitement for your first big project, as well as your budding romantic relationship with him. The two of you work on opposite ends of the mural, working to meet each other halfway, and taking the time to get the details down before moving on to the next section. 

In a way, this was reminiscent of how you and Minghao are taking the steps to make this relationship work. Though unlikely that you’d meet like this, you still did, and you’d like to believe it was fate. Both of you agreed not to put a label on it just yet, just enjoying each other's company, and exploring the possibilities of this new romance.

You sneak glances at him every so often, his face scrunched in concentration, focusing on perfecting the sections of the mural he assigned himself to. And sometimes, when he looks back at you, his face instantly relaxes and glows. You love how expressive his face is, almost as if you could tell what he was thinking about at any point. It comforts you how open he is, knowing that he looks at you with genuine affection and adoration. It's fun, it's freeing to feel this way about someone who feels just as strongly.

The two of you worked on the mural until lunch when the two of you decided to take a short break, “Maybe I’ll take this opportunity to take you out on a proper date.” He said cheekily, offering his arm for you to hold.

“Oh, that’d be great. We keep passing by this one restaurant that I’ve been dying to try.” It was an open-concept place, clean and modern but it didn't give off “steak dinner” vibes, it just seemed like a nice sit-down place to have lunch or brunch, if you’re of the local housewife type.

Asking the waitress at the front for a table for two, the two of you were promptly seated at a table facing the street, offering the both of you the menu. Apparently, the menu changes seasonally, this time they offered a variety of vegan dishes, which intrigued you. You never realized vegetables could be cooked in so many different ways.

Your food was served, and the conversation between you and Minghao flowed like free orange juice refills. You both enjoy your lunch, more than you usually do, you don’t know if the food was actually good, or if the company just made it better, but either way, you don’t think you could enjoy a meal without Minghao anymore.

He’s just so charming, kind, and funny. So, so funny. The tables around you started to look at you two funny for all the giggles coming from your table specifically. The restaurant being open-air doesn’t even help to dampen the sounds of your joy, even the hustle and bustle of the street fade to the background with him. It’s just you, and Minghao, and the delicious veggies the two of you decided to have for lunch.

Lunch was over before you realized it. Minghao flags down the waitress, asking for the bill and paying for it himself, much to your protests. Yet, those fall on deaf ears as he winks at you. Offering his arm for you to take again before walking back to the cathedral to continue working on your mural.

The two of you continue to act like love-struck fools, much to the church staff’s chagrin, but it's not like either of you cared, you enjoy his company, and you, his. You haven’t brought up the kiss from before, but you wanted to, mainly to ask him for another one. 

Minghao really wasn’t the type for much skinship, but it’s not as if he’s opposed to it. If you asked, he’d comply. He’s willing to do many things for you, or with you. Minghao thinks it’s too early to call it love, definitely, but it’s really really close to it.

He adores you to no end, no words could describe how much you became an important part of his life in just a few short months. And getting to work with you on this? He almost couldn’t believe it.

Growing up, he always thought love like this only happened in movies or books. But he’s living it right now. He’s living in Europe, doing what he loves the most, and finding an unexpected light in his life. Maybe life does have things worth worrying about. 

Still, ever present in Minghao’s thoughts, is the sinking feeling of anxiety. It’s ugly, rearing its head whenever it can. The last time he felt this strongly about something, it nearly broke him. Minghap always felt too hard, nothing is ever ‘just’ happy or ‘just’ sad for him. His loyalty and devotion is both a blessing and a curse. 

And yet, he still believes in love.

He’s a hopeless romantic, even if it’s scary, even if it’ll hurt, he still holds onto hope that he could get away with it. Making a religion of your lips, worshiping the false god that is your adoration for each other.

It’s ironic to think like that in the middle of a cathedral he thinks, yet, he’s not guilty, not after what the church has done to him, to his once level-headed father.

It was another day of working on the mural, this time, you and Minghao worked until the late hours of the night, until all the church staff bid both of you goodnight, leaving you two to work in the dim light of the chandelier.

“Hey, have I ever told you that this is the first time I went inside a church since I was seventeen?” Minghao started, concentrating on his section of the mural, painting the rosy cheeks of a cherub.

“Huh? No, you haven’t. Why did you stop going to church? If you don’t mind me asking.” You said, a little startled from being broken out of your concentration.

“It’s simple really, my values didn’t align with the church anymore. And, I may have been  in love with a man at the time.” He joked, chuckling at the end of his sentence as if he was reminiscing about something humorous. 

You nod, “You know, I haven’t been in a church for about as long.” you say, setting your brush down to continue speaking, taking a short break to avoid cramping your hand. “I didn’t like how I was basically brainwashed all my life to devote my time and soul to the church, I didn’t feel a connection to religion anymore, not after what my group told me after what that priest did to me.”

Minghao’s expression softened, shoulders dropping with his grip on the brush relaxing. “That’s terrible, I’m sorry that happened to you.” He said, also resting his brush. He walked towards you, offering a hand to help you get off the floor. You take his hand, muttering thanks, and you follow him to the back of the church, in the pews nearest to the altar.

“You know, sometimes I feel as if some unknown force led us to meet each other.” Minghao started, “Think about it, how is it that we’re the only two people in the mentorship program, and how have we managed to fit together so perfectly? I think,” Minghao pauses to lick his lips, “if it were anyone else, I wouldn’t have felt this way about them.” 

“I know that confession was a little misplaced, especially after what you just told me. But I just wanted to give you context for my offer,” He said, taking your hand, the warmth of his palm radiating to yours, warming it up, “I want to give your power back to you, I like you a lot, too much really. Ever since that first day, you made me breakfast. And I’d do anything to take that pain away from you.”

“Minghao…” You said, “I like you a lot too. I’m flattered by your confession, and so moved by your offer. But I can’t seem to figure out what your offer is supposed to mean.” 

“You were attacked at a church, violently, as if your body wasn’t yours for a time. I want to override those memories with ours, make it your choice. To have an outlet for your anger.”

You openly gape at him, not believing his offer. He wanted to…?

“Minghao, I want you.” 

It felt cathartic to say that, especially in a place you’d never think to say that. It was satisfying as if a weight had been lifted from you, the burden of memory weighing on your chest being removed, like the first time you could breathe freely again.

Mingahao gently cups your cheek, stroking the flushed skin with the pad of his thumb, slowly turning your head to face him, his lips hovering over yours, “I want you too.” He said before locking lips with you. 

Your hands immediately find their place at the back of his neck, fingers threading to the soft ends of his hair, pressing him closer to you, the warmth of his body radiating through his clothes. Your skin felt hot, like desire was just boiling under your skin, blooming on the surface as a flush of red. Minghao crowds you, kissing you with want, with need. He kissed you, letting his hands do what his lips wanted to, his faith turning into despair. The tragedy of not having a taste of your skin yet, swirls in his gut, manifesting in desperation. He kissed you with urgency, as if this was the only chance to have you like this, his greed taking over his thoughts as it filled his mind with images of you in the most depraved positions, your usually clean image tainted with evidence of his lust.

After all, Minghao is just a man, a man who now finds religion in your lips.

He reluctantly parts from you, surprising you with his strength but lifting you suddenly, walking the short way to the altar. His plans dawn on you as soon as you feel the cool marble under you, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you lock your lips with his again, moaning pathetically and the feeling of his palms snaking their way under your shirt, squeezing and kneading the flesh, taking handfuls of it as he needed it.

He parts from your lips with a whine, panting for air like just running a marathon. He only parts from you for a second, only for his mouth to connect with your jaw, placing open-mouthed kisses on it. Goosebumps litter your skin, his simple touch leaves you shivering in a way you didn’t think was possible. Your legs part and Minghao takes his place between them, now sucking and biting marks into your skin, maroon blooms all over your collarbones, as you pull him impossibly close, bodies flush together perfectly as if it was always meant to be.

You paw at his jacket, wanting to feel him without the barriers of fabric between the two of you. He frantically shrugged his jacket off, and pulled his shirt over his head without being prompted, using his weight to press you down into the marble altar. Takes his time to unbutton your shirt, kissing the skin with every button he undoes.

Warmth ripples under your skin like drops hitting the surface of a still body, each kiss sending a spark of heat directly to your core. Simple, but powerful. The way Minghao delicately worships your skin made a sense of serenity wash over you like a wave, crashing over your restless state.

Minghao rises to meet your lips, again, swallowing the sound of your moans, nipping at your lips. His hard cock presses into your core through his pants, layers of fabric between the places where you needed each other the most. Desperation turns into slight relief from the pressure of your bodies pressing together. 

He takes his time to strip you of your effects, taking time to peel it off of you with care. This is the first time he's seen you in such a compromising position, yet you don't feel pressured or nervous at all. The way he looks at you, it's as if you hung the stars in the sky one by one, just for you to take them in your eyes, a galaxy of secrets waiting to be uncovered; and you're willing to let him explore.

Minghao falls to his knees, fingers pressing into the flesh of your thighs. He presses kisses on your kneecap, slowly inching his way to your core, lips brushing against your skin, making you shiver. You watch as his head of hair reaches the apex of your thighs, placing a kiss on your pelvis, right above where you need him.

He looks up at you briefly, eyes locking with yours as if asking for permission to just dive right in. You nod, giving him the silent permission to do so. He smiles, his eyes fluttering shut as his mouth connects with your core, lips wrapping around your throbbing clit.

Your back arches from the marble, hands frantically searching for his head, threading your fingers through his hair to get a grip on anything. The way the wet muscle that was his tongue guided the swirl of hot desire in your stomach made you dizzy, his eyes shut tightly, and small whimpers left his lips, making you feel the vibrations.

He ate you like a starved man, “Oh, fuck, please-! Keep going!” The frantic pace of his mouth and tongue got more desperate with your praise, your encouragement made him press his face closer to your core, his jose bumping your clit, making him breathe in deep, taking in your scent.

His eyes flutter open at the smell, eyes rolling to the back of his head, and a pathetic, high-pitched whine leaves his lips. His tongue pressed against the spongey spot in your walls, immediately this sends a shiver down your spine, your moans turning into desperate whines, grinding on his mouth.

And Minghao just stops to take it, exaggerating his moans to help you over the edge.

A knot starts to form in your core, only a mixture of pleas of his name leaves your lips as you topple over the edge, reaching your high. Your orgasm was blinding, a hot, white pleasure ripped through you, your body shaking from the impact of such a powerful climax.

Minghao groans as he savors the flavor of your release, drinking it like a sacred Ambrosia. He delicately licks at your folds, careful not to bump into your sensitive clit.

After being satisfied with cleaning you up, Minghao starts to unbuckle his belt, his pants hanging low on his hips. He finally takes his cock out of his boxer briefs, the tip is red and bulbous, angry and leaking. His mouth parts with a moan, licking his plump lips, finally getting the friction he so desperately wanted.

He gets on top of you, his warmth radiating off of him in waves. He brings a hand up to brush your hair away from your face, soaking up every detail, committing the look in your eyes to memory. He looks at you with adoration, eyes clouded with lust yet still shines with the respect he has for you as a person.

In his eyes you were perfect, especially with that fucked-out look on your face, panting and shaking under him.

He kisses you again, this time with less desperation. You could taste yourself on his lips, highlighting your desire for more. He finally guides his cock to your entrance, the tip of it bumping into your clit, a gasp falling from your lips.

You look up at Minghao, a halo of many colors forming around his head, the cross-shaped stained glass behind him glowing brightly in the full moonlight. If it wasn't for the depraved things he's done to you, you'd think that he looked angelic.

Finally, he slowly pushed his cock into you, a shaky breath leaving his lips, taking every ounce of self-control to not start frantically thrusting into you, letting you take the time to adjust to his size. Minghao was bigger than you thought he'd be, the sheer size of his cock stretching you deliciously. 

He pressed your foreheads together, your breathing synchronized. You open your hand on his chest, pressing your palm over his heart, you can feel the steady beating of it, and you can feel him breathe with you. The silence only amplified the feeling of being connected, a kind of vulnerability that you’ve never felt with anyone else before.

You savor his warmth, his closeness to you, before asking him to move. He nods wordlessly, not trusting his voice at the moment. He was buried to the hilt, but he slowly started to pull back until only his head stayed inside you, only to push back in, a wet, lewd squelch of your juices mixing with his echo and rung in your ears.

He started to pick up his pace, intertwining your hands together to gain leverage. “Fuck, you feel so good babe, so warm. So perfect for me.” He said lowly, mind emptying all thoughts except for the feeling of you around him. He can't get enough of you, your image infecting his mind, making a home in every crevice. 

Both of you were very vocal about how good it felt, pleasure rising to a pressure that made both of you light-headed, your grip on his hand tightening with every pointed thrust to the spot where you needed him the most.

His lips meet your neck again, more maroon marks blooming over your skin, marking you with evidence of him. He separated from the skin with a wet pop, his nose brushing against your cheek, his hair tickling the skin, “Please, I need you to cum around my cock. Don't make me beg for it, please, oh- please-” he whimpered in your ear, breathless from the force he was using. 

He turns to kiss you again, both of you swallowing each other's whines and moans as your desperation grows stronger. 

Soon, the coil in your stomach starts to tighten again, you can't hear much over the ringing in your ears, but you do hear the wet slapping of skin together, and the ragged breathing coming from the man above you. You barely registered your own orgasm, you felt like you weren't in your body, like your soul was floating in the space where you felt neither pain nor pleasure. 

Tears ran down your face, your body shaking like a leaf. Minghao watched as your juices squirted out of you, coating his cock and legs with your release. This violently sends him into his own orgasm, barely catching himself with the altar as the force of it knocks the wind out of him, his knees shaking, barely able to hold his weight up.

He almost collapsed into you with how much his body couldn't handle the sensations, his hips never ceasing even with both of your oversensitivity.

He finally stops, both of you winded from the intensity of your sex. He kisses you with finality that night, right at the altar with the light of the cross over you.

It's been months since you and Minghao started the mural, and also started hooking up. The first time you slept with him was certainly not the last. You were sure you desecrated every inch of this sacred space, as well as every corner of your shared apartment. 

But, all good things come to an end. 

Today was the day you finally added the finishing touches to the mural, marking the end of your program, and the end of your time in Amsterdam. 

Your mentor was pleased with how it turned out, he was proud of how far the both of you have gotten in your skills. And decided to throw a party in his studio to celebrate the completion of your final project. 

You and Minghao skirt around the idea of what will happen next after the program ends, enjoying the company of your mentor and the few friends you've made in Amsterdam. 

It was after the party that things finally started to feel grim, each item you packed into your suitcase felt like heavy weights or a nail in the coffin of your relationship with Minghao.

You couldn't fathom going back to reality, back to your lonely apartment without the anticipation of waking up and making breakfast for him. 

You realized too late that you loved him.

“What happens to us now?” His question surprised you, you didn't think he was thinking about this as hard as you were. 

“Well, we go back to where we came from. Go on with our lives, I guess.” You reply, too cowardly to admit what you truly felt, as it'll only hurt more.

“That's it?” He asked incredulously, “You don't want to even try to make this work?” His tone wasn't one of anger or disappointment, Minghao had always been an expressive person, but this was something worse. Hurt.

“Minghao I-” You start, but he cuts you off,

“Well, you know what? Okay. It's okay- just… if there's ever a next time. Meet me in Amsterdam. Please, at least, try for me?”

You nod, your breathing becoming shaky as tears begin to well in your eyes. You hug him tightly, almost as if it'll be the last time you ever see him.

But no, there will be a next time. No matter how long it'll take.

You let the tears fall when the plane finally took off. 

It's been several years since your time in Amsterdam, your experience there marked you in more ways than one. 

Your art career found success after the mural you worked on with him received critical acclaim. Opening galleries and exhibits all around the world, people enjoy the art you made greatly. 

You find yourself in the place where it all started, Amsterdam. 

“So, there really is a next time, huh?” You said, your voice was calmer than you expected it to be, especially with being overcome with such intense emotions.

Minghao smiles at you, wordlessly coming in to hug you.

“I'm not letting you go, not this time.”

[fallminlove]

how would svt kiss their partner - ot13 ver

-> paring: seventeen x gn!reader -> genre: fluff, established relationship, very very little suggestiveness -> word count: <1k -> content warning: alluding to "hot and heavy" (csc), alluding to making out (kmg)

p.s. i wrote this because i have an unhealthy obsession with kiss me right by keshi,, and these are just my headcannons on how I think they would kiss their partner !! - yumi

❥ C. Seungcheol - There would a sense of aggression when he kisses you. Almost as if he’s trying to prove something. Every time he kisses you, he will constantly be trying to your breath away (as if he doesn’t do that already just by existing)

❥ Y. Jeonghan - Lazy but very soft light pecks is his preferred way of kissing. When he kisses he just wants to cling on you (whether its cuddling or hugging or clinging on your arm) and just peck your lips till you get annoyed (which is never) or till he's satisfied (which is never)

❥ H. Jisoo - There’s a meticulous way almost like an order of things when he kisses you. Cupping your cheeks, looking at you in the eyes, closing his eyes and pulling himself into you before landing a gentle kiss. You know just a very gentlemanly man.

❥ W. Junhui - He would always be the one who's initiating, asking you to kiss him. But as you are about to meet his soft lips, he would turn his head away just to mess with you. You will be there pouting and he’s would be laughing, giggling, kicking his feet. But he will for sure make it up to you immediately. Gently putting his hand on the back of your head, bring his forehead against yours, and give a soft peck on your lips.

❥ K. Soonyoung - There’s nothing holding him back, if you're in his sight, you better be ready for a smooch from him! He is the definition of "showering you with kisses" based on how many times he will peck your cheeks, exclaiming how adorable you look at any hour of the day.

❥ J. Wonwoo - He is not the type to show PDA often, but when he's at the privacy of his home or your home, he’s definitely a little more comfortable showering you with kisses. There's a little bit of shyness every time he's the one who initiates the kiss, as if he wasn't sure if he's suppose to do that or not. And you bet after he wins a game he will run to you and give a peck on your cheek as a reward (even though he’s the one that won)

❥ L. Jihoon - He’s not really the type to really express his feeling and love outwardly, and this would go the same with kisses. But when he does initiate he would start with a peck on the cheek. He would hesitate for a bit just to make sure you're ready for his incoming affection, and then move to your lips to land a soft kiss.

❥ K. Mingyu - BACK HUGS, KISSES ON THE NECK !!! He’s definitely the type that’s not satisfied with just one peck or one kiss. Very similar to Seungcheol he feels like he NEEDS to prove something when he kisses you. He's definitely also the type that will literally try every single k-drama kissing trick/troupe on you when he wants to kiss you at home (side headcannon: I think Mingyu's lips would taste like citrus???)

❥ L. Seokmin - His kisses are affectionate and soft, he would pull away slowly and he would always smile brightly or laugh after a kiss !!! You would ask him why is he laughing or smiling so much and he would always respond with something along the lines of “I'm kissing the light of my life of course I can't stop smiling!”

❥ X. Minghao - There’s a sense of gentleness and delicacy when he kisses. Similar to Joshua there’s a habit he always does when he kisses, which is softly holding your chin up when he places a light kiss on their lips. After he pulls away there would be a sparkle in his eye, as he's looking at you, telling you how much he appreciates having you in his life.

❥ B. Seungkwan - He’s the type to give you kisses at very specific moments of the day. A good morning kiss, a kiss before you leave for work, a kiss for when you are back home, a good night kiss. And you bet after he gives those kisses, he’s expecting kisses back from you or else he will be pouty all day.

❥ C. Hansol - The way he would kiss is so casual, and it is always out of no where. Usually when he’s excited and you are next to him, definitely expect on kiss on the cheeks. There are times where you would just be talking and he would sit there nodding as a response. But suddenly out of no where he would bring his lips to yours, the definition of “sorry I was just thinking what it would feel like if I put my lips on yours right now”

❥ L. Chan - Depending on the occasion or the mood his kisses would change, but the affection will never differ. If it’s a formal setting, he will give you the deepest most passionate kiss. If it's a casual setting, his kisses would be soft but also excited. As if he’s been waiting for so long just kiss you.

p.p.s. a new love letter has been shared! @imujings @seungchaos -> if you want to be notified when new letters have been shared, please comment or sent in an ask!

[gotta-winwin]

(🐍) ... minghao x reader

⭐ starring: minghao

💌 genre/wc: angst, light fluff / 1.2k

💬 preview: you stumble across old records from a damaged diary that seems to hold the conversations between a student and a boy living within the pages.

tw/cw: slytherin!minghao x hufflepuff!reader, diary format, spoliers for the chamber of secrets, needs previous knowledge of hp lore, abstract death, tom riddle appearance

🪽fic rating: pg

☁️ masterlist & a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for weeks and i'm putting it out in hopes of giving myself some time to work on other stuff hehe. this one's a bit experimental with the format but hope you all enjoy!

p.s thank you so much to @ylangelegy and @diamonddaze01 for beta reading !

hello. fifth year slytherin, here. i found this journal lying in one of the professor’s cupboards - long abandoned, it seems. it looks to contain the mad ramblings of two people, conversing through the pages. i cannot seem to figure out who this once belonged to, pages have been torn out and blurred by water - so i’m writing in hopes another student might. 

read it, and let me know if anything comes to mind. 

if i have to sit through another class with professor bins, i will avada myself. 

finally, something worth replying to. your class notes are utterly boring. 

WHAT THE FUCK THE BOOK SPEAKS

…yes, i speak. 

go away. you’re speaking over my class notes. 

they weren’t good notes anyways. barely competent. abysmally below average. 

i cannot believe i’m being insulted by a book right now.

i cannot believe my pristine pages are being vandalized by an incompetent student, yet here we are. 

mr. book, 

what. 

shut up.

mr. book,

what is it now, incompetent student? 

can you write my notes for me. pls pls pls i will owe you for life.

that is a very dangerous game to play. 

my hand hurts. and you keep saying you’re so smart. write my notes for me.

what house are you in?

hufflepuff. why? 

no. i will not write your notes for you. 

bro. 

what is a bro ?? 

you know what, never mind. i’ll write them myself. i hope the ink drowns you. 

incompetent student  hufflepuff girl y/n?? respond to me now. 

yes, book?

MY NAME IS NOT BOOK 

you refused to tell me your name so i’m sticking with book. mr. book. 

can you go to the dungeon bathroom and check one of the faucets for me. 

uh. why? 

because i said so. 

i’m going to waterboard your pages.

you’re quite snappy for a hufflepuff. just go check. 

say please.

no. 

i’m holding a cup of water above you right now.  hello? mr. book?

please. check the faucets. 

see? wasn’t so difficult. i’ll go now.

minghao. 

what? 

my name. stop calling me mr. book

MINGHAOOO

what. 

i’m bored. 

silly girl. and what am i supposed to do about that?

tell me about yourself. when were you at hogwarts? 

a long time ago. 

psh. of course i know that. 

professor bins was still alive when he taught me. just as boring, trust me. 

ooo what else? who were your friends? anyone famous? 

i wouldn’t know. i never graduated. 

what? 

the faucet. did you check? 

i did. there’s like a snake or something, but it didn’t do anything. 

oh. y/n? 

yeah? 

don’t go to that bathroom anymore. 

why?

just don’t. 

hao. people are saying there’s a snake in the walls. 

what do you mean?

there was blood on the walls too. talking about the chamber of secrets. 

fuck. 

minghao? do you know something? 

don’t go anywhere alone. promise me. stay with your friends. 

i’m scared

you should be.

stop that. 

what? hao? 

grown fond of your little friend, xu minghao? 

tom. stop.  i’m sorry, my heart. ignore him. 

who? hao, what is going on?

has he neglected to tell you? he isn’t the only inhabitant of this journal. and turns out, he isn’t strong enough to silence me.  keep hiding, y/n. i’ll find you soon enough. 

hao? 

i’m sorry.

i think i’m starting to go a bit crazy. 

is everything alright? are you safe? 

i’m fine, hao. you worry too much. 

i must admit that i’ve grown fond of you. 

even if i’m a hufflepuff? 

you’re the most tolerable hufflepuff i know. 

:)  is the uh. tom guy still with us?

my magic suppresses him in short periods of time. we’re alone at the moment. 

i still don’t understand. both of you are…inside the book. 

tom was here first. the journal was given to me my fifth year, and i spoke to him - much like you right now. from what i’ve gathered, this journal holds a piece of his soul. and a piece of mine as well. 

how? why? 

[redacted] [redacted] 

you are beginning to care for the girl.

i admit she has grown on me.

no. you’ve grown to love her. our souls are intertwined whether you enjoy it or not. do not pretend i cannot feel your emotions. 

have mercy.  spare her. 

are you finally regretting your choice, xu minghao?  you once promised me a life in exchange for your life and access to your soulmate. so i spared you, and stored you here with me.

please. 

this is what greed gets you, my dear friend.  you promised me a life. and i choose hers.

please. 

finally. you learn to beg. 

she is innocent. 

she is your soulmate. the strongest magic our world has. and for that, she is valuable. 

my heart. 

hao? 

i need you to destroy this journal. now.  

what? why? 

tom must be stopped. i will not let him harm you. destroying the journal will destroy his soul too.

but you’re in the journal too.

yes. a small price to pay for your life. 

i won’t do it. 

you must.

no. i’m not killing you.

i’ve been dead for a long time, my heart. 

i won’t. you cannot make me. 

you’re wetting the pages with your tears. stop crying. 

hao…

do it. just because the journal is gone doesn’t mean i won’t be with you. every step of the way. 

how cute. 

note: 

> xu minghao: previous slytherin student, renowned potion student. his name is on one of the potion award plaques in the great hall. he died during the second opening of the chamber of secrets, an underground location rumoured to house the slytherin basilisk. 

> y/n: referred to as ‘my heart,’ there is no real indication of who she is. while there is a professor portrait in the headmaster’s office who shares the same name, i cannot be certain they are the same person. 

> tom: he can only be assumed as he-who-shall-not-be-named, a dark wizard who was killed by the-boy-who-lived years ago. 

note: 

> the pages are burnt at the edges, erasing most of the conversation that would allow this to make more sense. it is clear to me that someone destroyed this. 

note: 

> i found something when searching the bathroom mentioned in the first couple entries. i will clip it here. 

is he gone?

for now. i cannot contain him for much longer. you must hurry.

you cannot expect me to do this.

from the short time i’ve come to know you, i know that despite being a hufflepuff, you hold the courage of a gryffindor, the brains of ravenclaw, the wit of a slytherin.  do not be afraid. 

are you not afraid? this could kill you.

i have to admit a part of me still fears death after all this time.  but this is my price to pay. i love you, even in the short time we had. 

i love you. even if this version of you is only a figment of what you were. 

note: 

> a point i must bring up: minghao refers to y/n as ‘my heart.’ at first i thought it was just a term of endearment, but upon further research:  Soulmates are rare in the wizarding world, although not at all impossible. Soulmates share more than their magic, they share their hearts. One cannot die if the other is still alive -- making soulmates the most powerful form of magic to exist. It may be the only way to cheat death without the use of a horcrux.

[xiaominghao]

Too early for Christmas

Genre: fluff, crack ??

Pairing: Minghao x reader.

Warnings: barely proofread, this was funnier in my head, babygirl Minghao.

Yuin's note: At first I thought about writing this for Mingyu but the idea of Hao being such a loser was more apealing (I'm sorry Hao).

Hao, is that you?” you asked loudly, the front door had slowly closed and you didn’t hear anything else. There was no response. “Minghao?”

You heard a sound coming from the living room and thinking it was the TV or some video, you overlooked it. However, it was a little strange how quiet he was. As you walked toward the living room, Minghao was facing away from the kitchen entrance, right in front of the Christmas tree that was in the corner.

You cleared your throat to get his attention, and that made him shrug, slightly turning his head and giving you an awkward smile.

“Hello, darling,” he said in a trembling voice, “I didn’t know you were home.”

“Hi…” you greeted slowly, suspecting that something was going on. “Yeah, well. I just came to say that lunch is almost ready, can you help me with…?”

You heard the same noise as before, loud and clear. It was a bark and sounded very close; you glanced towards the TV but it was off, then looked back at Minghao, who swallowed hard as he gave you an even more awkward smile.

“Hao…” you stared at him seriously, crossing your arms. “Please tell me it's not what I think it is.”

He turned completely towards you, his head bowed as if he were guilty of something while cradling to his chest a small puppy with a large red bow tied around its neck.

He slowly lifted his gaze and swallowed hard, you stood there with your arms crossed and both eyebrows raised. “Um… Merry Christmas?”

“It’s too early for Christmas,” you replied, stepping forward defiantly, making him shrink back a little more.

“Merry… Christmas Eve?”

“Hao…”

He sighed deeply and straightened up firmly, giving a more serious air, as he usually does.

“Alright, I’m sorry. I know I was the one who said ‘no pets in the apartment,’” he defended calmly, but suddenly his expression changed. “But how could I say no to these little eyes and these tiny paws!?”

“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend!?” you exclaimed, pointing your finger at him. “Xu Ming Hao wouldn’t be swayed like that!”

“Surprise, he did!”

“Get out right now and return it!”

“No!” Hao frowned as if you had said the most offensive phrase in the world, hugging the puppy like a spoiled child protecting his toys. “She was given to me by a sweet old lady who was giving puppies up for adoption. I promised I would take good care of her.”

“I’m sorry,” you crossed your arms again, not wanting to back down. “I can’t promise that.”

Hao tilted his head a little and with pouty face, he looked you straight in the eyes. “Would you do it for me?”

Your pulse quickened a little, your chest tightened. You still stood there with a straight face, but you didn’t feel as firm as before; you were really weak when it comes to him, too much to admit it.

Hao moved a little closer and gently tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Would you do it for me?” His voice low and sweeter than ever.

Seeing that you weren’t saying a word, he brought his face just inches from yours, his lips almost brushing against yours. “Would you do it for me?”

You swallowed hard and shyly turned away, averting your gaze so he wouldn’t see how flushed your face was and a loud growl escaped from your lips. “What name should we give her?”

Hao approached you and happily kissed your face repeatedly; he was feeling like the happiest man in the world. You were still a bit annoyed but seeing him so smiley made your heart ache in love.

“You’re an idiot,” you murmured, turning your back to him.

“And you’re hopelessly in love with me,” he whispered in your ear, hugging you from behind to give you a little kiss on the shoulder. “Now, shall we lunch?”

“Sure, just let me… Why does my slipper feel cold?”

Both of you looked down, and the puppy was sitting by your foot, staring at you intently.

“Hao…”

He sighed to stifle a laugh. “Leave it to me.”