#svthub

[shinysobi]

sleepless in busan

he's been running his whole life, and hadn't realized how tired he was.

what do you think about nostalgia?

a/n: dedicated to the wonderful people at svthub, and also to my favourite people: @gyubakeries (for tolerating all my yapping) @mylovesstuffs for beta'ing this at record speeds. also jina @facethesunflower bc shes a sweetheart and i love her genre: angst, fluff, mentions of alcohol and smoking w.c: dont even ask (12k)

hope you enjoy this, and do let me know your thoughts!

chapter 1 | chapter 2 back to masterlist

Verse two—gukbap.

On most days, I enter the office a full hour before everyone else, a habit picked up over time as other career pursuits took up more and more of my time. Even if I can’t do overtime work, I should at least finish the work assigned to me, so that I do not make trouble for everyone else.

This morning, I get settled in, have a single cup of coffee, and I’m starting on the leftovers from the week before, when Kim, from the design department, walks in, evidently hoping to find someone else instead of me, “Editor, could you just look at the draft we sent in last night? There was supposed to be a correction that Kim needed to get to, but he didn’t really do it in time.”

“I’ll take a look,” I wave, and he slinks away, probably to talk more shit about the editing department. There are people coming in—the editor-in-chief, who spares no one a single glance as he makes a beeline straight for his office, the assistant editor who’s got way too much on their agenda, and the other people in the department, who don’t bother to care about me, in a way that’s actually impressive.

The day is slow, and I get through my tasks with frightening efficiency. By the time they call me in for an after-lunch meeting, I’m done. It’s easy, given that I don’t pay attention to my colleagues gossiping behind my back. Even at the meeting, I’m seated in a chair far away from the screen, hoping that no one calls on me to talk about my work.

The Chief, a man who rarely says anything apart from his own piece, walks in five minutes after the meeting is supposed to begin, smiling to himself as though he’s received some great piece of news that he cannot wait to share with the rest of us. There are others too—Haneul, Choi, everyone who’s already made up their minds about me as soon as I stepped foot into the Busan office from Seoul.

“Alright, we’re running late,” he says, clapping his hands to get our attention, “let’s start with the agenda for the week, shall we?”

The meeting is boring, and we take turns to talk about our designated work for the week, nothing more, nothing less. I manage to say about three sentences before mumbling a thanks and sinking back into my seat. Just ten more minutes, and you can go back.

Just as we’re about to get up, the chief waves a hand, saying, “this part of the meeting is to honour a very special person in our department, who’s managed to get recognised by a prestigious awards foundation.”

My stomach sinks. Please, god, no. already I can feel the stares at my back, people whispering is that why she took so many days off in those months? And talk about being selfish. She didn’t even tell us. I close my eyes. Maybe, just maybe, this is a fever dream. I’ll open my eyes, and I’ll be back home, in the flat with a view of the sea, sipping my morning coffee, listening to that voicemail from Seungkwan. A do-over, just like I’d begged for.

“Right here,” The Chief points at me, and the room bursts out into polite, disinterested clapping, “the assistant editor, who managed to get the Daesan award, despite juggling her full workload at the same time.”

I groan internally, polite smile plastered on my face. “Thank you, sir, although I would like to thank my colleagues, who did their best to manage parts of my workload when I was off sick the previous month.”

“They were glad to do so, my girl, glad to do so!” he booms, smiling beatifically, as though he didn’t shatter the only semblance of peace I had in my work life. Fuck. Now everyone thinks I was off having fun in Seoul while they were picking up after me. “If there’s a genius like you in the department, there are people who have to make do with being second best.”

Great. Now he’s officially put the nail in the coffin of my work life. I grimace in response, and he barrels on, ignoring it, “which is why, the board of directors has taken the initiative to start our own imprint, one that will deal with fiction exclusively.”

More polite applause at this announcement, although no one really seems happy at the prospect of being saddled with more work, and the Chief amends his statement, “Of course, the work will not exactly begin until next year, giving us all ample time to prepare ourselves for a new challenge! How about it, guys?”

This time, the applause is far more enthusiastic. People shuffle out of the office as fast as they can, eager to get back to their routine work. I get up from my seat to follow suit, but the Chief stops, calling out, “Assistant Editor.”

I pause, turning back to him, “Yes, sir?”

He doesn’t waste any time getting to the point, “The board would like to use your work as the first title to be released from the new imprint.”

I squint my eyes, “Sir, we publish manuals for human resources.”

He waves a hand, dismissing all my valid concerns, “never mind about that. Just—make sure you send in a manuscript as the first title going to print.”

I repeat myself, slower this time, “Sir, we print human resource manuals. These people have no idea how to edit fiction.”

“That’s immaterial,” he waves, “why didn’t you publish with us in the first go?”

“I sent it in, actually. Through the in-house programme. Someone rejected it because it was fiction.”

He sighs, which usually means someone is getting fired, “Never mind that. How long is your contract with your publisher?”

“Five years, sir. Per usual.”

“And will you be amenable to changing companies once the five years are up?”

I stare at him, “Sir, I don’t think I can tell you that right now, given that I’ll have to talk to the company currently in charge of my publication to make a decision like this.”

The chief spends about six seconds in thought, and claps his hands, laughing, “Of course, of course—no reason why you should not prioritise one over the other.”

“After it lapses, shift your titles to the new imprint. We’re counting on you, yeah?” He’s gone, without even giving me the opportunity to say unless you pay me more than them, no. I walk out of the meeting room and back to my own station, pulling up a  manual to start working on in order to kill time before I can take my leave. There’s no question of me moving my manuscripts from Seungkwan’s company to mine, unless Seungkwan is included in that package; if he moves companies, I would say yes in a heartbeat. Seungkwan is more than my editor—he knows exactly how to change my rambling sentences into coherent phrases that cut deep, and he bats for me when no one else does, has been doing so since the release of the first title. To change companies and contracts without considering him would be disloyal on my part.

There are people talking beside me. I sigh loudly, and they immediately shut up, in an impressive display of herd behaviour. Gossiping about me again, I suppose.

Are you going to say nothing, a voice tells me, someone that sounds suspiciously like my sister, needling, insistent, they’re going to badmouth you and you’re going to say nothing? Just sit there and take it like an idiot?

They’re not worth it, I reason, if they were, I would have made it known I didn’t like it. It's not important. If they get happiness from talking shit about me, they’re welcome to. No one is going to tell them anything.

You’re just going to let them walk all over you, just like that?

I shake my head, trying to distract myself. What can we have for dinner tonight? Or do you want the same meal—instant rice and a stew put together in five minutes?

Or, we could go to the diner from yesterday.

I sigh loudly, enough for the gossiping in the next cubicle to stop, running my hands over my face. Running away from the diner last night was a poor choice on my part, but when exactly have I made good choices? Worst thing about the whole fiasco was that I still owed him the money for the meal. God. Would it be okay to just drop off the money in an envelope, stashing it in front of the door? He probably has security cameras all over the front stoop. Either way, I still wanted to go back there, just for the good food; the best I had had since moving to Busan. With those skills, it was strange why no one had said anything about it in the office, especially when they all exchanged restaurant locations every week on cue.

The clock strikes five, and the Chief, ever so punctual, stands up, making his way out of the office. One by one, the people in the office also make their way out, smiling and laughing amongst themselves. Planning dinners, or something like that. I’m seated at my desk, watching people pass me by, going their own way. I still have my leftover work to get to.

The edits on human resources training manuals take a lot more time than people might think. I spend about three hours, sifting through egregious spelling mistakes that would have us recalling three hundred copies of a very expensive manual once it was sent to a company. Despite the small workforce, there were a lot of important orders coming through here, and as the Assistant Editor, it falls on me to make sure that the others are doing a good enough job. What happens after that, should be none of my business.

“Who the hell writes these manuals?” I mutter, correcting the thirteenth typo. “Don’t write words that sound similar to curses if you don’t know the proper spelling.”

The clock chimes nine, and just like that, I’ve spent about three hours working on minute edits that make no sense for any experienced editor to leave, unless of course, they’re doing it on purpose. There are two other assistant editors in the office, both of whom get to leave on time, while I am stuck here with work that should have been done by editors before me.

No. Don’t shove your responsibility onto other people. You were the one with the extended leave a few weeks ago.

I sigh, going back to my work. Perhaps it’s going to be a long night. The work is more important than you are, right now. If you do this well, your Chief might let up on getting you into the new imprint.

It’s late, when the work gets over. After the entire office has cleared out, I leave, taking my usual way across the beach. It’s already late enough for my stomach to protest, and I take the long way, walking as slowly as I can. This is the only time I have for myself, to unwind after the long day I’ve had.

Make sure to transfer the contract from your current publishing house to ours. That was a threat. A direct threat, and if I had anywhere else to go, I would have submitted my resignation. But I don’t, and so I must deal with everything—the Chief’s veiled threats, my coworkers’ disdain, the long hours that leave me with nothing but tiredness—all because I left the house, and therefore, I must survive.

My phone rings loudly, and I pick it up without even checking the caller ID. Only one person calls me right before midnight, “Yes, Mom?”

“Were you in the office?” my mother asks, “I called you before, and you didn’t pick up, so I figured you were still busy with work.”

“Yes, recruitment season is coming up, so we’re busy with writing new manuals for incoming hires,” I sigh, “never mind, I don’t want to talk about my job right now. What’s up?”

“Just wanted to see how you were doing,” my mother replies, “looks to me you’re doing fine.”

“Yes, yes, I’m so busy I can barely think of anything else,” I laugh—genuine enough that she doesn’t get the message, “why else would I be back so late?”

“At least you’re being safe, right?” she asks, worried, “you live so far away, I can’t even send you side dishes to eat.”

“Hah,” I exhale, looking at the waves crashing on the shore, “you know, Mom, you can hear the waves from here.”

“The waves?” She sounds worried. “Are you alright? You know, I’ve read what happens to the lighthouse keepers.”

“Oh my god, Mom. I’m not going to go insane like a lighthouse keeper,” I laugh, “I’ll not be going insane just because lighthouse keepers did. I live in the second largest city, not an abandoned island.”

“It sounds like an abandoned island to me,” she grumbles, “your dad worries himself every day about how you are doing.”

“Mom,” I smile, “I’ll be back home for New Years’ Eve. Could you save the interrogation until then?”

“Really?” her voice is so happy, it makes me feel slightly awkward, “I’m glad to hear that. Your sister is coming home too, with her children. Although it isn’t that much news, since they live about ten minutes away from us.”

“Still, it’s good to have one of your children be near you, right?” I laugh, and she laughs too. For a single moment, I can pretend that everything is all right in the world, that the stress of the day does not exist. “Give the phone to Dad. I haven’t heard him in a long time.”

A small shuffling noise, and my father is on the other side, gruff and stoic, “are you eating well?”

“Just had the best seafood stew at a diner yesterday,” I grin, “thinking of going back there tomorrow.”

“Seafood stew?” my father muses for a minute, “I hope they used mussels. Mussels in seafood stew is always my favourite. People don’t use mussels anymore, since they’re a bit of work.”

“They used mussels, actually,” I say, and he laughs, “it was a good place to eat, dad. Next time you come here, I’ll take you out to eat dinner.”

“Make sure they have good gukbap,” he says, serious all of a sudden, “a restaurant is never good if their gukbap is not.”

“I’ll remember that, Dad,” I laugh, before cutting the call. If their gukbap is bad, the restaurant is useless. Gukbap was easy—rice soup, made in a thousand different ways, all different, all unique to the restaurant that makes them. Easy to fuck up, if you didn’t know the exact measurements of what went into making a good soup. Clean, nothing overpowering. I remember my mother making it for me on rainy days, trying to soothe a child who would fall sick so easily it was a task to make her hold on to life.

My mother once told me I used to get so sick, so often, they thought I wouldn’t make it past my first year. Perhaps that was why they always took care of me, even in my teenage years, when all I wanted was freedom.

—

The diner is empty again tonight, devoid of customers. The owner sits at a table, writing down something in his notebook. He stands up when I walk in, all smiles, “did you forget the way here?” he asks, “it’s been almost a week since you came back.”

“Yeah, realised I was craving something,” I grin. “Do you serve gukbap here?”

“We do,” he nods, “is that all you need? I’ll be closing soon, so tell me what you want before I clean the kitchen.”

“Just that,” I take a seat at the bar—the same place where I sat the first time. “Is it always this empty, or did I just come too late?”

“The day has been a bit slow,” he explains, going back into the kitchen, “gukbap, right? It’ll be done in a minute. I don’t have pork, so you’ll have to make do, though.”

He disappears from sight, and I busy myself with my phone, looking through my notifications. It’s not as if there are a lot, but I keep seeing things pop up on my social media feed, things that I should have cut out of my life entirely. It’s not always that my failure to do anything gets me; I’ve been this way since I was a child, apparently.

You used to bottle it all up inside of you, and tell us nothing.

Perhaps that was why I ran away to Busan—a city populated enough for me to hide, and yet calm enough for me to float along it, adrift at sea, nothing more to think about, than a constant reminder of why I failed, how I failed. Is this how most people live?

The owner sets a plate in front of me, steaming rice soup with an abalone garnishing, expensive enough for me to raise my eyebrows at it, and he simply smiles in response, “Imagine waiting for someone to come by, and they ask you to make rice soup for them. It’s a request you can’t ignore, right?”

“You said you were all out of pork,” I shake my head, “and you’re serving me abalone.”

“I was out of pork, not abalone,” he smiles, taking a seat next to me. “Why did it take you so long to come back?”

“You sound like you were waiting for me.”

“I was, actually.”

I stare at him, still smiling, and for a moment, I wonder if there are hidden cameras around the diner, with people waiting for me to make a slip, popping out of their hidden corners, “Are you kidding?”

“Not at all,” He pours himself a glass of alcohol, “you remind me of myself.”

“Ah, like an old man,” I joke, looking back at the soup. “How old are you?”

“Not as old as you think.”

I shake my head, still laughing, before taking a sip of the soup, fragrant and flavourful, with the abalone providing a slight difference from the usual pork I’m used to, unlike any other place I’ve tried this at. My father was right when he said a restaurant is never good if their gukbap is not.

“They use this as comfort food here,” he explains, watching me eat, “I remember sneaking out to eat this every week when I was a trainee.”

“You were a trainee?” I look him over, and sure enough, he does look like he could be a celebrity—his features are perfect, sloping nose unusual enough for me to have taken notice the first time I walked in here, skin pale enough not to tan even under the heat of the direct rays, “you should have been a celebrity, then. Why are you working at a diner in the middle of the beach?”

“I was a celebrity, actually,” he admits. “Now I run a diner.”

“Celebrity to diner owner.” I smile, “that’s a strange path to take.”

“A good one, too,” he mutters, “it’s a pretty good job, this one.”

“A celebrity, a diner owner, and a phenomenal cook,” I count them off, “what else are you hiding?”

“What are you thinking?” he replies instead. “Since you asked me what I’m hiding, I think I should ask you what you think of it.”

“The trainee?” I chuckle, “what were you a trainee for?”

“A boy group,” He laughs, “fell through at the last minute, though.”

“Ah, is that why I never saw you online? I used to be a big K-pop fan, you know. Followed all the groups when they released new music.”

“You must know Hoshi, then?”

“Hoshi?” I pause, “He used to release really good music, but I didn’t really listen that closely. My friends do like his music a lot, though.”

He nods, and I resist the urge to run away, my friends like his music. It’s not a lie—they do like his music, have liked him since he came out with his debut single—it’s me who has been dropped from the list. If he asks about my friends, I’m not sure I could even say a single word.

“Soonyoung—I mean, Hoshi, he’s from my label,” the man explains, looking sheepish, “I mean, I used to be a trainee there.”

“Ah.” I finish the rest of my meal in silence.

“No payment, not for you.” He smiles, “I still didn’t get your name, though.”

“Do I really have to?”

He says nothing, merely grins, and waves me goodbye. On my way back from the diner, I light a cigarette as usual.

He’d looked less tired than before, less lonely, too. Did he finally have someone to talk to? He’d looked happier—serving me rice soup while I waited.

I pick up my phone to call Seungkwan, who picks up within two rings.

“Ah, noona—” he begins, and I cut him off, “Seungkwan, can I send you my pitch right now?”

“Right now?” There’s a scramble on the line. Then he’s back, “yes, tell me.”

I take a deep breath, “I go to a diner every day.”

“Huh?” Seungkwan is sceptical, as always, “what do you mean you go to a diner every day?”

“I want to write about the diner, Seungkwan,” I explain. “I don’t know—it’s just that even though I haven’t been that many times, every time I go, I come back thinking about my life differently.”

“Noona, you always think about your life. That’s why you’re the one writing, not me.”

“No—just trust me on this one, okay?” I’m begging at this point, but Seungkwan needs to be convinced, “it’s a good start, right?”

“Send me a chapter, and I’ll think about it,” he mutters.

“So, you’ll do it?”

“Just send me a page! God, you’re so annoying,” he huffs. “Okay, fine! I’ll do it! Just send the damn chapter before next week ends or you’ll be dealing with someone else.”

“I love you, Seungkwan.”

“Love you too.”

“Ah,” I mutter as I reach the apartment entrance. “He’s always like that, right?”

Seungkwan has always been like that, unwillingly affectionate, yet he manages to be my only cheerleader, at times. From the first day he picked up my manuscript and called me out of the blue, to our first meeting, where he said bluntly to my face, “you look sad”, and even now. He says he won’t do it, but he will. Seungkwan will move mountains for the people he loves. That’s just how he is.

My phone buzzes as I walk into my flat, with a singular message, I’m counting on you for this one, noona. Don’t fuck this up for us, please.

I smile. As if.

—

Jihoon is not particularly given to nostalgia. He hates it, has hated the feeling since he stepped out of the plane at Charles de Gaulle and felt an intense longing for the semi-basement with melon-green walls that had defined his trainee life, the boardrooms where he negotiated for his artistic freedom to an inch of his life, and even the dorms, where he lived alongside a bunch of other teenage boys, all just as clueless as him.

Until that point, nostalgia was a common feeling, the longing of a time that seemed better in retrospect, but Jihoon hated how he felt about his trainee years, and later on, his producing career. He’d thought his life had ended when the HR development team had called their group of ten boys into the melon room and announced that they were no longer moving forward with the boy group. Wonwoo had cried, as Jihoon remembers. Wonwoo had cried, Seungcheol looked furious, Minghao and Jeonghan had tried to bargain. And Jihoon—Jihoon remembers sitting down on the floor, staring blankly into the distance. He had to get up off the floor; he had to do something.

He didn’t; all he did was sit on the floor, thinking, what do I do next?

The dorm was cleared out the next week.

To this day, he hates the word, nostalgia. They’re emotions he’d rather have left behind, in the melon-coloured room which took away so much of his youth. He doesn’t hate that part of himself, just wishes he could have done it a little bit differently. He’s been running his whole life, and has never realised how tired he was. And now—all that remains of that time, are memories that he’d once thought of as commonplace.

They’d called him back from Busan three months after he’d gone back home, and Jihoon still cannot forget the hope in his heart that maybe they’d rethought the decision, that maybe he still had a shot at becoming a singer. He’d dedicated his teenage years to that dream, going to practise in Seoul when all his peers were chasing a different dream, a more attainable one, perhaps. And there was Soonyoung too, who’d joined only a month before, who didn’t really realise why they were all moving out. None of them deserved that. They’d all given up their youths, negotiated over and over with people who didn’t care about their well-being.

No one would fault you for giving it another shot, his father had told him when he was stepping out of his home, if you want to give up on this dream, that is okay, too. Remember you can always come back here.

The company had said nothing about bringing back the debut team. Instead, they’d sat him down in a room entirely different from the practice rooms and told him that they were willing to bring him on as a composer to help with Soonyoung’s debut. You’ve got to bring in a lawyer and a parent to negotiate the terms, they had said, you’re still a minor, even if you turn eighteen in a month. We can’t make a contract with a minor without a legal guardian present. Jihoon really hadn’t heard any of the words they had said, instead focusing on a single word. Soonyoung. The boy who had come in a month before the company had sent them all packing, was who they had brought back in as a soloist, apparently. For them, he was good enough, not Jihoon or the group of boys who had spent years on their craft. He’d wanted to ask them, why didn’t you bring back the debut team? We said we’d do all the producing, we said we’d help with logistics. We said we’d do all of it, so why aren’t you calling us back? Why just him?

In the end, he had accepted the terms laid out in front of him, had his father make the trip from Busan to Seoul with a lawyer to look over the contract before he signed it. Once they made sure his work was going to be owned by the company and no one else, Jihoon moved back to Busan, working on Soonyoung’s debut song in the middle of catching up with his high school assignments.

They all said he was a genius, and he was, because who else would get into a Seoul university a year after he stopped being a full-time trainee? Soonyoung debuted, and Jihoon’s name was first on the list of production credits: Woozi. He’d chosen the name before they had approached him the second time, making shit up with Seungcheol and Jeonghan on a random weeknight. They’d picked out names for each other, too—Seungcheol wanted to be called S. Coups, whatever that meant, and Jeonghan, looking at their atrocious choices, stuck with his own. “I refuse to be part of this madness,” he had said, but Jihoon wanted to keep the name Woozi. Our Jihoon, the producers and the HR development team used to call him. He wanted the name to be a tribute to the people who worked hard to make their debut possible.

Woozi debuted alongside Hoshi, and they never looked back. Jeonghan and Seungcheol both went into business administration, circling back to the same company that cut them off. Wonwoo moved courses, went into game development, and refused to look at the industry ever again. And Minghao—

Minghao had left for China the week after they sent them off, and they had all come to see him off at the airport. His eyes were dry, and Jihoon saw no sign of distress in his eyes. Minghao had moved on already.

“Don’t blame yourself too much, Minghao,” he had said, in an attempt to soothe the hurt he was going through, but Jihoon doubted they even heard any of it.

Minghao swore he’d never return to Korea. Two years later, he arrived for an exchange semester, and never seemed to leave. Xu Minghao, fashion designer. They’d all moved on in their own ways, chose to soothe themselves by doing things they never wanted to do. Seungcheol, Jeonghan, and he were basically torturing themselves, working in the same company that turned them out onto the streets. Wonwoo left the industry, running as fast as he could, in the opposite direction. Minghao, who was always a man of few words, made his own path, doing something that they never really thought he would do, but he’s come back to the country he hates.

Wonwoo had once, on one of their dinners, pointed an accusatory finger at the three of them, “Why the fuck did you go back to that company? If it was anywhere else, I would have understood. Hell, I would have supported you three! But back to the same place that threw us out onto the streets?”

“Wonwoo, you’re drunk,” Seungcheol had said, mildly. “Let’s have this conversation another time.”

“No, we need to have it right now,” Wonwoo was headstrong on the best of his days, but drunk, he was stubborn to a fault, and Jihoon just stared at the man in front of him, still burdened by the experiences of his adolescence, “why the hell did you go back to the company we left?”

“They had their reasons, Wonwoo,” Minghao replies, nursing his drink, “I’m sure the decision wasn’t easy.”

“Then they shouldn’t have taken that decision,” Wonwoo mutters, slumping down against Seungcheol, “remember when they didn’t even tell us why they were disbanding the debut group?”

“They debuted Hoshi a year later,” Minghao replies, tone a shade darker, “how the hell did you manage that, hyung?”

“Huh?” Jihoon realises a bit later that the words are directed towards him, and he sits straight up, “what do you mean about that?”

“How the hell did you manage to write songs that he performed?”

“What?” Seungcheol sits up straight, looking at Minghao, “what do you mean by that?”

“I’m asking how you managed to write those songs for Hoshi, knowing the company debuted him instead of you. Instead of us.”

“Oh.” Jihoon knows he should say something, that the wounds in them run deep, even after years have passed and they have all moved on, but he really cannot. What is there to say that he hasn’t talked about? Should he tell them how he never wanted to sit in any of those meetings, where they would discuss Soonyoung’s debut single, because a little voice in his head would not shut up about the unfairness of the whole system? They were supposed to debut as a team. But they didn’t, and the company turned to Soonyoung instead, placing their dreams on the shoulders of a person who didn’t even understand the meaning of it all. Anything he said, would not hold water, not in front of the people who were hurt, whose eyes carried so much sadness. Wonwoo refused to watch anything Hoshi released, even if Jihoon was the one behind the songs. Minghao—Minghao was looking at him with such profuse betrayal in his eyes, that he knows, none of his empty words would comfort them. None at all.

Looking back at the time passed, Jihoon knew Soonyoung was suffering too, even if it never seemed like that to them. They only saw the carefully curated music stages and high-quality music videos, because it’s easier for an outsider to look in; he’d come across Soonyoung on days where the other would be holed up in the studio, not talking to anyone, focused on making everything perfect—even right up to the day before the song's release. They were jealous, they were hurting, but the experience that Hoshi was going through, that was something they could not understand.

He's still sitting in front of his work computer, when the call from Jeonghan comes through, “Did you just send in a track for a R&B song?”

“I did,” Jihoon has the sense to sound a little ashamed, “it was a bout of inspiration. I’ll change it if it’s not what you guys want.”

“Doesn’t matter, it’s the most original piece of work I’ve seen you put out in a couple years,” Jeonghan’s tone is flippant, but he still sounds stressed, “I already spoke to the PDs, the concept hasn’t been decided yet. Hoshi might be releasing an indie album, or a R&B album.”

“The concept hasn’t been decided yet? Why the hell were you telling me to submit a track?”

“I need proof of life to convince them to put you on the team, Jihoon,” Jeonghan’s voice is strained, “how long do you think the people will wait around for you to show up with something other than what has been in your drafts since before you ran off?”

“That’s a bit disappointing, you know. I’m hurt.”

“You literally ran off to Paris when I was in the middle of renegotiating your contract. You can afford to take a little bit of heat.”

“That’s harsher, but it’s the truth.”

“I’m wondering,” Jeonghan says, after a beat, “what the hell gave you this much inspiration, sitting in fucking Busan, of all places. Did you have a vision or something?”

Jihoon laughs and laughs, because Jeonghan, even in his sarcasm, has hit the nail on the head; he had seen a vision. A vision of a woman in plain clothes, who carried herself as though she had a lot of weight on her shoulders. “Something like that,” he replies, “maybe I got inspiration from the waves.”

“That’s why your restaurant is smack in front of the beach,” Jeonghan laughs, “I’ll be in touch with you, and for god’s sake, call Minghao. He’s going crazy.”

“What happened to Minghao?” Jihoon’s seen Minghao crazy exactly once—when he was so angry he cursed at the staff in Chinese, throwing out all the angst of his teenage self, “what happened to him?”

“Hoshi wants to dress in his clothes for the comeback. Minghao is against it to the extent that he actually turned down every request from us to feature his clothing, and threatened me with a cease-and-desist.”

“Can you do that?” Jihoon isn’t really surprised, per se, they were all people who held grudges, deep in their hearts, and at some point, it would have had to boil over. It’s only fair it’s happening now, and not thirty years down the line.

“He says he will. A legal notice to stop us from displaying any of his work in a music video or on any of his appearances. Just talk to him once. Holding onto a grudge for eleven years seems a little bit overkill, I’m going to be honest.”

“Fine, I’ll talk to him once.” Jihoon has no intention of talking to Minghao, because no matter what he says, Minghao will not change his mind once he has made it up, and he’s always been firm on this one account, “no promises.”

He sighs, and leans back into his chair. Nostalgia. Ah. It’s a word he really fucking hates.

But there was her, and she was in his mind, again, a reminder of who he was, the kind of person he had been, for the longest time. She wasn’t just someone who reminded him of the time that had passed him by, Jihoon knew her. They were the same, in fact, he still thinks they are.

His phone rings again, but this time, it’s his mother, instead of Minghao, or Jeonghan. “Hello?”

“Weren’t you supposed to come for dinner tonight?”

“Ah,” he’s looking straight at the clock on the wall, “I’m still stuck at the diner.”

“Liar.” His mom isn’t really one to mince her words, “you’re probably stressing out over your drafts right now, aren’t you?”

“How the hell did you know that?”

“I know a lot of things,” his mother sounds like she’s having fun with all of it, instead of yelling at him like she usually does, “imagine being your mom and not knowing that you smoke cigarettes, even when you’ve told everyone that you quit.”

“Mom!” he does not know how the hell she got that piece of information, but she has it, and now, he’s the one who’s in trouble, “what do you mean?”

“It’s not as if your father quit smoking either,” she says casually, “I know when someone is hiding things from me.”

Jihoon sighs, “Have you ever given police work a serious thought? You’d have become the Commissioner of Police at this rate.”

“It’s probably because I had to raise you as a child.” She replies, “come to dinner in an hour, okay? Your father has been looking forward to this for an entire week.”

Jihoon sighs, but gets up from his chair nevertheless, and slips on a jacket instead of his hoodie. His mother, who knows everything about him, was apparently too forgetful to remind her own son about the weather.

The chill settles into the air as he steps out of the car and walks into the apartment complex where his parents live, because of course they moved out of the house where they had lived all their lives, because Jihoon wanted to move to Seoul and they had no money. It’s almost uncomfortable, looking at his parents, and being reminded of why the hell they had to spend all that money, an investment that resulted in nothing but a shameful return to Busan. And they had not allowed him to give the money back.

“I’m home,” he calls out, stepping over the threshold, “why the hell did I have to come back here when I just saw you guys two days ago? Traffic was insane.”

“Your dad is sulking,” his mother greets him with a kiss on the cheek, “he lost at chess this afternoon.”

“Oh, shit,” he mutters, walking to the balcony, where his father is sitting, polishing scholar stones, “fancy a game of chess?”

“I’ve quit the game,” his father moans, and if Jihoon tilts his head far enough, he thinks he can see tears in the corner of his eyes, “don’t even mention chess in front of me anymore. I hate the game.”

“I—you used to play it for hours, dad, what happened?”

His father, full-on sniffling now, sits straight up, “that man there! Bloody Mr Kim, does he think he’s slick? I saw him cheating, I know he moved his bishop right after I turned around to wave to your mother. Why else would I lose to him when I haven’t lost a single match this past two weeks?”

Jihoon looks to his mother, who shrugs, handle this on your own. “Are you sure he swapped out the bishop’s position?”

“Yes, and I’m never going back there again,” his father announces, “he can keep his chess skills to himself.”

“Really? You mean that?” Jihoon laughs, “you said that two weeks ago too.”

“I did?” he looks up, “that doesn’t sound real to me.”

“It is, unfortunately.” Jihoon sighs, “you keep saying that you’ll quit chess, but you’re gonna go back to the park a few days later.”

“I won’t, not this time,” he grouses, “just you wait, and if I go back to the park, make sure to call me an idiot.”

Jihoon says nothing, just shakes his head, because his father will go back to the park as soon as the craving hits, because he’s never once spent more than a day not playing chess. Not to mention he’s actually great friends with Mr Kim, even if all he says is how much he hates him.

Dinner is lots of rice, and a random stew his mother put together in less than an hour, and the three of them huddle around a cooker, because his mother does not believe in the importance of letting stews cool down before making him and his father consume it. At least his father had the proper sense to put aside Jihoon’s part of the soup to let it cool down before he drank it.

After dinner the three of them clear out the table, crowding around the television, where there is a rerun of a random drama going on, and Jihoon casually pecks on a bunch of almonds. His father swipes a few of them.

“Is this Hoshi’s appearance on that variety show?” His father is pointing to the channel, where he’s changed it to Yoo Jae-Seok and Jo Se-Ho laughing on either side of Hoshi, “when did he make that appearance?”

“He shot for it a few weeks ago,” Jihoon offers an explanation, “he’s not really into giving a lot of interviews, but he really wanted to do this one in particular. He did have a lot of fun on this shoot.”

“Soonyoung seems interesting,” his mother pipes up, “why doesn’t he come by more often?”

“Because he’s too busy with a hundred different schedules, mom,” Jihoon mutters, “he has other things to do instead of coming to my house to just hang out with my parents.”

“Your other friends do.” His mother grumbles, “don’t see how he can’t, just because he’s an idol doesn’t mean he gets to ignore his friend’s parents.”

Jihoon says nothing. The last time Seungcheol came down to Busan, he’d had an argument with Jihoon, screaming and shouting at each other on the beach, fighting like they were teenagers again, this time in a parking lot instead of a basement. Seungcheol had been pissed off with Jihoon for leaving, and Jihoon had been angry with him for not understanding. They’d yelled in the beginning, and suddenly Jihoon found himself throwing punches. The fight had lasted for several minutes, and the end found them both crying their eyes out.

“How could you do this to us?” Seungcheol had said, grasping onto Jihoon’s shirt, “did you know how worried we all were? Dropping off the face of the earth with no explanation?”

“And why the hell do you care so much, Seungcheol?” Jihoon had been angry at that moment, “is it because I refused to renew the contract? Is that why?”

Seungcheol swung before Jihoon could move out of the way, screaming, “is that what you think of me? That little?”

His mother snorts, “Is Seungcheol going to get married or what? He told me was seeing someone.”

“He was seeing a therapist, last I checked,” Jihoon murmurs, “I doubt he’s got any interest in marrying right now.”

And he was right. Seungcheol had always been a little bit hot-headed, a little bit of a loudmouth. He was the one who fought with the HR team when they were disbanded, throwing one of the most impressive tantrums Jihoon had ever seen for a seventeen-year-old. To be on the receiving end of that anger was certainly an experience. He’d been seeing a therapist for it, although he still insisted that it really wasn’t such a big deal, that he was doing fine without it. Jihoon knew a bit better. Seungcheol, beneath all that bravado and bluster, was scared; just as scared as he was at that moment in time, maybe he never managed to get out of it. God knows they were all serving sentences in time, frozen in the memories of that one moment. Seungcheol and Jihoon never really managed to get out of that mindset. Seungcheol still got angry, Jihoon still deflected.

“At least he’s seeing someone,” his mother snipes, “who are you seeing, apart from your customers?”

Jihoon stills. His hesitation is plain, and his mother pounces on it like shark tasting blood, “you’ve met someone. Who was it?”

“None of your concern,” he mutters, busying himself with chewing, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“He’s met someone nice, then,” his father laughs, “Jihoon has always been one of those people who don’t like to talk a lot about their love lives.”

“I don’t have one.”

“But you met someone,” his mother leans in, eyes glinting, “go on, who was it? Did you get her name, at least?”

“No, I did not. And she’s just a customer, it’s that she feels a lot like me.”

“Oh, it’s bad,” his father tuts, and Jihoon makes a face. I should have never even tried to lift his spirits, “he likes her a lot.”

“I don’t!”

And he does not. He’s not even interested in her romantically; he just wants to know her a little bit better. He wants her to feel a bit more comfortable, at least be a bit more comfortable with him. He wants to be the one she opens up to, because—ah fuck, he’s interested, isn’t he?

After dinner, he goes out for a smoke with his father, who refuses to smoke, but still does, taking a cigarette from the box from Jihoon, “your mother hates this, you know.”

“She still tolerates it, because you don’t have a drinking habit.” Jihoon laughs, “she hates drinking.”

“Your mother is an angel, you know that, right?” His father smiles, puffing out rings of smoke, “she’s always been empathetic, even when she didn’t really have to be.”

“She’s the one who kept at it, telling me to go to Paris when I told her I was not feeling great.”

“Both of us wanted to tell you that, you know.” His father sighs, “you used to come back home after months at a time, dark circles underneath your eyes, and we lay awake thinking what the hell was Seoul putting you through. Even during your trainee days, you never came home stressed out and tired.”

“I was going through a lot, it seems,” Jihoon murmurs, “at least I got to get out of it. I don’t think it's been that easy for anyone else.”

“I know.”

His father continues, “I know the others—Seungcheol, Jeonghan, Wonwoo, Minghao—they’re all suffering. Minghao still refuses to acknowledge the company, and Wonwoo doesn’t even put on music when he watches television. You’ve all been stuck in your personal brand of hell, ever since that day. It’s difficult, trying to move on from an experience that shaped your whole life. Hell, even your careers were impacted by this.”

Jihoon says nothing. He really thought he was hiding it well, but apparently in front of his parents, he has been able to have exactly zero secrets.

“You think I didn’t know why you three went to work in the same company? Jeonghan and Seungcheol didn’t even have to do all that, they had other places they could go to. But they went there, and chose to work with some of the very people who disbanded the project.”

“The Seventeen Project.” Jihoon interrupts, “It was The Seventeen Project.”

“And they treated ten of you boys like it was nothing. That will leave an impact, even if you’ve all moved on with your lives.”

Jihoon nods. His father is right about all that. They’re still stuck in that room, that fucking melon-green walls closing in on all of them, even in adulthood. They grew, moved out of their homes and into university, they moved on but really, had they?

“Don’t think too much about it,” his father says, when Jihoon opens the door to his car, hands full of leftovers, “just remember that it’ll be worth it in the end.”

It’ll be worth it in the end. Hah. Jihoon wants to laugh, but instead, he just nods, seatbelt clicking into place as he makes his way down the narrow street. It’s a five-minute walk from his restaurant, but his parents’ house is in the middle of a neighbourhood full of residential buildings, which means the street leading up to the house is triple-parked. Extricating any kind of vehicle is a task, and he’s trying his best to get his car out of the mess, when he sees her. This is the third time he’s seeing her, and it’s the same feeling as the first time—the same heady rush of excitement, the same feeling of déjà vu. For a moment, he’s transposed to the Jihoon of three years before, running frantically behind deadlines, without a moment to think for himself.

Without thinking too much about it, he opens the door, jumping down, “Hello.”

She merely raises an eyebrow. “Are you in the habit of making home deliveries too?”

“Home deliveries?” Jihoon stares at her, only realising that he’s still holding onto the leftovers from dinner, “ah, I was having dinner with my parents.”

She gives him a sad smile, “ah, dinner with the parents. That sounds great, actually. I’m going to have my own dinner right now, if you’ll excuse me.”

She makes a move to pass him, and he steps in front, “Ah, hold on, hold on, do you want to have dinner with me?”

She doesn’t say anything, just stares at him, and he can feel the weight of her gaze, “Didn’t you say you had dinner with your parents?”

“I did?” He’s racking his brains, “ah, yes, yes I did.”

“You did,” she raises an eyebrow, “now, if you’ll excuse me.”

She moves past him now, and Jihoon sees her walk past him, towards her house, wherever it is. He’s not interested, not at all, it’s just that she reminds him of himself. Yes, that’s what it is. She just reminds him of himself. Not interested. Her shoulders are drooping, barely holding on against the weight of the world, and he just thinks to himself, she looks so lonely.

Was that how he’d looked to the others? That lonely? Was this how the great Lee Jihoon was to others, this sad, lonely shell of a human being, whose loneliness was measurable by how their shoulders dropped when their backs were turned. He’s seized with a sudden bout of self-loathing, of course his parents worried when he looked like this.

“You never really gave me your name, you know!” He yells, fully aware of how desperate he looks, but he’s damned if he lets another person become Lee Jihoon again, “I gave you my name, right?”

She turns. And with that enigmatic smile still fixed into place, “No, you didn’t. I don’t know your name, either.”

“Ah.” Now he’s getting embarrassed. He’s supposed to be slicker than this, damn it. “Do you want to know my name?”

She laughs and laughs and laughs. It’s a different sound than what he’s used to, a mix of sad and happy, almost as if she’s fighting against her instinct. She sounds more carefree than he’s ever imagined her to be, not that he’s imagined her in any sense of that word. “You really want to tell me your name?”

“It’s Jihoon,” he stumbles over his words in his hurry. “Lee Jihoon. That’s my name. You don’t even have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”

A beat. Then, “you’re right,” she says, with no sense of anger in her tone, “it’s getting late, Lee Jihoon. Go back home.”

And with that, she’s gone. Jihoon wants to hit himself on the head, but he’s sane, a sane adult who would never do anything like that, and so, instead of running away from her, he walks back to his car, and calls up Jeonghan, who answers in a single ring, “what?”

“Should I come back to Seoul?” Jihoon bursts out, “not that I want to go back, I hate the city, but I don’t think I should be living in Busan anymore. I need to move somewhere else. Jeju? England?”

“Hold on, you’re not making any sense.” There’s a lot of background noise, and Jeonghan shuffles a bit before saying, “did she reject you?”

“Who—no! No one rejected me!” Jihoon yells into the phone, putting his car into reverse gear, “I just think I should have a change of pace. England seems perfect for this. Should I go?”

“Who’s the girl, Lee Jihoon?” Jeonghan teases, “you’re never really this insistent on anything if it's not for a girl.”

“I do not do that.”

“Agree to disagree.” Jeonghan laughs, “did she reject you?”

Jihoon sighs. There’s no escaping Jeonghan, is there? “She just said she doesn’t want to tell me her name.”

“Oh. That’s got to hurt, hasn’t it?”

“Incredibly.” Jihoon is groaning into the phone, “I’ve never really met anyone like her.”

“This down bad, already? You haven’t even met her more than twice.” Jeonghan laughs, and then his tone shifts, “it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you this agitated over a girl. Not until middle school, I think.”

“Ugh. Don’t even remind me of that.” Jihoon wants to die every time people remind him of that time; he should have never told anyone about the crush he’d had in middle school. Jeonghan had never let go of it, it seems, “anyway, let me know what I can do about this mess.”

“She’s a regular at the diner, you say?”

“Well, she’s only been there a couple times, so I can’t really call her a regular. But she might be one.”

“Well, Jihoon, I don’t know how to say this to you, but you’ve fucked up.” Jeonghan laughs, “at least give the girl some space before you start with your nonsense about knowing their names and telling them how much you love and adore them.”

“I have never once done that.”

“You just told me you did,” Jeonghan sighs. “Just—give them as much space as they want. You get over excited when it comes to them, just back off a bit until they approach you in the first place. No need to start going all out when you don’t even know if it’s going to last.”

“Solid advice.” Jihoon’s pulling into his own driveway, equally populated by cars and congested, “how much do you want to bet I won't be adhering to that?”

“I don’t take shit bets, Jihoon.”

—

It’s a seaside diner. One that stands alone in the middle of the wharf, serving customers from evening till they close. It’s a small diner, nothing special. They have seafood on the menu: haemul-tang, gukbap. Everything you need to make the end of an otherwise normal day, unusual.

The person behind the counter is a man, who looks at me like he knows who I am. As if my existence here is a bout of déjà vu for him, a trick of the mind. I am nothing but a long-lost memory to him, a reminder of the person that he once was, or he still might be.

If this was a romance novel, I would say something obvious, comment on how good he looks, standing behind the counter, standing as though he had been waiting for me all his life. I do nothing like that, instead walking over to a side, ordering the first dish that comes to my mind.

When he prepares the food, I look at him. His shoulders droop, his eyes close from time to time. It reminds me of a psychology lecture: when you want to know more about someone, make sure you see them once, from behind. People have barriers, walls they construct around themselves to act as shields from the world. Take a look at people when they have their backs turned to you. You might see a lot more of them than they let on.

This man is lonely. I can see that, from the way he wipes his hands on the edge of the towel, from the way he smiles at me before setting down my order in front of me, every action of his, accentuated by his long, slim fingers that seem almost ethereal. Everything tells me about his loneliness.

And to be honest, am I not lonely either? I’m having dinner by myself at a diner while the rest of my office gets off work to go back to their families. I am here, spending my time with an unfamiliar man, on a night when I probably should be with company.

Loneliness grows comforting when there is nothing else to compare it to.

I hit ‘send’ on the email, and predictably, Seungkwan calls me half an hour later. “Yes?” I pick up, “did you like it?”

“It’s great. Nothing out of the ordinary for you, but I just want to know one thing,” he pauses for dramatic effect, “are you in love with that man?”

“What?” I sputter. “Who the hell are you talking about?”

“The owner!” he screeches, “you write about him in a way that makes me wonder if you’re in love with him.”

“I’m not,” I say, “aren’t you watching too many dramas nowadays? Is this what they teach you guys?”

“They don’t teach us how to write dramas. That’s on you,” Seungkwan laughs, “this paragraph right here, when you describe how lonely he looks to you, is that not a confession?”

“It’s not a fucking confession!” I’m yelling now, pacing rapidly around the apartment, “it’s nothing! I’m not even interested in him that way!”

“Really? Who is he, by the way? Just some random restaurant owner? Because I’ve never seen you write about anyone other than the people who’ve been in your life for more than half a decade, hell, you didn’t even write about Kim Mingyu, and we all know how you feel about him—’

“I’ve known him for only a fortnight, Boo Seungkwan,” I interrupt, and on the other side, Seungkwan cackles, as though he’s stumbled on the juiciest piece of gossip in a short while, “don’t even dare to take this out of context. I’m not someone who does things on a whim. And for god’s sake, stop bringing up Mingyu every time you lose an argument.”

“I don’t do that, and you know it.”

“Really?”

“Never mind,” Seungkwan laughs, “at least tell me if he’s cute.”

“He isn’t.”

“Liar.” He laughs again, and I keep wondering what exactly it is about my life that makes Seungkwan think that all of this is a big fucking joke, “I’ll give you the edits by tomorrow, but this two-page script is enough for the issue, I think.”

He cuts the call, and I throw the phone away to sit back down on the sofa. What the hell was Seungkwan thinking? Just because I wrote about that man, doesn’t mean I am interested. Hell, I don’t even know his name yet. Nothing about the two interactions I have had with him points to any degree of attraction.

But that’s not true, is it, a voice tells me, you know his name, you just don’t want to acknowledge it.

Lee Jihoon, he had shouted at me, as though we were standing on the opposite sides of a gorge instead of three metres away on an empty street. Lee Jihoon. A beautiful name, that. He looked distraught, as though he had been agonising over the decision to call my name out on that empty road.

A step forward would have been too much for him, perhaps, but I was the one who pushed him away in the first place.

It’s a funny thing, to be on the precipice of a decision. I could have told him my name, could have told him who I was, or I could have just let him know that I wasn't averse to spending time with him.

Except when I went to say my name, the same voice inside my head, which has been a part of me for so long, insisted: why are you doing this? When you know he will leave you. Everyone who knows you will leave you, so better for you to do it first. If you hurt yourself before they do it to you, then you’re not going to be affected at all. It’s better this way, so just leave it at that.

But this can’t be an excuse, can it? I can’t keep telling myself that all the time. All my life, I’ve never allowed myself to want. Truly want something. There’s so much I could have had in life, if I allowed myself to reach out and grab it, instead of stepping back, thinking what if. Fear of failure suppressed the desire to win, and the person who has suffered the most, is me.

I pick up my phone, dialling the first contact that pops up, and my mother’s voice floats through, “this late at night? Is everything okay?”

Funny, how she always asks that. Even during university, when I was going through perhaps the worst phase of my life, I never had anyone ask me, ‘are you doing okay?’ But now I am here, and my mother is asking this.

“I’m fine,” I mutter, “did you have dinner?”

“It’s almost midnight, child,” she replies, “of course we had dinner. Your father keeps asking about you, though. He’s thinking of coming down to Busan to see you next week.”

“Next week?” I make a mental list of everything I need to finish by next week if my father came to visit: I need to finish cleaning my house, something I have been putting off for weeks, put away all my clothes to make sure it’s not in piles of laundry on my chair, and finally, get rid of all the cigarette packs, because my father is not aware of my smoking habit. No one is, actually, save the people in my workplace, who all look at me like I’m some kind of alien when I join the men on the terrace to take a smoke break, Seungkwan, who’s told me to stop it so many times he’s one step away from nagging me with cancer PSAs, and of course, Lee Jihoon, who looked at me like it was a habit he knew all too well. I also need to restock my groceries, because my father likes cooking elaborate meals at home — a passion he’s turned into a hobby after his retirement.

“Next week,” my mother replies, “he’s booked the tickets already. He wants to see first-hand how you’re doing.”

“Dad never does that, though.”

“He does,” she repeats, “he’s always been a sucker for the two of you. He’s going to come by, so make sure you take him to that diner you found the other week. He’s been going around telling me he wants to have the gukbap there.”

“Diner?” I’m stunned for a moment, to hear my father act this way, my stoic father, who never really had a bout of excitement over anything save our grades, “he really wants to have rice soup at a seaside diner in Busan? Is that why he’s coming?”

“That’s not why, of course,” my mother’s tone grows pensive, “you’ve always been more closed-off than your sister. He worries, that’s all.”

“And you don’t?”

“Don’t take my words out of context,” I laugh at that, because of course I am closed-off, of course I am someone who hates talking about their feelings, of course I am all that. It's who I am, it’s a part of my soul. I cannot change it now, even if I want to, “he’s coming to see you, you know. He worries a lot. We worry a lot.”

“I’m doing fine, mom,” I sigh, “there’s really no need for anyone to come down to Busan, of all places. If you want, I can go to Seoul next week.”

Yes, this is right. This way, I can go to Seoul, and my father won’t have to be seen with the image of his youngest daughter living half a life in another city. Of all the things I know about my father, this is one I am sure about; knowing how I live will break his heart. He won’t be able to take it.

There’s a reason why I hid everything from them as a child, after all.

“No, he’s pretty adamant on going down,” my mother reasons, “at least this way he’ll get to go out of the house.”

I laugh, “When’s the last time he did that?”

“Don’t even ask me,” my mother sighs, “he keeps saying he doesn’t need the exercise, but he really does. Ask anyone, and you’ll know exactly why. He’s just being lazy.”

“He still likes playing chess, doesn’t he?”

“That’s all he does. Sometimes he’ll go out of the house to get groceries, and have the neighbour’s kid deliver it to the house while he spends hours in the park playing chess with old men. Even the neighbour’s kid is angry with us, at this point. Did you know he’s managed to establish a chess club for the retirees in the neighbourhood?”

“You always complain about him, mom, but in the end, you’re the one who keeps up with all his demands,” I sigh, “but does he really need to come by? Can’t I just come to see you both in Seoul next weekend? I can make it; it’s not a big deal.”

“Are you avoiding it?” she asks, and I want to do two things; smack my head on the nearest hard surface, or throw my phone away entirely. Of course I’m avoiding hosting my father. “No, I’m not,” I reply, “just thinking about all the things that I need to do before he lands in Busan.”

After a bit more of small talk, mom cuts the call, and I lie down on the bed, still in the clothes I was supposed to have taken off before I slept. From tomorrow, I will clean the apartment, make it fit for my father to stay over, but tonight, I want a little bit of peace.

Outside my window, it starts raining, unseasonal torrential downpours that make their peculiar noise on my window panes, and I think of that man. Lee Jihoon. The owner of the diner by the sea, with a smile that seemed to be crafted out of sadness. I wonder if he likes the rains, or if his work was affected by the downpours. Nothing would happen to the diner, I’m sure, but even the thought of it is saddening, losing one of the main reasons behind my recent small happinesses. It’s funny how this random place went unnoticed by me all these years, but now that I’ve had a meal here twice, I cannot think of my life in Busan without it.

I wish nothing happens to him, I think, before drifting off to sleep.

—

The rains are unpredictable this year, Jihoon had heard from fishermen on the coast, the rains have always been unpredictable, but this year, they seem to possess a mind of their own entirely. Jihoon isn’t too bothered by this, because as long as he’s been alive, the rains have always been unpredictable. The fishermen have always said the same things, and they have always had rains at pretty much the same time as everyone else. There really was nothing to be afraid of.

But today, as soon as he steps foot onto the stoop of his diner, the skies open, and cold drops of water drench him halfway almost immediately. He’s left standing on the stoop of his restaurant, looking angrily at the skies. Damn it, I should have heard them when they said the rains were unpredictable this year. His shirt is drenched, he’s about to catch a cold, and all he can think about is how he should have listened to the bloody fishermen. They knew better, of course they did. And he hadn’t listened, which resulted in this—him getting pelted with rain in the middle of winter.

He's drying himself off, when his phone rings, and this time it's Minghao, calling in the middle of the night. Jihoon doesn’t even remember the last time Minghao called him this late at night, after their teenage years. There hasn’t been an occasion for him to do so, after all.

He picks up the call, and before Jihoon can ask him about the reason behind this call, Minghao is losing his shit on the other end of the line, “Did you know, Jeonghan asked me if he could use my designs for Hoshi’s next comeback? He wants to have Soonyoung dress up in my designs for the showcase.”

“The showcase?” Jeonghan hadn’t told him this, of course, but Jihoon had a sneaking suspicion this was a miscommunication on both their parts, “I would have thought he wanted to put your work in the music video.”

“The context doesn’t matter, what matters is that I don’t want this to happen,” Minghao seethes, “I sent them a cease-and-desist letter, to make them stop this madness. I don’t know how to make myself clearer; I don’t want any artist from that damn company to be wearing my designs. Least of all Soonyoung.”

Jihoon sighs. He knew getting Minghao to agree would be impossible; he hadn’t realised how deep Minghao’s grudge against the company ran. “Maybe the legal notice was a bit overkill, but you’re entirely justified in not wanting Soonyoung to wear your work. Do you want me to talk to Jeonghan?”

“No, I know he asked you to talk to me,” Minghao mutters, “he knows that you’re the person with the most sense in the group.”

“Minghao,” Jihoon asks, “why don’t you let go of the grudge? It’s been eleven years already, you’re established, I’d wager. Why are you still holding on to that one moment from all those years ago?”

“Hyung,” Minghao sighs, “have you ever thought to yourself, why you wanted to run away?”

Jihoon stops in his tracks. The rain is still pelting, and his entire shirt is drenched, but somehow, at this point in time, he doesn’t seem to care at all.  All that is ringing in his ears are Minghao’s words, “what do you mean?”

“You ran away from Seoul, and we all kept looking for you,” Minghao says softly, “but I used to be envious of you, really. I wanted to run away, just like you did.”

“Minghao,” Jihoon mutters, “you know why I left. Under what circumstances I had to make that decision, you know everything, so why the hell are you—”

“But were those circumstances really necessary?” Minghao’s voice is sharp now, sharper than Jihoon has ever heard it before, “if you didn’t go back to that company, hell, if the three of you went your separate ways, was it going to be necessary for you to take that long break? You didn’t even maintain contact with any of us, and that hurt, really.”

Jihoon doesn’t say anything for a long time. How can he? He’s the one who left, he’s the one who forced the rest of them to pick up the pieces of a disaster that they did not have a hand in, “I’m sorry, Minghao,” he replies, after a beat, “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I don’t blame you man, not at all,” Minghao, on the other end, seems to be fighting tears, “I left for China as soon as they told us to go back to our homes. I didn’t look back either.”

“Yes, but we were teenagers then.”

“Sometimes I wonder if things could have been different, after a point. If there were any of us with you when you were at your lowest, if we had been there.” Minghao’s tone is pensive, “if we could have held you back, just for once, would things have been different?’

Jihoon doesn’t say anything. He’s struck dumb by this revelation, because Minghao is not wrong, at all—he was selfish, and was an awful person when it came to his decision to leave. “I felt guilty, we all did,” Minghao sighs, “I’m not blaming you, hyung, just saying.”

“Doesn’t matter now, does it?” he laughs, but it sounds hollow to his ears, and he wonders if Minghao, on the other side of the call, can hear it too, “doesn’t matter at all.”

“I wish things were different, hyung,” Minghao says, finally, “I’m not going to retract the legal notice, but I wish things were different. Maybe in another time, I would not be sending this notice to the company. But in this lifetime—we’ve got to do whatever we can, right? I know he got what he worked for, and I’m not holding a grudge for that. I just want to understand why it seems like he’s the only one of the entire group of us, who seemed to get whatever they wanted, while we’re the ones who cannot seem to move on from a moment at seventeen.”

“Right.” Jihoon shuts up until Minghao cuts the call, and all of a sudden, the expanse of the sea rushes at him, swallowing him whole. He hadn’t realised when he had stepped onto sand, entirely soaked by the freezing water. Minghao had felt guilty, everyone had. And Jihoon had—

Jihoon had left, of course. He was the one who left, leaving everything behind.

It’s easy to cry in the rain. Your tears are obscured by the failing drops, and all you need to do is hide it as best as you can. Jihoon has realised this now—that tears are cathartic, that they are somewhat of a balm to soothe the hurt caused by his own actions. 

As he crumples onto the wet sand, sobbing his heart out, he thinks back to the moments of his youth, the dorm shared with the boys, and everything they had shared, once upon a time. All those memories, now restricted to work calls and pub hangs and legal notices. Who would have thought that the five boys who never really thought beyond their dinner, would grow up to be so complicated?

He really hates nostalgia. 

[svtiddiess]

Please, Officer?

Synopsis: One reckless, tipsy night lands you right where you least expected—wrapped in the arms of a cop. And not just any cop: a total DILF. Now you're determined to get him to fuck you seven different ways, no matter what it takes. A little flirting? A lot of teasing? You're prepared to use every card in your hand to get into his bed.

Pairing: dilf!officer!Seungcheol (SVT) x afab!reader

Genre: smut, crack, oneshot

Rating: mature/nsfw

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: age gap, penetrative sex, protected sex (we cheered!), oral (fem receiving), squirting, daddy kink, size kink, manhandling, bondage, handcuffs, makeshift gag, big dick!Seungcheol, dom!Seungcheol, sub!brat!reader, lemme know if I missed anything!

Note: DILF Officer Cheol. DILF Officer Cheol. DILF Officer Cheol. DILF Officer Cheol.

Thank you so much Raven @shadowkoo for the delicious banner! Thank you A @chugging-antiseptic-dye for helping me with the synopsis! Thank you Tiya @gyubakeries, Serena @gotta-winwin, Sam @joonsytip, Celeste @mylovesstuffs, and Cherry @cheolaholic for betaing and screaming about DILF officer Cheol with me!

Click here to join my taglist!

Read on ao3

Reblogs are appreciated ♡

.ᐟMinors/blank/no age indicator blogs will be blocked.ᐟ

Fuck. Maybe three bottles of soju was a mistake, after all.

You think this as you do your best to stumble your way home, your legs barely cooperating. It'd been a very long week at work, and in a moment of desperation, you decided to drown your stress at a bar—three whole bottles deep.

Now, here you are, wobbling down the street, regretting your choices just a little as you trip over your own feet. You brace yourself for impact, arms outstretched, eyes squeezed shut—except the pavement never comes. Instead, a strong arm catches you, stopping your face from making an unfortunate acquaintance with the ground.

Blinking, you look up at your unexpected saviour, and your jaw drops. He's gorgeous—broad shoulders, lean muscle, black hair that falls perfectly around his face, and the most mesmerising deep brown eyes you've ever seen. His lips, full and just pouty enough, look criminally kissable. Maybe the soju wasn't such a bad idea after all.

"Are you okay, ma'am?" he asks, voice rich and laced with concern.

Oh, shit, he sounds hot too.

"Ma'am?" he prompts again, helping you to your feet.

You sway, the alcohol making it nearly impossible to stand on your own. Without hesitation, the handsome stranger wraps an arm around your shoulders to steady you. But instead of pulling away, you lean in, resting your face against his firm chest.

"I'm doing so much better now that you're here," you purr, a lazy grin on your lips.

He looks down at you, clearly unsure what to do with the drunk girl clinging to him. He tries to pry you off gently, but you refuse to budge, deciding his chest is far too comfortable to let go of just yet.

"Are you able to get home?" he asks, still subtly trying to create some distance.

"I think I'd rather get in your pants," you smirk.

His ears turn pink as he clears his throat. "I could help you get a taxi, ma'am."

"Ugh, stop calling me that! My name's Y/N," you whine.

"Alright, Miss Y/N," he sighs, and you swear your heart skips a beat at how your name rolls off his tongue. "Let's get you a taxi. You're definitely not making it home on your own."

"I don't want a taxi," you huff, tightening your grip around his waist.

He hesitates, caught off guard, then exhales slowly. "What do you want then?"

Grinning, you tilt your head up at him. "I'd rather have your dick."

He blinks at you, processing, before sighing yet again. "Where do you live?"

"My, so forward of you, mister," you tease, trailing a finger down his chest. "But luckily for you, I like forward men."

"I’m sending you home, Miss Y/N," he deadpans.

"And then fucking me, right?" you beam.

He ignores that. "Can you walk?"

"Nope. You're gonna have to carry me," you declare, pouting up at him.

Another sigh. "Alright. Get on my back—I'll carry you to my car."

Giggling, you eagerly hop onto his back, wrapping your arms around his neck. His grip is firm yet respectful, his hands carefully placed over your dress rather than your bare thighs.

You swing your legs playfully as he walks, feeling like a carefree child. But when you spot his car—a sleek black Bentley—your jaw drops all over again.

Oh damn. He's rich rich. It just makes you want to fuck him even more.

The two of you finally make it to your apartment building with you spending the entire drive shamelessly flirting. He, on the other hand, politely declines every one of your advances, much to your disappointment.

He carries you up to your apartment and once you reach your door, he gently sets you down, and you immediately whine at the loss of his warmth. He prompts you to enter your door code, but you decide to play coy, pretending you're too drunk to press the buttons.

He sighs—he's been doing that a lot tonight—before unlocking the door himself after you lazily mumble the code.

As you stumble inside, gravity betrays you once again, and he's forced to catch you by the shoulders before your face meets the floor. You giggle, pressing yourself against him. Looking up at him, eyes dark with mischief, you trail a finger down his chest.

"Why don't you stay the night, handsome?" you purr. "I'll make sure to reward you for all your hard work."

His response? Peeling you off of him and unceremoniously dumping you onto your couch.

"Good night, Miss Y/N," he says curtly before turning on his heel and walking out.

You pout, watching the man of your dreams disappear out of your apartment. With a dramatic sigh, you flop back onto the couch, the exhaustion—and alcohol—finally catching up to you. Within moments, you're asleep, dreaming of the hot stranger who just slipped through your fingers.

The weekend rolls around again after a long, exhausting week, and like always, you find yourself at the bar, drowning your stress one drink at a time. You're about to grab another cosmopolitan when your eyes land on someone at the other end of the room.

Oh. It's him. The handsome stranger.

You don't remember much from that night, but his face—and that body—are burned into your memory. And damn, does he look just as good now. Messy hair framed his sharp features. A black shirt fitting him just right, sleeves cuffed to reveal strong forearms. You'd take him right then and there if he told you to; no hesitation.

You take a slow sip of your drink, letting the liquid courage settle, then saunter your way over to him.

You slide onto the stool beside him, resting your elbow on the table as a smirk tugs at your lips. "Fancy seeing you here, handsome."

He turns, clearly caught off guard by your presence. "Miss Y/N? Well, this is a surprise," he says, eyebrows lifting slightly.

"Enough with the Miss," you say, rolling your eyes. "Just call me Y/N. Or yours, if you prefer."

You shoot him a wink, and to your delight, he chuckles.

"I think I'll stick with Y/N," he says, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

Undeterred, you scoot closer, your chest brushing against his bicep as you trail a finger down his arm. "So, what's your name? Or should I just call you mine?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Didn't you already try that pickup line?"

"Nothing wrong with shooting your shot twice," you smirk.

He lets out a low chuckle. "You can call me Seungcheol, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. Your heart stutters at the way it rolls off his tongue.

"So, Seungcheol," you say, savouring his name as you take another sip of your drink, "what brings you here?"

"Same thing as you." He shrugs, mirroring your movements.

"Drowning your stress in alcohol, then?" you grin.

"If that's what you're doing, sure," he chuckles.

You hum, leaning in until your lips are dangerously close to his ear. "You look lonely. Let me fix that."

He tilts his head back with a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair. Your gaze immediately drops to his neck, and god, do you want to mark that beautiful skin with your teeth.

"So, what do you say, Cheollie?" you purr.

He shakes his head, amused. "Stop, sweetheart, I'm way too old for you. I have a son around your age."

You frown. "Shit, you're married?"

He chuckles and shakes his head. "Nope, it's been three years since I got a divorce."

A smile returns to your face again, and your desire for him skyrockets. Not only is he hot—he's a hot DILF? You absolutely need to get into this man's pants.

"It's a good thing I like older men then, daddy," you murmur, watching closely as his eyes darken for a split second.

He exhales sharply, shaking his head. "You'll end up regretting this later."

"The only thing I'll regret," you huff, "is not being fucked by you right now."

Seungcheol snorts, rolling his eyes, but there's something almost fond in his expression.

The night goes on with you getting drunker and even bolder, your flirting growing more ridiculous by the minute. Eventually, you're on the verge of blacking out, slurring nonsense as you try (and fail) to order another drink. Seungcheol promptly stops you, which earns him a half-hearted glare, but you're too far gone to put up a real fight.

Once again, he ends up taking you home—good thing he already knows your address and door code. And, just like last time, he deposits you onto your couch, and just like last time, you try to convince him to stay.

But, once again, he only sighs, tells you good night, and walks out.

You pout as you watch the man of your dreams disappear from your apartment yet again.

A frustrated sigh escapes your lips as you tighten your grip on the steering wheel. This is your first time getting pulled over, and you’re not even sure what you did wrong—you definitely weren’t going way over the speed limit. Definitely not.

A knock on your window pulls you from your thoughts. You take a deep breath before rolling it down, your frown instantly flipping into a grin the moment you see him.

Seungcheol.

Not only is he a hot DILF, but he's a cop too? Oh, things just keep getting better and better.

"Fancy meeting you here, Cheollie," you purr, batting your lashes. "I didn't know you were an officer."

"It's because you were too busy trying to get into my pants instead of getting to know me," he says, raising an eyebrow.

"And just so we're clear," you grin, leaning in slightly, "I still want to get into your pants."

"You know, officer,” you tease, resting your chin on your hand, "it must be fate that we keep running into each other. Maybe it's a sign that you should just give in and fuck me already."

Seungcheol exhales sharply, clearly unimpressed. "Do you know why I pulled you over?"

"Because you have an overwhelming desire to bend me over and fill me up?" you say sweetly.

"...You were speeding," he deadpans.

"Speeding into your heart," you wink.

He blinks at you. "License and registration."

"Oh no, officer, are you going to arrest me?" you pout, feigning innocence.

"No, but I am going to give you a ticket for speeding," he sighs, rubbing his temples.

"Please don't arrest me, officer," you whine. "I'll be a good girl, I promise." Then, lowering your voice, you add, "Unless you don't want me to be."

Seungcheol's jaw tightens, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as he visibly struggles to keep his composure.

Finally, he exhales. "Look, I'll let you off with a warning. Just—don't do it again," he mutters before turning on his heel.

As he walks away, your eyes immediately drop to his ass—round, firm, and criminally good-looking in those tight uniform jeans.

"Damn, that ass is fine!" you call out.

Seungcheol stiffens before hurriedly covering his backside with his hands, speed-walking to his car without looking back.

You giggle, rolling up your window as you bite your lip.

You've decided. You will get into bed with this man—no matter what.

You scan the bar expectantly, swirling your drink as you glance around. This is the third week in a row you've come here, hoping to run into Seungcheol again. You met him here once—surely, fate will work its magic and bring him back, right?

With a sigh, you take another sip, deciding to call it a night once you finish your drink. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot him. Your head snaps around, and a grin spreads across your face the moment you confirm it’s really him.

There he is, leaning back in the corner of the room, wearing a perfectly fitted white tee with the sleeves casually cuffed, and a pair of glasses perched on his nose. He looks absolutely delicious.

Giggling, you make your way over to him.

"Oh my, officer," you purr, sliding into the seat next to him. "Didn't expect to see you here."

Seungcheol doesn't look the least bit surprised. If anything, he looks amused. "Are you stalking me, Miss Y/N?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe," you reply, biting your lip.

He lets out a deep chuckle, running a hand through his hair.

"You know I could have you arrested for that, right?" he teases, tilting his head.

"Arrest me, but make it sexy, daddy," you murmur, leaning in.

His tongue flicks over his lips as he studies you, his gaze flickering with something unreadable before he shakes his head and takes another sip of his drink.

Frustrated, you grab the collar of his shirt and tug him closer—so close your noses almost touch.

"Just give me one chance, officer," you whisper, your breath ghosting over his lips. "I'll make sure to give you a night you'll never forget."

He chuckles, the sound deep and rich. "I don't think you can handle me, sweetheart," he smirks.

"I don't think you can handle me, daddy," you shoot back, eyes glinting with mischief.

Seungcheol lets out another laugh, but this time, he leans in even closer, his lips hovering just over yours.

"You wanna prove yourself?" he murmurs, voice low and teasing. "Fine."

Before you can process his words, he suddenly stands and, without warning, scoops you up into his arms.

A surprised squeal leaves your lips as he carries you effortlessly, like you weigh nothing at all. Instinctively, you wrap your arms around his neck, grinning from ear to ear.

He carries you outside and places you in his car, shutting the door behind you. The moment he gets in, your hands immediately fly to his lap, but he catches them before they can wander any further, pinning them down onto your thighs.

"Behave," he growls.

The way his voice drops sends a shiver down your spine, and you can't help but bite your lip, thighs squeezing together. You decide—just this once—to be a good girl and keep your hands to yourself.

The same can't be said for Seungcheol.

His hand finds your thigh midway through the drive, drawing slow, deliberate circles against your skin, his fingers teasing but never wandering too far. It's torture. Absolute, delicious torture.

By the time you arrive at his place, you're practically vibrating with anticipation.

And then he carries you again—princess style—up to his apartment.

The moment he steps inside, your jaw nearly drops. Calling this place an apartment would be an insult. No, this is a penthouse. High ceilings, sleek modern decor, floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the glittering cityscape—everything screams luxury.

You knew he was rich. But this? This is on another level.

He carries you straight to the bedroom and drops you onto the bed, the mattress bouncing beneath you as you let out a breathless giggle. The second you settle, his lips crash into yours, hungry and demanding. You moan into the kiss, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging just hard enough to pull a low groan from his throat. He dominates the kiss, and you let him—surrendering to his control. His rough hands slide up your torso, calloused palms skimming your body before settling on your chest, squeezing just right—drawing a whimper from your lips.

He breaks the kiss, breath ragged, and tugs impatiently at your shirt and skirt.

"Off," he growls.

You laugh, teasing as you peel off each piece, giving him a slow, deliberate show. His gaze darkens, raking over your body, still clad in nothing but your bra and panties.

"These too," he commands, fingers hooking into the delicate fabric before letting it snap back against your skin.

You pout, biting back a smirk. "I don’t know how…guess you'll have to do it for me."

"Brat," he rumbles, but the dark chuckle in his voice sends a thrill through you.

His lips find the curve of your neck, open-mouthed kisses trailing downward as his fingers make quick work of your bra clasp. You sigh as his mouth drifts lower, the cool edge of his glasses grazing your skin, leaving faint marks in their wake.

Then he meets your eyes, holding your gaze as his teeth catch the waistband of your panties, peeling them down with agonising slowness. You bite your lip, stifling a moan at the sight—the way he's looking at you makes your core pulse with need.

He leans in, capturing your lips in another deep, hungry kiss. Before you can even catch your breath, his fingers slip between your folds, and you gasp at the sudden touch.

"So wet already?" he teases, voice rough with amusement.

"Only for you, Cheollie," you purr, arching into his touch.

A sharp smack lands between your legs, making you jolt with a startled whimper. His grip tightens, holding you in place as he growls, "That's not my name."

You bite your lip, breath hitching. "I—I'm sorry…daddy."

A low hum of approval rumbles in his chest before rewarding you with another searing kiss. "Good girl," he murmurs against your lips, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

He spreads your legs wider, his own framing yours as he cages you beneath him—his broad body towering over you, making you feel deliciously small. The sheer dominance of it sends a fresh pulse of heat between your thighs. His rough, calloused hands roam your bare skin, dragging shivers from you with every slow, possessive stroke. You arch into his touch, pressing up against him, craving more.

You notice he's still fully clothed, and you're the one fully naked. The imbalance thrills you, that unspoken dominance sending a shiver straight down your spine.

You pout up at him. "I want to see you too."

A dark chuckle rumbles from his chest. "Maybe if you're good, I'll reward you," he purrs, before dragging his tongue up the valley between your breasts. You whine, arching into the heat of his mouth as he licks and nips, teasing until your skin flushes.

Then he guides your wrists to the headboard—a sharp click snaps through the air. Your eyes fly open. Handcuffs.

"Wha—?" You jerk against the restraints, but Seungcheol just smirks, fingers tracing the inside of your trapped wrist.

"Didn't you say you wanted me to arrest you, sweetheart?"

A whine escapes you as you tug uselessly at the cuffs, and his laugh is pure wicked satisfaction. "Look at you," he murmurs, gaze raking over your naked, squirming form. "Helpless. Perfect." The words coil low in your belly, heat pooling at your cunt.

His lips brush your ear. "Gonna taste that pretty pussy of yours." 

He licks the shell of your ear before he's moving down, kisses searing a path to your core. You writhe, his breath ghosting over your slick folds before his tongue drags a slow, torturous stripe up your slit.

"Just as sweet as I imagined," he growls—then devours you.

You gasp as his mouth seals over your clit, sucking hard, his tongue flicking in ruthless rhythm. Every stroke is deliberate and experienced, and when he plunges deeper, lapping at your dripping entrance, your back arches off the bed.

"The glasses—ah—they scratch. Take them off," you pant, squirming.

"Such a demanding brat," he mutters under his breath, but he yanks them off, tossing them aside before hauling your thighs over his shoulders. His mouth crashes back into you, lips and tongue working in tandem until you're sobbing, broken chants of "daddy" leaving your lips.

Then his fingers are inside you, curling just right, and your vision whites out. "Daddy!"

"That's it, baby," he rasps, adding a second finger, stretching you deliciously. "Tell me how good I make you feel."

You're beyond words—just moans, hips jerking against his hand as he pounds into that sweet spot, over and over. His free hand pins your hip down, holding you in place as his mouth returns to your clit, sucking hard just as his fingers curl at your sweet spot—

You shatter.

Pleasure rips through you, your cry echoing off the walls as you clamp around his fingers. But he doesn't stop—if anything, he doubles down, fingers relentless, tongue circling your oversensitive clit until you're thrashing, tears pricking your eyes.

"F-Fuck!" You cum again, harder this time, your body convulsing as you squirt across his chin, and ruining his shirt.

Finally, he pulls back, lips glistening. The sight of him—hair dishevelled, eyes blown dark, skin flushed and drenched in you—is straight up, sinful. God, you wanted to touch him so bad.

"Uncuff me—I wanna touch you," you pant, twisting against the restraints.

His low chuckle sends a shiver down your spine. "Don't think you've earned that yet, sweetheart."

You whine, tugging harder. "Come on—"

"Still such a brat," he mutters, voice rough. "Guess I'll have to fuck that attitude out of you."

A smirk curls your lips. "You sure you can handle that, daddy? Or is your old man dick all talk?"

His eyes flash dark, a growl rumbling from his chest. In one smooth motion, he strips off his shirt and pants, and your breath hitches. The thick outline of his cock strains against his boxers—fuck, it's massive.

Noticing your stunned silence, he cocks a brow. "Cat got your tongue?"

You force a scoff. "I've seen bigger." (Lie. A blatant lie.)

"Mouthy little thing," he murmurs, stepping closer. "Gonna have to fix that."

Then his smirk turns wicked as he hooks his thumbs into his boxers, sliding them down slowly. Your lips part—God, his cock is right there, thick and heavy, the tip flushed and glistening. Every vein, every twitch makes your thighs clench. You want to taste him, worship him, beg for it.

But before you can, he grips your jaw, prying your mouth open. With his free hand, he shoves his boxers between your teeth, muffling you with the fabric. You choke, eyes watering as he tuts.

"There. Much better." His thumb strokes your cheek, admiring his handiwork.

You squirm, whining around the gag, but he just chuckles. "Play bratty games, win bratty prizes."

When you glare, he only grins wider. Then he reaches into the nightstand, pulling out a condom. You shake your head frantically—no, you want him raw, want to feel every inch without anything between you.

"I'm not risking it, sweetheart," he grins, rolling it on.

Then he's back over you, folding your legs against your chest as he lines up. The teasing brush of his tip against your entrance makes you whimper, hips jerking for more.

His smirk is the last thing you see before he slams into you—knocking the air from your lungs in one brutal thrust.

Your eyes roll back as he fucks into you with a relentless, almost feral rhythm—each deep thrust stretching you perfectly, the angle making it feel like he's reaching your womb. The makeshift gag muffles your cries, reducing you to nothing but choked whimpers and breathless moans.

Grunts spill from his lips as he pounds into your dripping cunt, his body folding over yours until his nose brushes yours, his gaze locking onto you with dark intensity. Overwhelmed, you try to shut your eyes—

"Look at me," he growls, gripping your face. A whimper escapes you as you obey, drowning in the heat of his stare. The intimacy of it sends your heart racing, the connection somehow even more dizzying than the way he's wrecking you.

The bed protests beneath you, creaking in time with his thrusts as you teeter on the edge. A high, desperate sound claws its way from your throat, tears pricking your eyes as the tension coils tighter, tighter—

"Gonna cum, sweetheart?" His voice is rough and strained, as he feels your walls flutter around him.

You nod frantically, so close you can't think. Then his fingers find your clit, circling with just the right pressure—

"Go on,” he growls. “Cum for me."

You shatter with a scream, pleasure crashing through you in waves as he fucks you through it, his pace never faltering. A few more brutal thrusts, and he follows with a groan, spilling into the condom as his hips stutter against yours.

Foreheads pressed together, you both gasp for air, sweat-slick and spent. He pulls out slowly, drawing a soft whine from you, then gently lowers your legs, kneading the tension from your thighs before freeing your wrists, his thumbs soothing the reddened skin. He removes the condom and throws it away before getting back on the bed and pulling you close.

"Good?" he murmurs, brushing away your tears with a tenderness that contrasts the rough fuck he just gave you.

You grin, still breathless. "More than good. Best fuck of my life."

"Well, let me give you the second-best fuck you've ever had, then," he smirks, before smashing his lips onto yours.

Suffice it to say, walking won't be an option for a while.

Taglist: @tinyelfperson @gyuguys @stay-tiny-things @unlikelysublimekryptonite @miyx-amour @iamawkwardandshy @codeinebelle @brownbunnyb @do-you-remember-summer-127 @sclovreina @theidontknowmehn @toplinehyunjin @gyuhao365 @mysticfairies @cherrylovescheol @cookiearmy @4shypotato @lxnnrobin @sashaaahh @xueisaaa17 @aeriyell @eshia16 @dreamingofpcy @archivistworld @kyeomiis @iwannakisspoutycheol @foxiesgf24 @livelaughloveseventeen @kwanniehae @ateez-atiny380 @junnhuisworld @horangipower17 @cheolsbb26 @aliiikareed @jennwonwoo @brownsugarbaybee @adiknyamingyu @smiileflower

[nothoughtsjustfic]

Whatever You Want [Part One] - J.WW

💎Who: Jeon Wonwoo (Seventeen) x female reader 💎What: Mafia/gang au. Dark themes (check warnings). Angst. Fluff. Humour. Strangers to friends to lovers. Suggestive (18+).  💎Word count: 17.7k for part one. 31.8k total 💎Warnings: Kidnapping. Violence. Injury and blood. Morally grey characters. Joke about drugs. Alcohol consumption (nobody gets drunk at all). Suggestive dialogue. Wonwoo is a handful of years older than reader. 💎Summary: “To be honest, you’re surprised it’s taken this long to happen. Truly, you thought you would’ve been kidnapped years ago, so you’re not surprised when it happens.

What does surprise you, however, is the reason why, and what happens when you meet that reason.”

Minors do NOT interact, which means reblogging and/or commenting on this story. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio.

Masterlist Part Two

A/N- Part two will be available April 24th. Thank you to @lovetaroandtaemin for beta reading and helping me out with the warnings! I appreciate you endlessly, my love 💗

It’s typical, really; the one time you actually have cash on you to give to the homeless man you’ve befriended, who always waits around for you to finish work, you don’t get the chance to give it to him. 

Just like every night when you’re done closing up the restaurant, you see Sangmin waiting on the other side of the road, sitting patiently on the bench there, ready to walk you home. 

You wave at him as you near the edge of the path, one hand carefully holding the takeout container of a freshly made double serving of his favourite meal that you cook at the restaurant. Sangmin gets up from the bench with a bright smile, always so happy to see you, and waves, making you smile just as brightly, even if you’re exhausted from the long hours cooking away in the kitchen. But Sangmin always cheers you up. 

He’s such an upbeat guy despite his unfavourable circumstances, and you genuinely enjoy these walks home listening to him tell you about his day and telling him about yours in return. You can’t wait to hear if he made a new friend at the dog park today, where he likes to hang around and offer to play with the dogs of the elderly folk who can’t run or throw balls and sticks for their pets. Sometimes, the owners even give him some cash in return or buy him a coffee or ice cream from the stands, weather permitting. It’s a reminder that there is still good in this shitty world.

Just as you’re about to cross the street, a couple of cars get close enough that you remain in place to let them pass and intend to cross after they’re gone, when it’s safe.

The chance doesn’t come as both cars suddenly swerve to pull up in front of you, making you take a few steps back as you stare at the vehicles suspiciously. The engines don’t turn off, and the doors on the side closest to you open to allow masked, suited men to get out. 

“Shit,” you curse under your breath and hold your free hand up as they approach. “Wait, wait, wait!” You exclaim, kicking out as they reach out to you with clearly every intention of stealing you away. “I said wait!” You glance over to Sangmin as you hear him yelling your name, voice getting closer. “Stay there, Sangmin!” You warn loudly. “Stay out of this!” You crouch, still with your free hand up so that you can put the container on the floor. “Okay, I’ll go with you, just leave him alone,” you inform and let out a breath of relief when the bulky man directly in front of you stops trying to reach towards you and signals his men to wait. “Give me a sec, seriously, I’ll go,” you promise and shuffle aside to peer around to where Sangmin is being held back by a couple of the men. “It’ll be okay, Sangmin. Enjoy your dinner, okay. I’ll see you soon.” 

Sangmin murmurs your name brokenly, clearly not trusting these men to bring you safely back, and honestly, neither do you. But he stops struggling to get to you and stumbles back when the men let him go with a little shove to create more space. “Be safe,” he pleads as you follow the men to get into the closest car. 

“You too.” You give him a soft smile before you’re in the car between two burly men and the door is shut. You want to watch Sangmin as the car pulls away, want to see him pick up his meal so you know he will eat well, at least tonight, but you can’t. Just as you turn your head to watch through the rear window, something sharp jabs into your leg. You yelp, turning to look down at the culprit and find a needle stuck in your leg. “You asshole,” you mutter. 

Moments later, you’re unconscious.

Something about this woman is familiar to you, but you really can’t tell what it is. It doesn’t help that her cronies have given you one swollen eye, and the other eye’s vision is blurred with blood that trickles down from your split eyebrow. 

Whoever this woman is, though, she clearly doesn’t want to get her own hands dirty, even if she looks very pleased with the bruised and bleeding state of you.

“Okay, okay,” you groan once you’ve caught your breath from the round of beating you’ve just received. “I give. Who the fuck are you?” You question, peering at her.

Despite not being able to see her clearly, you can see the way her whole posture changes; from smug to dumb, offended shock. “Who am I?” 

“Yes; who are you?” You repeat, almost rolling your eyes. 

“How dare you?!” She stalks over and one of her men grabs a fistful of your hair from where he stands behind you, to make you look up at her as she leers over you. “I am the most powerful woman in this whole city!” 

“Pretty sure I’d know who you are if that’s true,” you retort and choke out a laugh when she finally hits you herself; an open-handed slap that drags the multiple rings on her fingers across your already bruised cheek, drawing shallow gouges in your skin. 

“How dare-!” She starts to screech, yet the door opening behind her cuts her off as she looks over. 

Curiously, you look over too, and the tall man who enters looks vaguely familiar to you too. At least, the leather jacket and glasses he’s wearing do because he’s too far away for you to make out clearly.

“What the fuck is going on here?” He demands. 

Ah, you recognise his deep voice and suddenly understand why he’s familiar to you. He’s a regular at the restaurant and favours the same dish as Sangmin, though this guy worked his way through the entire menu before settling on that particular one. 

You’ve only talked to him a few times, when it’s late enough that the wait staff have already been sent home, but the owners always stay open for this guy; meaning, if they’re busy, you have to deliver his meal to him. He always compliments your cooking and thanks you genuinely, but other than that, you’ve never said much to one another. Other than last Christmas when he asked if you would consider making him something special off menu and gave you a wad of cash to sweeten you up. 

Even before the suspicious stack of cash was handed to you, you just knew in your gut that this guy is in shady dealings and seeing him walk into this room and not even flinch at the battered condition of you, it only confirms it.

“Teaching your little whore a lesson,” the woman sneers and turns back to you. “She needs to learn that she can’t get away with touching what’s mine.”

“I still don’t know who the fuck you are,” you point out. 

Just as her hand is about to come down to connect with your cheek again, the newcomer grabs her wrist. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he warns. “She’s not done shit wrong. I’ve told you before that I’ve never fucking cheated on you. She’s just a fucking cook.” 

“Don’t lie to me, Jeon Wonwoo,” she hisses.

“Don’t be fucking delusional, Ahn Yerim,” he retorts and looks at the man behind you. “Untie her.”

“Sir, Miss Ahn said-” the thug starts, yet shuts up and releases his grip on your hair when Wonwoo glares. The man behind you quickly moves to untie your arms and legs from the chair.

“You don’t listen to him! You listen to me! You both work for me!” Yerim exclaims.

“We work for your father, not you, sweetheart,” Wonwoo reminds and lets her go to approach you and carefully help you up. “Come on,” he encourages as he puts his arm around your waist to support you. 

“I am your wife! Treat me with the respect I deserve!” 

“I treat you with more than you deserve,” Wonwoo grumbles as he pretty much half carries you out of the room. You’re trying to walk, but they had tied your ankles to the chair legs so tightly that your feet are sparkling painfully with every dragging step as the blood rushes back in. “Did they break your legs?” He wonders concernedly as he stops and adjusts his left arm behind your back as you grip onto his shoulders for stability.

“No, extreme pins and needles.” He makes a noise of understanding and sweeps you up into his arms, hooking his right arm under your thighs to carry you.

“Do me a favour and shut your eyes; you shouldn’t see where we are.”

“Can’t see the gang HQ?” You muse, and snigger when he glances at you with a flat look. “Alright, whatever, Mr Jeon Wonwoo.” Obligingly, you shut your eyes and decide to lean your head against his broad shoulder and rest a little. 

“What’s your name?” He wonders. 

“Don’t even know the name of the woman your wife accused you of cheating with?” He sighs, making you snigger again before you tell him your name, which he only hums at. “Your wife is a real fucking bitch, you know?” 

The sigh he lets out sounds like he more than knows how true those words are.

Instead of taking you home, or back to the restaurant, or a hospital, or a random fucking street corner to leave you to figure out your way from there, Wonwoo drives to the outskirts of the city; to a building site that you know got abandoned after only one block of fancy apartments were built. The company, who still owns the land, had a lot of issues with permits and tried to sell the project on, yet no-one wanted to take over from their immense fuck up, so it’s been abandoned for at least a year now.

At least, you thought it was, but perhaps Wonwoo likes to take advantage of the lack of witnesses at the edge of the city and bury his victims here. It’d be a smart move. There doesn’t seem to be any security around; even the road leading to the site is far enough out of the way that there are no traffic cameras along the stretch. 

“I hope you don’t like burying your victims alive,” you murmur as you eye the abandoned building materials still piled up along the partially finished, dust covered road you’re travelling down.

“What?” Wonwoo glances over at you but you’re staring out of the window with a displeased pout. “I’m not going to fucking bury you alive.”

“Ah, good, I’m in the firm belief I would not enjoy that at all.” 

“You… No, I don’t think you would. I don’t think anyone would.”

“I dunno, some people are into some shit, Wonwoo. You’d be surprised.” You look over at him and notice a strange expression cross his features. It’s one you’re familiar with from other people and know it means they’re suddenly questioning their decision to be in close proximity to you.

After shaking his head slightly and letting out a strong exhale as he looks back to where he’s driving, Wonwoo speaks again. “Look, I didn’t bring you here to kill you, but to protect you.” 

“What?” 

“My wife is a fucking psycho. You saw that, and I know she’ll have people looking for you to steal you away again. So, I’m putting you in one of my safe houses so she can’t do that. Understand?”

“She doesn’t know about this safe house?”

Wonwoo scoffs and shakes his head. “No. She doesn’t know about any of them. Nobody does; just me. You’ll be safe here, trust me.”

“I really don’t think trust comes into this, more like I don’t have a fucking choice.”

“That too,” he confirms simply. 

There’s nothing more that can be said on the topic, so you both remain silent for the last short section of the drive. Even when Wonwoo parks up in the underground parking of the only complete building, then leads you into the lift up to an apartment on the sixth floor, neither of you say a word.

That changes when you step into the apartment and look at the sparse décor for the modern apartment. “Wow, a true minimalist, aren’t you?” You muse, glancing at the sofa you can see from the entrance hall, then over to the kitchen perfectly within view due to the open layout of the bottom floor of the apartment. There’s a glass staircase on the other side of the living area, with a short hallway behind it, but other than that, there truly is not much to look at.

“It’s just a safe house; it’s supposed to be functional, nothing more.” 

“How can you function in such a lifeless place?” 

Wonwoo sighs and nudges you from behind, so you’ll move out of the way and let him pad across the expensive marble-look flooring in his socks to the kitchen. “Just take your shoes off and get your ass over here.”

After putting his shoes neatly aside and putting your own next to them, you shuffle over to the kitchen and perch yourself on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, where he’s rummaging through an extensive medical kit, which you hadn’t even seen him procure. 

“Got the good stuff?” You joke, leaning over to peer into the bag. “Wait, is that morphine?” You gasp, reaching for the packet of pills, but he slaps your hand away. 

“You don’t need morphine.”

“I’m in pain, Wonwoo,” you try, pouting at him, but he gives you a disbelieving look. “Ow.”

“You can have ibuprofen or paracetamol.”

“What kind of a gang member won’t give the good stuff?” You huff and turn away to peer at the kitchen. Honestly, you don’t even want morphine. You just wanted to see if he would give it to you, but you have your answer now and have no reason to push it. 

“Are you an addict?” 

“No, just bored.” 

“So, you want drugs?”

“No. Just seeing how you’d react.” 

“You’re very fucking weird, you know?” 

“Yes,” you confirm and look at him before pointing to the fridge. “I’m guessing that’s empty?” 

“Yeah, there’s long life stuff in the cupboards though, some military rations and instant ramen.” 

“Good ol’ instant ramen.” 

He just hums, then finally has everything he wants from the kit set up on the counter. “Alright, face me; let me get a look at the damage.” Obediently, you turn on the stool to face him as he moves closer while removing his jacket to toss onto the counter, leaving him a simple black t-shirt and jeans. 

“How come you’re not in a suit like those assholes?” 

“I’m off the clock.” 

“Then why did you turn up?” 

“My wife sent me a video of them beating you,” he informs, gently turning your head from side to side with one hand on your jaw delicately, to not aggravate the bruises on your skin. “Couldn’t let her do that to an innocent person.” 

“Aw, how noble of you, Mr. Thug.” 

“Not a thug.” 

“Mm, sure.” 

“I’m not.” 

“I’ve seen your bruised knuckles when you’ve come into the restaurant, Wonwoo, the split lips and bruised cheeks. Even seen the outline of your weapon under your clothes. By that, I mean your gun.” 

“What else could you mean?” You just giggle, and he sighs, understanding the euphemism, though he doesn’t grace you with a further reaction, not wanting to focus on that subject at all. “Don’t make me regret saving you.”

“No promises.” 

Despite his stern expression and stiff posture, Wonwoo is gentle as he tends to your wounds attentively; talking as softly in his low voice as he can to warn you when he’s about to do something that might sting or asking you to move in various ways to give him better access. 

“Alright, all done,” he declares sometime later when he straightens up and steps back from you, eyes still darting over your seated form for any wounds he’s missed.

“Thanks.”

“Mm, my fault anyway.”

“It is,” you agree, earning an unimpressed look from the man before he turns to start tidying up. “Is there anything to drink?” 

“The tap water is safe,” he informs before opening one of the cupboards to pull out two glasses, which he fills from the cold tap then puts one on the counter in front of you. “I’ll get groceries in tomorrow. Write a list of whatever you want or need for the next week.”

“I’ve got to stay here for a week? I have a job, you know,” you point out before gratefully picking up the glass to gulp down the contents as he finishes cleaning up, his own glass of water barely touched. 

“I know. Write a resignation and I’ll post it through the door tomorrow.” 

“I don’t want to resign! I like that job!”

“They won’t hold out until you’re back, and I don’t know when that will be yet. We need to wait it out until my wife has given up tormenting you.”

“How long will that be?” 

“No fucking clue, she’s been tormenting me for years.”

“I don’t understand why people stay with someone they don’t love anymore.” 

Wonwoo doesn’t respond, and you think this is one of those circumstances where it’s really not your place to push, so you drop the topic.

Once Wonwoo is done cleaning up, including both of your drinking glasses, he leads you upstairs to one of the bedrooms. To your surprise, it looks fully furnished, even if there’s not any décor, but it’s more liveable than downstairs.

“Wow, a dresser and TV,” you whistle, eyeing the items as Wonwoo pulls the bedding off of the large bed. 

“It came partially furnished,” he explains. 

“There’s no TV in the living room.”

“I said partially.” 

“Weird they put a TV in the bedroom before the living room.” 

“The sockets are all there, they just didn’t get around to it. They were going to get custom TVs made for all the apartment living rooms, but didn’t get the chance before the project got shut down.” 

“I didn’t know anyone bought an apartment.” 

“Bought is a stretch,” he muses, piling the stale bedding by the door before grabbing another set from a drawer under the bed to sniff at, then shrugs and starts to make the bed.

“Is this technically squatting?”

“No.” He huffs a short laugh. “It’s my apartment, just more of a gift. The whole building is mine.”

“Ooh, check you out, Mr fancy property owner.” You move over to help fix the fitted sheet to the mattress, earning a grateful nod from the man. “What did you do to get this gift?”

“Let the CEO keep his life.”

“And he only gave you a single building in an unfinished building site? The audacity! If he values his life that much, he should’ve given you a lot more.”

“He offered me any building of his I wanted, he owns a lot in the city centre too, but I asked for this; I knew it’s out of the way. He promised to not try hard to get the site up and running again, so I’ll have privacy. Which, to me, is the most valuable thing anyway.”

“Mm, fair,” you concede and work alongside him to finish setting up the bed. 

“I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere. The front door is already locked, and you won’t be able to unlock it. You can’t leave, so don’t bother trying,” he warns seriously before turning and leaving the bedroom. 

With a sigh, you perch on the edge of the bed and wait, rubbing your feet over the fluffy rug below you, to twist your socks around and around your feet in boredom until he returns.

It’s almost ten minutes before he returns with a pile of fabrics in his arms and a basket of what looks like toiletries, with a toilet roll perched on top. 

“You look like a maid,” you comment amusedly. 

Wonwoo just sighs then puts the items on the bed. “Here, bathroom stuff. I’ll get you scents you like tomorrow, but you’ll have to use mine for now.” He hands you the basket, so you look at the toiletries curiously, popping the caps to sniff the contents and making pleased sounds.

“I like these.”

“Okay, saves me buying toiletries tomorrow.”

“I need sanitary items.” He looks at you. “My period is due soon.”

“Ah.” He blinks at you a few times dumbly before nodding. “Okay, just write down what you want, and I’ll get it.” 

“Sounds like a plan; you know, provided you give me something to do that with.” 

“Oh, right.” He chews on his lip thoughtfully before sighing and moving around to sit beside you as he pulls his phone from his pocket to unlock. “You’ll have to write it in a note on my phone, but I can’t let you use my phone blindly, so I’m going to watch.” 

“Understandable,” you agree, accepting the device once he has his notes app open on a blank note, so that you can start typing out a list of items for him to buy at the shop tomorrow. 

“Write your clothing sizes too. I have limited clothes myself here and just gave you one set to wear to bed. Oh, put detergent down, there isn’t any here. Put the brand if you’re particular about that stuff.”

“Nah, I’m good with whatever smells good and does the job,” you assure, while typing down ‘laundry detergent (nice smelling one)’. “Are there cleaning supplies?” 

“I’ll get more,” he promises then motions to the list, so you write it down.

Although it should not be this easy to sit side by side and make a grocery list together, it is. It’s domestic, even, in a very, very, very weird fucking way. The man’s wife is out for your blood, due to her own delusional accusations against the pair of you, yet you’re sitting here making a grocery list together as if you’re actually roommates who regularly do this. Very strange indeed. 

“Alright, that’s all I can think of,” you decide, after looking over the surprisingly extensive list one last time, before handing his phone back.  

“I’ll go shopping in the morning before work,” he declares as he gets up and tucks his phone back into his pocket. “I’ll let you get some sleep now; you must be tired after all this shit.” 

“Kinda pretty awake, actually. Does the TV work?”

“Should do, the one in my room works at least. There’s no Wi-Fi here though, so it’s just satellite channels.”

“If this one doesn’t work, we’re swapping rooms.”

“No,” he replies in a firm tone before exiting the room, pulling the door up behind him and leaving you in silence.

“Well, fuck you too,” you mutter and get up to use the bathroom.  You change into the sweatpants and t-shirt he left for you before climbing into the slightly dusty smelling bed to turn on the TV. 

Although you aren’t tired when you climb into bed, that quickly changes as you curl up under the covers with your eyes on the 90’s rom com playing on the TV, soon lulling you into a dreamless sleep.

In the morning, or whatever time it is when you tiredly trudge downstairs, you discover that Wonwoo is a man of his word. 

There are various bags of shopping in the kitchen, all full of items from the shopping list. From clothes in the sizes that you wrote down, to perhaps far too many packets of sanitary towels; it seems that either Wonwoo has no idea how periods really work, or he intends to keep you for longer than just this cycle length. Either way, he listened and must’ve really tried hard to get everything on the list, with no regard to his financial state, as every piece of clothing has a brand name attached, not just cheap stuff from a superstore like you had expected him to buy. 

Although you genuinely would be okay with the cheap stuff, and never quite see the appeal in such expensive clothing for daily wear, you appreciate it and make a mental note to thank him when you next see him.

A few minutes later, when you’re done perusing the contents of the bags and have moved to the fridge, you finally notice the brand-new magnetic whiteboard on the front with a note scrawled in black ink from Wonwoo. 

It’s simple; just him telling you that he will be back in a few days to check on you, while also reminding you to not try to leave the apartment and also keep out of his room. You had no intention of going into Wonwoo's room, but now that he’s told you not to, you kind of want to.

For now, you just focus on making yourself something to eat before taking the shopping bags up to your room to make yourself at home for the foreseeable future.

It’s only been two days since Wonwoo left you all alone and you’re already so bored and restless that the moment you hear the beep of the lock disengaging on the front door, you’re rushing over from the kitchen to greet him like an excitable puppy. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He mutters with a bewildered frown as you crowd close and peer up at him. 

“I’m bored, Wonwoo,” you whine, eyes flickering over his tired features. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” You finally back out of his personal space and take the bag from his hands as he works on removing his shoes and leather jacket, suit beneath today. The contents of the bag clinks as you take it, making you peer inside curiously. “Are you planning to mix wine and whiskey?” You wonder.

“No, just didn’t know what you’d prefer.”

“So, you bought wine for me?”

“No, that’s mine. I thought you’d be a whiskey girl, seem like the type to like the burn.” 

“Ha,” you snigger. “You got me, but I’ll drink anything.” You take the bag into the kitchen, where you had been starting to make yourself dinner. “Hungry?”

“Fucking starving,” he confirms when he follows you a moment later, unbuttoning his suit jacket to remove and toss onto the dining table carelessly, eyes on the ingredients you have laid out on the kitchen island. 

“Pour out,” you say, pointing to the wine bottle on the counter as you focus on getting extra ingredients out to cover Wonwoo’s portion too. He just hums and moves around to get out the wine glasses from the cupboard and corkscrew from the drawer.

As you cook, Wonwoo sits at the breakfast bar, head propped on his left fist and wine glass he’s slowly emptying, in his right. He hasn’t said a word since sitting down, just watches you work, and you’re honestly not even sure he’s entirely present. He looks like he could fall asleep any second, and you don’t think the wine he’s drinking is helping.

“Hey,” you call, tossing the cork, from where it lays on the counter, at him. He jerks back when it hits him on his forehead. He blinks at you dumbly, eyebrows furrowed in displeased surprise while you cackle at his expression. “You look like you’re going to fall asleep upright.”

“I’m fine,” he argues and drinks the last of the contents of his glass before reaching for the bottle to refill his glass, then your own, even if yours is still basically full. 

“Bullshit.”

“Just focus on the fucking food.”

“Mm, alright, but if you fall asleep, I’m eating your share too.”

“Do that, and I’ll take you right back to my wife and let her do whatever the fuck she wants with you,” he warns, entirely serious. 

“Wow,” you mutter, eyebrows raising as you take in the dangerous tint in his eyes. “You’re serious about your food, huh?”

“Only when it’s your cooking.” 

“Damn, you must be sleep deprived to say shit like that.” 

He sighs and slumps a little in his seat as he realises that you’re right. “It’s why she thinks I’m fucking you.” 

“What?”

“Because I eat your cooking, go out of my way to eat it, and I never eat hers.”

“Ah, yes,” you hum, a sarcastic edge to your voice. “That age old saying; the way to man’s bed is through his stomach.” 

Wonwoo lets out a chuckle and leans back on his fist as his eyes tiredly track your movements. “Knowing her dumbass, she actually thinks that’s right.” 

“It obviously wasn’t her method.”

“She can’t cook for shit. It’s no wonder I don’t eat it.” His expression turns disgusted. “Even I cook better than her, and I can’t cook shit either.”

“That’s fucked up man; everyone should be able to cook at least two decent meals.” 

“Never needed to and don’t exactly have the chance to learn how. She thinks she’s some kind of trophy wife and won’t let me in the kitchen to try.” He sighs and lets go of his glass to free his right hand so that he can rub at his eyes under his glasses. “She knows I’m hiding you, won’t stop fucking bugging me. Can’t get a minute’s fucking peace in that house at the moment.”

“Ah, that’s why you look like you haven’t been sleeping.”

“She doesn’t shut the fuck up when I’m there, so I’ve been avoiding it as much as possible. But at the end of the day, she’s my wife, so I can only avoid her so much.”

“Wild thought right here, but have you considered a divorce?” You muse and point to the plate cupboard, prompting him to get up and reach down two dinner plates to place on the side near you. 

Instead of sitting back down, he starts to load up the dishwasher with the dishes, which you’ve been putting in the sink to deal with after dinner once you’ve finished using them. “Not as simple as that,” he mutters. 

“Why not?” 

“Just isn’t, and it’s none of your fucking business.”

“Thanks to you and your delusional wife, I have no business of my own anymore, so I have to be up in yours.” 

“Well, don’t.” 

“I’m fucking bored, Wonwoo.” 

“Read a fucking book.”

“Nerd.” You don’t even look at him, but you don’t need to in order to know that he’s giving you a very unimpressed look; you can practically feel his gaze burning into the side of your face from over your left shoulder. “Either you give me all the gossip every time you visit, or you get me something to entertain me.”

“Like what?” 

For a second, you almost say a sex toy or twelve, but you think he really would stop talking to you then, and he’s your only method of socialisation, so you hum thoughtfully instead. “I guess seeing as there’s no internet, and you wouldn’t trust me with access to the outside world even if there was, a games console with a bunch of games on disc to play will do.”

“You like video games?”

“Not really.” You shrug and finish plating up dinner. “I’ve been intrigued, but I’ve always been more into cooking and baking. That’s just not as fun when I’ve got no-one to share it with. I can game on my own, at least.”

“You like to bake too?” You hum in confirmation. “I didn’t know that.”

You can’t help but laugh shortly as you look at him incredulously. “Why would you know that? We don’t know shit about each other, Wonwoo,” you remind him.

“Ah, right.” He nods and takes the last pan to rinse then put in the dishwasher, while you take your plates to the table to set down. Wonwoo follows moments later with the wine and sits down opposite you. “This looks amazing, thank you.” 

“Mm, of course. Not going to let the only person who can entertain me starve, am I?” 

“Guess not,” he huffs a quick laugh and picks up his fork. “What kind of games do you want?”

“I don’t really know; a variety, maybe, so I can try different types.” 

He makes a noise of understanding. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

“You’re the best.” He gives you a raised eyebrow look. “At least the best I can do with no other option.” He scoffs a laugh, lips turning into a more genuinely amused smile as he turns back to his food yet says nothing and eats, so you do the same.

A few days later, Wonwoo is back just in time for dinner with his hands empty, making you squint at him sulkily as he nears where you’re setting the dishes on the table. 

Last time when he left, it was the morning, and you were asleep in your room, so he had written another note on the whiteboard telling you when he’d be back; so today, you had made his favourite meal and sides from the restaurant. You had planned the timing for when he said he would be back, and thankfully, he is still a man of his word and arrived perfectly on time.

At least, with this, he is a man of his word, because he had said he’d bring you a games console and games, yet here he is, empty handed.

“What? I’m on time,” he defends as he sits down. He’s not in a suit today, but jeans and a plain black t-shirt. It must be nice to be so unfairly attractive that even such a simple outfit looks effortlessly incredible. 

“And empty handed,” you mutter sulkily and drop down into your seat.

“It’s in the car,” he informs, rolling his eyes a little as he grabs his cutlery and immediately scoops a mouthful of food into his mouth. 

You watch as he makes strange sounds as he tries to exhale the heat from his mouth while still chewing. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” You wonder, prompting him to look at you. “There is literally steam, of course it’s hot.”

“I’m starving,” he replies, only just managing to cover his mouth as he talks, so that you don’t see his partially chewed food. “Barely eaten since last time.”

“What the fuck? Why?” You gawp.

“Told you; she won’t let me in the kitchen, and I refuse to eat her cooking.”

“There are plenty of restaurants, even fucking convenience stores to get a sandwich or instant ramen!” 

“Can’t eat that shit after having your cooking.” He shrugs. As if it’s no big deal. As if he hasn’t just essentially admitted he’d rather go hungry than eat food that you haven’t made. 

Perhaps to him it’s nothing, but no one has ever sounded so committed to any aspect of you before, even if it’s a byproduct of you, not actually a part of you. But it still hits you right in the chest and makes you unable to do anything but stare at him dumbly as he continues to shove too much food in his mouth before it’s cool enough to be practical.

“I’ll bring it up after dinner,” he declares a few moments later, snapping you back to reality without looking up at you, still too focused on his food.

“What?”

“The shit in the car.” 

“Oh, why didn’t you just bring it up with you?” You wonder as you pick up your cutlery to get started on eating your own serving.

“There’s too much shit for one trip, and I wanted to eat.”

“Too much shit?” You give him a questioning look when he glances at you. “How much did you buy, Wonwoo?”

“It’s not that.” He waves a dismissive hand. “You’ll understand later.”

After dinner, once he’s finished cleaning up, and while you sprawl over the still far too big couch in wait, Wonwoo goes down to the car and returns with a hand truck hauling multiple cardboard boxes. He unloads them into the lounge then leaves, after telling you to wait for him to be back. He locks you in the apartment once again before making another trip down to his car and returning without the hand truck, but now he has a suitcase that you recognise and a duffle bag you do not.

“Hold, did you break into my fucking apartment?!” you gawp as you sit up, pointing accusingly at the man. 

“No. I have your keys.” He pulls your keys from his jacket pocket then tosses them onto the side console with his own as he removes his shoes. 

“What the fuck, how?” 

“My wife had them, remember?” 

“Oh…” You nod a little in understanding. “I assume you will not be returning my phone to me.” 

“No. It’s off and somewhere else. Can’t risk you turning it on and getting tracked,” he answers simply before walking over to start opening the biggest of the boxes, while you pout at his back.

It’s only when he pulls an old, boxy TV from the box, spilling packing foam everywhere, that your interest is pulled away from grieving the, hopefully temporary, loss of your phone. 

“The fuck?” you mutter, rolling off of the couch to shuffle across the rug on your knees until you’re peering over his shoulder as he sets the TV up on the unit. “Excuse you, sir, but we are in the modern age.”

“Shut up, the console doesn’t work with our TVs,” he retorts.

“What console did you even buy?” 

“I didn’t buy it. It’s one I’ve had since I was a kid, so you better fucking look after it,” he warns, giving you a stern look. 

“I can respect other’s property, unlike you.” He gives you a bewildered look. “You broke into my apartment.”

“I had your fucking keys,” he reminds with a roll of his eyes before turning back around to return to setting up the outdated TV before pulling over another box to open. 

“I didn’t give you permission to go there; you broke in.” 

“I thought you’d want some of your own shit. Last time I try and do something fucking nice for your ungrateful ass.” You stare at him for a moment before shuffling closer to abruptly hug him from behind, making him jolt then tense up. “The fuck are you doing?”

“Being appreciative.”

“Well stop it; it’s fucking weird. Just go back to being an ungrateful shit.” 

“No. You smell really nice, what cologne do you use? I want some.”

“I brought your perfume from your apartment, wear your own shit.”

“No, I like yours. Let’s swap.”

“Fuck off.” He shakes you off of him, making you snigger before you move over to open the last box, which looks brand new, to peer inside and notice random items from your apartment inside. 

You don’t know why Wonwoo thought you’d want the novelty beer mat, which you stole from a bar, that you kept on your coffee table, but it’s in the box and makes you giggle when you see it. All the other items are much more understandable; your jewellery box, makeup bag, perfume, the blanket from your couch, and the teddy bear that sleeps with you. 

“You got a boyfriend you didn’t mention?” He wonders, when he glances over and spots you holding the teddy and brushing your fingers over the soft fur. His eyes land on the love heart pattern of its t-shirt then he turns away.

“No.”

“Caught up on an ex?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Just wondering, damn.” 

“Oh, so you get to dig into my love life, but I can’t yours?”

“Never fucking mind,” he grunts, all but glaring at the console as he sets it up. 

You peer at him and sigh. “Fucking idiot man.” He turns his head to shoot you a warning look over his shoulder. “What? You are!”

“Watch your fucking mouth.”

“No.” You raise a challenging eyebrow when he turns further towards you; a clear attempt to silently intimidate you. “I know you’re not going to hurt me. If you were willing to let me get hurt, I wouldn’t still be here,” you reason logically.

Wonwoo continues to glare at you for a moment before he turns away with a grunted curse, making you snigger. “Stop being a brat, or I won’t be so nice from here on out.” 

“Kinda sounds like a challenge to me, if I’m honest.” Your words make Wonwoo stop what he’s doing to sigh heavily, eyes closing as he takes a moment to gather himself. Deciding to leave Wonwoo alone, lest you actually make him lose his temper with you, you turn and look at the bear in your hands. 

A bittersweet little smile lifts your lips as you think about Sangmin. He had gifted you the bear on Valentine’s day; he wasn’t hitting on you and made a big effort to let you know that. He had simply seen the bear and decided to use all the change he had in his pocket to buy it for you, as the most heartfelt thank you and sign of his appreciation for all the meals you make for him.

At this point, Sangmin really is your best friend, perhaps your only friend. You value him so greatly and constantly find yourself wondering and worrying over the man since Wonwoo’s wife kidnapped you a week ago. You’ve been his only source of stable sustenance for months now; you dread to think of how much he’s struggling to feed himself without you handing him a hot meal every night.

“Hey, uhm Wonwoo?” You call, tone quieter and uncertain. It makes Wonwoo stop what he’s doing to look over at you, but you’re still looking at that bear and don’t notice. 

Wonwoo stares at you contemplatively for a moment; takes in the concerned furrow of your eyebrows and the tender way you handle the bear. “What is it?” He asks, his own tone softer now, noticing that whatever is on your mind is serious for you. He wasn’t aware you even know how to be genuinely serious like this. Even when you were tied to a chair by thugs getting bruised and battered, you didn’t seem like you were taking the situation all that seriously. 

“Will you do me a big favour?” 

“Depends.” 

You sigh softly and look at him. “There’s a homeless man who I feed every night after work. He meets me outside of the restaurant and walks me home. He’s… I’m the only stable source of food he has. Will you check on him, buy him a meal? And assure him that I’m okay. He was there when those assholes took me.”

“Oh.” He silently watches you for a moment longer, in surprise at your genuine, selfless request, while you keep your sincere gaze glued to him. “He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?”

“He’s my only friend, all I have here. He’s really a good guy; he’s got a giant heart and will always put others first. It’s how he lost everything; ran himself thin and got his kind nature taken advantage of. I need to know that he’s okay and will continue to be until I can go back and look after him.”

“Okay,” he agrees softly with a nod. “I’ll look out for him until it’s safe for you to leave.” 

“Thank you.” You relax a little as you give him a grateful smile. 

“You’re welcome.”

Although it’s usually a few days before you see Wonwoo, he turns up the day after you ask him to check on Sangmin. 

When he enters the apartment, you’re sitting on the floor close to the boxy TV in the lounge, playing one of the games on his childhood game console. 

“Oh, didn’t expect you today, would’ve started dinner if I knew you’d be here,” you comment, after flickering your gaze over to him, then focus back on the screen.

“Why does that sound like you won’t eat dinner if I don’t turn up?” he accuses, approaching, sans shoes, to sit on your left, grab the other controller from in front of the console, and immediately jumps into the game with you. 

“When I get hungry, I’ll eat. I don’t have any kind of schedule to keep, you do.” Wonwoo makes a noise of understanding in response yet says nothing more.

Until the end of the level, you’re both focused entirely on the game and only talk when Wonwoo gives you tips and guidance. He played this game many times in his youth, so he knows it far better than you, even if it’s been some years since he last played it.

“What’s for dinner then?” Wonwoo prompts, plucking the controller from your hand to place down as the level ends. 

“Uhh, fuck knows,” you answer with a shrug before getting up and shuffling to the kitchen. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“In case you forgot; it’s my fucking apartment,” he scoffs, turning off the TV, after saving the game properly. Once the console and TV are both turned off, Wonwoo saunters over to the kitchen to lean on the island at the opposite side to you, with his forearms laid flat on the granite surface and fingers casually laced together. 

“You got a thing for cooking, or something?” You wonder upon realising that he’s watching you with the same interest he always does when you’re cooking. Then again, maybe he’s just making sure you don’t slip poison into his portion. It’s only been just over a week since you met, so you wouldn’t blame him for being cautious.

“Just curious. I told you; I can’t cook for shit.”

“Then wash your hands and get around here,” you demand. “No better way to learn than by doing.”

“You serious?” he mumbles as he straightens up. You just hum. Wonwoo stares at you for a moment before moving to roll up his shirt sleeves, wash his hands and then join you for his first ever cooking lesson.

It’s hours after Wonwoo arrives that you find out why he broke what you thought was going to be the schedule for his visits. 

Cooking dinner takes almost three times as long as normal with him at your side; for a gang member he’s ridiculously cautious with the kitchen knife you instruct him to use. Then, the two of you get distracted talking about the video games you’ve tried, so eating dinner takes longer than normal too.

So, here you are, four hours after he arrived, returning to the lounge to relax on the couch. You’re both very glad to have a comfortable seat after the past four hours of sitting on the hard floor, standing to cook and clean, and barely cushioned dining chairs. 

“Oh, I went to the restaurant while I was in the area today,” he informs, drawing your attention to him, instead of staring at the little spread of video games on the floor by the TV unit as you try to decide what to play next. Wonwoo is already looking at you and when you look at him, he continues talking, knowing that you’re now paying attention. “Met Sangmin.” You straighten up a little, eyes widening slightly in silent question, silent concern for your friend. “He…well, I won’t lie; he looks like shit.”

“How bad?”

“He’s barely eaten or slept since you were taken,” he answers. “He’s been looking for you, asking around where he can and got into some trouble a couple days ago; so, he looked fucked up too.” 

“Fuck.”

“Mm.”

“You gotta let me go see him.”

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Wonwoo scoffs and shuffles to slouch down and let his head rest on the back of the couch as he turns his face skywards, looking at nothing in particular on the ceiling. “My wife is still after you; you’re staying right fucking here.”

“I can’t let him suffer!”

“I know,” he rolls his eyes before tilting his head just enough to peer at you lazily from the edge of his vision. “I told you that I’d look out for him until you can do it, and I’m a man of my word.”

“What did you do?” You ask softly, your worry starting to melt away. Something about Wonwoo really does make you believe him, at least about this; that he’s a man of his word. You trust him about this, as crazy as it is to trust the husband of the woman who fucking kidnapped you and had her minions beat you up because of her delusions.

“Put him up in a motel and gave him some cash for food. It should last him a couple weeks, provided he doesn’t fucking waste it.” He turns his face to the ceiling again, no longer looking at you as he yawns. “I’ll check on him in a few days and keep you updated.”

“Ah.” Your head bobs a little in approval as relief swims through your veins and warms your chest. “Thank you, Wonwoo, seriously.”

“Mm, I’m counting this as it makes us even for my fucking psychotic bitch of a wife kidnapping and beating the shit out of you.” 

“She didn’t beat the shit out of me. That would’ve been entertaining. Does she even know how to fight?” Wonwoo’s scoff is answer enough that no, his wife doesn’t know the first thing about fighting. “She would’ve broken her hand trying to break my face or something.”

“Doesn’t do shit with her hands, anyway, wouldn’t make a fucking difference if she broke them.” 

“Oh?” You grin slyly at him, even if he isn’t looking at you. “She’s more of a mouth kinda girl, huh?” Now Wonwoo looks at you, utterly unimpressed and borderline glaring, making you giggle. “What?” 

“My sex life is none of your fucking business.”

“Never mentioned you,” you muse with a shrug. “A lot of people who accuse others of cheating tend to be projecting their own misdeeds.”

“Know from experience?”

“Mm, yeah, been accused of cheating many times. I guess we’re similar in that regard; loyal to our partners even if they don’t believe it.” You shrug and get up to turn the TV on, then sit in front of the console to eject the cartridge to put away in the correct case.

“Not playing that one anymore?” he murmurs, rolling his head to watch you peruse the selection of games. 

“How tired are you? You’ve yawned like three times since sitting down.”

“I can go a few rounds, if you’re asking.” You immediately smirk over your shoulder at him. “Keep it in your fucking pants, pervert.”

“I respect the sanctity of marriage, even if it’s a loveless one,” you assure and turn back to the games, to select one to put into the slot and boot up the console. “I tried to play this earlier, but I kept dying, and it pissed me off. I think it’ll be easier in multiplayer though.”

“Mm, it is,” he confirms and stretches noisily before joining you on the floor, handing you a pillow to sit on while sitting on one himself, and accepts the controller you give him. As the game loads up and the start credits play, Wonwoo explains the basic idea of the game to you in a low voice, adding little tips about the controls and secret moves that will help you survive the beasts and tricks designed to overwhelm single players.

With Wonwoo at your side, the game is so much easier, and you enjoy yourself so much that you don’t realise the time pass, until Wonwoo declares that it’s close to sunrise, and he needs to get at least a couple hours of sleep before work. He leaves you to try some bonus levels that you unlocked together, but it’s not as fun alone, so you give up and go to bed as the sun rises, while silently looking forward to Wonwoo’s next visit.

Even though, most of the time, the apartment is pretty boring alone, you manage to keep yourself busy gaming, cooking, and cleaning every inch of the apartment repeatedly. Sometimes, it feels like time drags, yet it also feels like you merely blink, and it’s been over a month since Wonwoo locked you up here. You can’t tell exactly how long it’s been with your lack of sleeping schedule without the man around, but an educated guess puts it at, roughly, almost five weeks.

At first, every time you see Wonwoo, you ask if his wife has stopped being a psycho yet and if you can go home. You’re never surprised when he says no, to both questions, and tells you that you need to stay a while longer. 

Then, the man’s visits change, and it’s not three days between visits; sometimes it is, but sometimes it’s less. Though soon enough, Wonwoo is at the apartment every single day. If not to stay the night in his bed and take advantage of not having to share a bed with his wife, then to simply spend a few hours with you to eat and game. 

Though sometimes, he turns up and just lays on the couch to nap for no more than an hour before he leaves without a word. He always looks utterly exhausted on those days. You can’t help but wonder if this apartment is the most practical place for him to crash when he needs a nap during the day. Surely, the man has safe houses closer into the city centre; ones easier to get to and that don’t take as much of his time with travel. But you never bring it up; honestly, you’re just glad for the company, however wordless it is.

For a little while, you stop asking him when you can leave. It clearly annoyed him that you asked every time he visited, but it also frustrated you to never have an actual answer as to when you can go home. There’s only so long you can live in this apartment before you lose a grip on yourself and get reckless.

It’s probably been almost two weeks since you last asked, so you think it’s about time you bring it back up again, even if it’s 3pm and Wonwoo has clearly arrived with the intention of napping. 

You’re in the process of making yourself lunch when he enters the apartment, so he’s drawn to the kitchen after removing his shoes and jacket, where he slouches at the island and gratefully starts to eat the sandwich you place in front of him. It was supposed to be yours, but you can make another, he looks like he needs it.

“When can I go home?” You ask bluntly, causing Wonwoo to stop chewing mid bite and look over at you, but you’re focused on your task and don’t notice, until you flick your gaze up at his silence. “Well?”

Wonwoo lets out a heavy breath through his nose and gets back to chewing. Once he’s swallowed, he answers in a way you hadn’t expected. Usually, he always says either ‘not yet’ or a flat ‘no’. Yet today, he finally gives you a more solid answer, “depends.”

It’s just one word, but it makes hope start to flutter in your chest.

“On?” you ask, with your full attention on him, suddenly not all that hungry when faced with the potential sweetness of freedom just around the corner.

“If you’re willing to learn how to use a gun and carry one on you at all times.”

Just like that, the fluttering in your chest ceases and the excitement that had started to warm your veins is sucked away as if it had never known a home in you in the first place. “You’re insane, aren’t you?” you accuse with a scoff and turn back to making your lunch.

“I can’t let you leave if you can’t defend yourself; I’ll end up following you all the fucking time to make sure you’re safe,” he reasons, waving a hand vaguely before taking a bite of his sandwich. 

“It’s not really any of your business,” you point out while looking at him. “I appreciate that you protected me in the first place, but you’ve done the noble thing; you don’t have to do anything else.” 

Wonwoo looks up at you as if you’re stupid. “I do if I want you to be safe.” 

“As long as she’s alive, I won’t be safe, not really.” 

“Are you suggesting I kill my wife?” he baulks in disbelief at the potential insinuation within your words.

You shake your head and pull a face as if he’s the stupid one this time. “No…” your expression morphs into something considering as your head tilts slightly, while pondering his words. “Though, it would be a two birds one stone situation.” 

Wonwoo’s whole expression furrows. “Fucking hell, all this time locked up with only an asshole like me for company has warped your mind. You’ve gone fucking insane.” 

“Always been there.” You shrug casually. “I don’t think a man who goes against his wife to protect another is an asshole, anyway.” 

“I’m literally in a gang,” he deadpans.

“Yeah, and?” You give him an unwavering look. “I’ve met much worse people than you in my life, Wonwoo, and I will again. You’re sweet in comparison.” 

“I’ve really fucked your head up, haven’t I?” 

“Told you, I’ve always been like this”. 

“Calling gang members sweet?” 

“Once or twice.” 

He raises a disbelieving eyebrow as if he isn’t even sure if he heard you correctly. “What?” 

“Look, let’s not get off track,” you decide, while waving a hand dismissively. Wonwoo eyes the knife that you wave around vaguely but you don’t pay his borderline concerned expression any attention. “I want to go home. I have people waiting for me, and there’s only so long until they come looking, so, I’d like to go before that happens.” 

“You live alone; I’ve seen your apartment, it’s barely big enough for you. And your neighbours definitely wouldn’t notice if you don’t return; they say you’re never home,” he points out. 

“Stalker. Maybe your wife did have reason to worry, huh?” 

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t start that shit; you know we never had an affair because we had never even fucking met properly until she kidnapped you!” 

“Defensive,” you tease. 

“You’ve really fucking lost it,” he declares flatly.

“Then let me fucking leave, and you won’t have to deal with me anymore!” you exclaim frustratedly. 

“I want to deal with you!” he returns immediately, before you both fall silent and stare at one another. You’re both surprised by the sheer honesty in his words, that they even fell from his lips in the first place.

You gather yourself and manage to speak first, deciding to make a joke to try and break the strange tension that’s appeared in the air between you. “Better not let your wife hear that; she’ll jump to conclusions. Unless you mean the permanent ‘sleep with the fishes’ kind of ‘deal with’, then she’ll probably suck your dick in joy.” 

Just as Wonwoo opens his mouth to respond, eyes intense on you, his phone starts to ring in his inside blazer pocket. He sighs heavily before pulling it out and walking down the hall to talk privately in one of the empty rooms.

When he returns, you’re sitting at the table eating your lunch and have packed up the rest of his into a container, already knowing that he’s being called into work.

“We’ll finish that talk later,” he declares as he grabs the container from the island behind you.

You don’t even look over at him as you respond, “pointless circles don’t end, Wonwoo.”

You don’t see him leave, or hear his socked footsteps walk away, but a few moments later, you hear the front door open and close before the lock engages, and you’re left alone wondering just what the fuck your life has come to. 

You just hope that he gives you control of your life back soon; before things get even more fucked up.

Never would you have thought Wonwoo to be the type of person to avoid difficult situations or topics; you thought he’s far too straightforward to ever do such a thing. But when he doesn’t turn up the day after your interrupted discussion in the kitchen, you start to wonder if you got him wrong.

Then he doesn’t turn up the next day either, and you really think that’s being a little bitch and avoiding returning so that he doesn’t have to pick up that conversation with you.

Yet, on the third day, you recall that he was the one who had said you’ll finish the talk another day and as he’s proven; Jeon Wonwoo is a man of his word. You believe him, and suddenly, you don’t think he’s avoiding you but has likely grown very busy with work or his psychotic wife. 

However, when day four rolls around, you start to get worried that something has happened. Admittedly, you’ve grown fond of Wonwoo over the past weeks; his stupid smug smirk when he beats you at a game, his proud little shy smile when you praise his very gradually improving cooking skills, his soft snoring when he naps on the couch in the middle of the day. 

Sometimes, you truly do wonder if this is what Stockholm syndrome is: growing to actually like the person who has locked you up and genuinely wanting to spend time with them. You think others would probably say it is and that you shouldn’t care for the man. But he makes it easy, as much as you don’t want to have this attraction for him. You think that if you had got to know him under different circumstances, you’d probably feel the same way, anyway.

Regardless of if the man is technically holding you hostage or not, he’s married, and you respect that commitment and vow too much to ever want to have feelings for a married man. 

Still, you can’t help how you feel, and you worry when it’s past dinner time on the fourth day, yet Wonwoo still hasn’t shown his face. 

Now that you’re worried about Wonwoo, you can’t face gaming because it makes you think of him. So, you spend most of the day scrubbing the apartment from top to bottom, until everything that can sparkle, does. You even clean the rooms neither of you use.

You’re in the middle of putting the freshly washed and dried pillow covers back on the couch pillows when the sudden sound of the front door lock disengaging pings through the quiet apartment. 

Immediately, you look over, and your eyebrows lift as Wonwoo shuffles into the apartment, covered in blood. He doesn’t notice you at first as he locks the apartment back up one handed. His right hand is shoved into his trouser pocket suspiciously, like he’s trying to not move it, or perhaps not let you see it. 

“What the fuck?” You speak, making Wonwoo’s head lift quickly. 

Worry floods into his eyes, and he lifts his left hand placatingly towards you, after tossing his blood smeared car keys onto the side unit. “It-” he cuts off when you point firmly at his feet as soon as he takes a step forward, making him fall still in confusion.

“Stay there,” you order before turning and walking off, leaving Wonwoo staring after you puzzled.

You go to the laundry room to grab the stack of spare, dark grey towels, then go to the kitchen to get the roll of bin bags, before returning to the entrance hall. Thankfully, Wonwoo is still standing where you left him, though he’s removed his shoes now, and they’re haphazardly shoved aside. 

“Strip,” you demand, while dropping the towels onto the floor so that you can pull a bag from the roll and shake it open.

 “What?” he mumbles.

“You’re covered in blood, and I spent three hours scrubbing these fancy ass floors of yours today; you’re not getting blood on them,” you warn, giving him a stern look. 

He scoffs but obediently starts to do as told and moves both of his hands to his belt to start working it open. His right hand is bloodied, but it doesn’t look that much worse than his left hand, so you assume he wasn’t hiding it from you. “May as well be your floors, you’ve lived here more than me,” he mumbles as he works with a tense expression on his face, which tightens every time he moves his right arm even minutely. 

“Well then, I’m definitely not letting you fuck up my floors with your blood. Don’t be rude and bleed on my fancy ass floors.” 

Once Wonwoo’s belt is open, along with the button and zipper of his trousers, he starts to try and push them down his legs, but the blood oozing from the stab wound on his left thigh is making the material stick to his thighs. Plus, now that he’s moving it more, you can see that there is definitely something wrong with his right arm, as he can barely move it. In fact, he’s only moving the lower part of his arm, but even that is limited.

Realising that you’ll be here all night, if not longer, if you leave Wonwoo to strip himself, you sigh and put the bin bag down to get to your knees in front of him, so that you can peel his trousers down his legs for him. Wonwoo says nothing, but he lets out a relieved little breath, clearly glad for your help, and steps out of his trouser legs in turn as you hold them open. Once they’re entirely off, you make sure the pockets are empty before tossing them, including the belt, into the bin bag. 

Silently, you work to remove Wonwoo’s socks, then get up to get him out of his blazer and previously white, now half blood-red shirt; all of the clothing you throw into the bag to throw out and put everything from his pockets on the side unit.

As Wonwoo stands in front of you in his black boxers and previously white vest, you can see the strange shape of his right shoulder. It’s very clear to you what’s wrong with it. 

“It’s dislocated, isn’t it?” you question; Wonwoo wordlessly hums and nods in confirmation. “Alright, I’ll cut your vest off,” you decide, knowing that getting Wonwoo to lift his arms up is very impractical. You move over to the side table to grab the knife, which you had removed from a hidden inside pocket in Wonwoo’s blazer, and remove the little leather sheath from the blade, before turning to approach him with the knife.

Wonwoo steps back slightly, holding his left hand up between you with slightly alarmed eyes. “Whoa, what the fuck? You can’t just approach a man with a knife like that.”

You can’t help but scoff at his obvious hesitance and concern about you holding a knife only half an arm’s length away from him. “Don’t be a wimp. You’ve clearly been stabbed already tonight; what’s another flesh wound?” 

“You’re more psychotic than my wife,” he deadpans, left arm lowering to his side, deciding that you’re no threat now that the immediate worry has left. You’re right; he’s definitely already faced much bigger threats to his safety than you tonight.

“Careful, sweetheart,” you coo and tap the tip of the knife against the centre of his chest. You can’t help but notice the way he swallows thickly at your action and his eyes darken a little with interest. “Insult me again like that and my hand might slip.” You abruptly lower the knife to the hem of his vest and use it to ping the elastic of his boxers. His eyes darken further, and you smirk amusedly. “That’s an interesting reaction to having a knife aimed at your dick.” 

“That’s not my dick,” he murmurs, voice a little lower than usual.

“Huh, right.” You look down as you drag the knife down to touch the tip to where his dick is obviously sitting snug in his boxers, before looking back up at him. “Better?” 

He takes a moment before responding, eyeing you intently; you can practically see the thoughts whirling behind his eyes, “you’re not the woman I thought you are, are you?” 

You shrug. “Depends who you thought I am.” 

“A sweet, innocent cook, who makes the best food I’ve ever tasted.” 

“Well, some of that is true,” you giggle before lifting the knife to cut down the centre of his vest. Now that it’s served its purpose, you toss the knife onto the side table and remove the stained and ruined material from his body to put in the bin bag. “Alright, let’s get a look at you,” you say, before walking around him in a slow circle to carefully inspect his injuries, and silently appreciate his well looked after body while you’re at it. “Let’s put your shoulder back in place, get you cleaned up, and then I’ll patch you up,” you announce once you’re back in front of him.

Wonwoo raises a questioning eyebrow. “You know how to do all that?” 

“Yep,” you answer simply without a single slither of hesitation. It’s enough that Wonwoo doesn’t question you at all and just nods in agreement. 

Honestly, it’s not the first shoulder you’ve put back into place, or joint in general, so even though it’s not the most pleasant sensation in any way, you easily make short work of the task. 

While Wonwoo catches his breath back and gathers himself, you lay a towel on the ground in front of him, to minimise the amount of blood that ruins your hours of hard work cleaning the floor. 

Once he’s ready, Wonwoo doesn’t have to be prompted to step onto the towels. He does so quietly and then looks at you in wait. 

“What?” you ask.

“How the fuck am I supposed to move from here if you don’t move the towels? Unless you want blood on your floors?” he reasons, raising a blood smeared eyebrow at you.

“Oh, honey, there’s only one reason I get on my knees in front of a man, and that’s not gonna happen,” you point out with a scoff. “Shuffle.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Either stand there until you’re entirely dry and won’t get my floors dirty, or you can shuffle.” You shrug carelessly and pick up the rest of the towels to take to the stairs, so that you can lay the material out over the steps protectively. 

When you turn around on the stairs, once all of the towels are laid in place, you spot Wonwoo awkwardly shuffling along the floor in a way to keep the towel under his feet. You can’t help but crack up laughing at the sight of this tough, blood covered and injured, high-ranking gang member dragging his feet across the floor; silently obeying your demands to keep the floor clean. And you hadn’t even had to threaten to make him clean any mess he creates with his own toothbrush in the morning; though that definitely would’ve been the next step if he had been a stubborn ass. 

Wonwoo hears your laughter and glares over at you shortly before looking back down to focus on his efforts to get to the staircase. It only makes you laugh even harder, hard enough that you have to sit down so you don’t fall down the stairs.

A handful of moments later, when he passes you on the stairs, he flicks your head. You just giggle then get up to follow behind him up the rest of the steps. There’s already a towel waiting on the floor at the top, so Wonwoo, once again, shuffles across the shiny floor on a dark towel to get to his destination.

Even once in his bathroom, Wonwoo remains on the towel and follows you to the shower, which you turn on, on his behalf.

Once you’ve made sure he has everything he needs close to hand and a clean pair of boxers waiting for him on the counter, you turn to look at him with a teasing grin. “Can I trust you to shower on your own, or are you going to pass out from blood loss?” 

“I haven’t lost that much blood,” he huffs, rolling his eyes. 

You giggle and nod, backing up to the door. “Alright, I’ll wait outside, though.” Wonwoo just nods in understanding, so you step out of the bathroom and pull the door up most of the way just in case he needs you.

Leaving the door open seems to have been a very smart move, because not long later, you hear Wonwoo call your name awkwardly. You can only just hear him over the water, so you know that if the door was shut, there would not have been a chance you’d be able to hear him.

“Yeah?” You ask, sticking your head into the room to find him standing out of the stream of water, with his still bloody back mostly to the door, and his hands holding a small towel in front of his crotch, even if you can’t see anything from this angle regardless of the cover. 

“I can’t reach my back well enough with my arm like this,” he admits, making short eye contact with you as he indirectly asks for your help. 

Without a word, you enter the room and grab the soapy washcloth he offers, so that you can diligently scrub all of the blood from his back, then notice he’s missed patches on his left upper arm, so you clean there too.

“Alright, inspection time,” you declare before looking over the back of him from head to toe and back again, to thoroughly check for injuries that need to be dealt with and any blood he missed. “Turn,” you demand once satisfied with his backside, and also taking a moment to appreciate his backside. 

Obligingly, Wonwoo turns to face you and watches you as your gaze travels over his body from this angle, stepping closer to get a better look at certain injuries or run the cloth over his skin diligently. 

When you’re done with all of the exposed skin, your attention moves to the towel he’s clutching over his crotch before you grin amusedly and meet his dark gaze. “What if you’re injured there, Wonwoo?” you tease with a dramatic gasp. 

“Don’t,” he warns. “I’m not giving any truth to my wife’s delusions about us, so don’t…don’t say and do stuff like that when I’m in no position to handle it.” 

“I’m curious what exactly that means,” you admit. 

“Then be curious, I’m not elaborating.” 

You stare at him curiously for a moment before nodding. “Finish up and get those on.” You point to the clean boxers on the counter as you head to the door. “I’ll be back with the medical kit.” 

It only takes you a few minutes to go to the kitchen and get the very extensive medical kit from the secret compartment hidden in the kitchen island, plus a bottle of water and an apple. 

Deciding to be kind to Wonwoo’s currently somewhat limited movements, you clean up the dirty towels from the stairs, putting them all in the bin bag, plus Wonwoo’s shoes, before tying it off and leaving it near the front door for Wonwoo to take out tomorrow. 

Figuring that Wonwoo must be in a decent state by now, you wander upstairs with the necessary items and enter the bathroom, to find him leaning against the counter with his boxers on and a small towel in his left hand as he rubs his hair.

He pauses when he notices the bag slung on your left shoulder. “The fuck did you get that?”

“Did you forget where you left it?” You tease, putting the items on the counter beside him.

“I know where I hid that. How the fuck did you find it?”

“I know every inch of this apartment, Wonwoo; I’ve cleaned it enough the past month.” You scoff then take the towel to toss aside so that you can hand him the apple. “Eat that.” 

“I’m not hungry.” 

“I don’t give a fuck; eat that and drink the water,” you demand, already rummaging in the bag to take out everything you need to play doctor.

Wonwoo stares at you for a few seconds, then looks between the items you’re setting up and your at ease yet confident expression, a few times before giving in with a soft sigh and taking a bite of the apple.

The first wound to deal with is the stab wound on his left thigh; there’s still a little blood trickling from it, but it doesn’t run past his knee, so you know he’s clotting well, and there isn’t any worry really. Still, it’s the biggest of his injuries, so you handle it first. 

As soon as you get on your knees in front of him, Wonwoo makes a comment, “thought you only get on your knees for one reason?” he teases with a little smirk, which quickly leaves when you slap his leg right beside the wound, making him hiss. “Fuck you.” 

You only smile too sweetly at him before getting to work sewing up the wound as quickly yet efficiently as you can. There’s anaesthetic in the medical kit, but Wonwoo insists he can handle getting stitches without it. Still, being repeatedly stabbed with a needle and having the thread pulled through skin is not a nice or pain free sensation for anyone, so you want to get it over with as quickly as possible. 

After cleaning up the blood and covering his thigh, you get up to work on disinfecting and covering all of his other wounds. Most of them are small, and many don’t even require plasters, but there’s a cut across his chest; slicing thinly over his left pec with a starting point over his heart, where the wound is slightly deeper. You’re pretty sure that whoever inflicted this wound had tried to stab him in the heart and kill him, but either Wonwoo or someone else stopped them before they could succeed. 

You don’t linger on it, but it does hurt your heart to see, far more than the wound on his thigh, despite that one requiring stitches, and this one only some gauze to prevent infection. At least the thigh wound wasn’t an attempt on Wonwoo’s life.

Once all of the open wounds are dealt with, all you have to do is wrap his right shoulder to support the joint as it recovers from being dislocated, and then you’re all done.

“You’re really fucking good at this; are you trained or something?” Wonwoo comments as you wash your hands and he’s eyeing your handiwork impressed.

“Or something,” is your dismissive response.

He scoffs and looks over at you. “Now who’s evading questions.” 

“Don’t owe you shit,” you point out and move to dry your hands.

“I saved your life.” 

“Because your delusional wife put it in danger in the first place. That’s not on me.” 

“Not on me either.” 

It’s you who scoffs this time as you think about the tension that keeps appearing between the two of you lately and how he didn’t even try to hide how holding his knife to him earlier had turned him on. It all seems so natural for him; being this way with you. “You can’t expect me to believe she’s accusing you of cheating for no reason.” 

He frowns at you offendedly, and you’re not surprised; you’ve kind of had this conversation before. “Yeah, she’s fucking crazy and projecting her own failings on me. I have never been unfaithful to her or anyone. Never will be either.” 

For a few tense moments, the pair of you just stare at each other and the whole time, Wonwoo’s expression doesn’t change; the burning sincerity in his eyes doesn’t waver. You think maybe you might trust this man too much, because it makes all of your doubts about his relationship morals leave. “Huh, okay,” you respond simply with a nod and move to zip up the medical bag. 

“You don’t believe me, do you?” his voice is a little quieter now, a hint of hurt at your doubt of him showing. 

“No, I do, which is why I’m surprised,” you assure and turn to lean against the counter and look at him, so that he can see the honesty in your own eyes. It’s only fair, after all. “Gang member with morals; kinda not the norm.” 

“Yeah, well, I don’t see the point in it. If I wanted to fuck other people, I wouldn’t be committed to someone.” 

“Even if it’s someone you don’t want to be with in the first place? Obviously, there’s no love lost in you for her, no love in the first place,” you comment. 

“That’s not your place,” he reminds firmly. 

“Just following the conversation. Your pathetic excuse of a marriage isn’t of any concern of mine.” You shrug and push off of the counter to head towards the door.

“Don’t insult the man in charge of your freedom,” he warns lowly, making you turn to look at him with a scoffed laugh. 

“Why? What else are you going to do, Wonwoo? Send me back to her and let her have her fun?” 

Wonwoo’s expression softens slightly, and he shakes his head a little. “No. Never that,” he responds without a hint of hesitation or doubt in his tone. It sounds something like a promise.

“Then are you going to keep me and have your own fun?” you challenge, raising an eyebrow at him pointedly.

“I told you not to say things like that,” he rushes, gaze turning intense as he eyes you where you stand in the open doorway. His eyes flicker downwards; a quick drag of attention over your entire form, and his tongue darts out to lick his split lip mindlessly.

You can’t help but laugh. “Look whose mind is in the gutter,” you taunt. “I meant fuck me up yourself, not fuck me.” You back out into the hallway slowly, while giving him a significant look. “Think you need to remind yourself of your loyalty moral, Wonwoo. A lot of people consider looking or thinking bad enough to be cheating. If you don’t want your darling wife to be right, you should get a handle on that.” Your gaze flickers over the bathroom quickly before landing back on him. “Oh, and clean the bathroom before you go to bed; I won’t cook for you tomorrow if I see a single drop or smear of blood in here tomorrow.”

With that, you leave Wonwoo watching you leave him all alone with his mind whirling and a growing ache in his chest that he doesn’t think is entirely from the wound you so tenderly cared for. 

The very next day when you wander downstairs, it’s gone midday, and to your surprise, Wonwoo is in the kitchen, serving up take out onto two plates. 

“Oh, you’re up, good,” he comments when he hears the rustle of your clothes as you get closer. He glances over at you, gaze flickering over you quickly before focusing back on his task. “I was about to come and wake you.”

“You picked up lunch on your way over?” you mutter confusedly, Wonwoo never brings food when he visits, except groceries after picking up a list from you the day before. 

“No, I went and got lunch when I realised you’re not going to come down, and I’m too fucking hungry to wait any more.” 

“That sounds like you didn’t go to work today.”

“Called off for a few days to recover,” he informs and takes the plates over to the table. “Sit,” he says while pointing to your seat, before moving to get you both cutlery and drinks.

Not one to refuse free food, you sit down, and thank him when he hands you your cutlery before digging in; he quickly joins in.

“So,” Wonwoo starts after a little while of the usual comfortable quiet that falls between you if neither of you are talking. It’s strange how easy the silences between you have always been; even before you became whatever kind of vague friends you currently are. 

“Mm?” you respond with your mouth closed as you chew, looking up at him curiously.

“I was thinking that as I’m going to be off work for a few days, you can give me more cooking lessons.”

You straighten up to look at him in questioning surprise. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, why are you surprised? You know I want to learn.”

“Yeah, but that sounds like you intend on spending your days off here instead of at home.”

“She’s there,” he responds as if it’s the obvious answer, while pulling a displeased face.

You snort an amused laugh at his expression. “Good point. Alright, sure, I’ll teach you, but you gotta call me Chef.”

“What?” 

“Chef.”

“You’re fucking ridiculous.”

“Oh, looks like you’re going to forever burn eggs, Wonwoo,” you sing.

“Alright, fine, I’ll fucking call you Chef, but only while we’re cooking, understand?”

“Yes, sir.” He gives you a flat look that makes you giggle. You turn back to your food and ignore the flash of interest in his gaze.

Over the following days, Wonwoo is always up before you and quickly realises that you need to be woken up if he wants something other than takeout or a sandwich for lunch. 

A routine of sorts quickly gets established; Wonwoo wakes you before lunch, so that you can cook together, then he cleans up, at his own insistence, while you get the medical kit ready in the lounge to check and redress his wounds once he joins you. The afternoon consists of a mix of chores and gaming. In the evening, it’s time for another cooking session for dinner before he once again cleans up. Then, the two of you sit in the lounge to game or watch the videos on the video player, which he brought back on his first day off; another one of his childhood items he’s had safely stored away.

It all falls into place so seamlessly that it’s like the two of you have always existed like this, even if the seemingly endless personal questions that Wonwoo likes to randomly bring up prove otherwise.

Sometimes, you answer honestly, but others you don’t, and it’s endlessly entertaining watching Wonwoo try to decipher if you’re being honest or just fucking with him. 

It starts with the very first question on the very first day he’s off work, when you’re expertly handling his wounds and the medical supplies. “Where’d you learn to do this?”

“What’s it to ya?” you tease.

“Just curious about you.”

“Why?” 

“Because I’ve known you over a month, and I don’t know shit about you, despite you living in my apartment, and that shit’s going to keep up for the foreseeable future. So, it’d be nice to know some shit,” he huffs.

You hum consideringly as you ponder his words, before answering while continuing to clean and redress his thigh wound. “When I was fifteen, I was out with my sister, and we got caught in the middle of some gang shit. She got hurt bad, really bad, and I couldn’t do anything to help her. I couldn’t save her; I didn’t know how. She bled out in my arms, and I decided then that I wasn’t going to be so useless again. I learned how to handle most wounds with both real medical supplies, and whatever is to hand in case of an emergency.”

“Oh…” 

“If I was home, I would’ve put on my latex nurse’s outfit too,” you add as you look up at him and spot the softness around his eyes; the sympathy and understanding pain. 

It abruptly leaves at your words, and he lets out a frustrated, disbelieving sound. “You fucking asshole; I actually believed you,” he grunts disapprovingly, and you just snigger, returning back to your task.

Despite knowing that you’re actively messing with him, Wonwoo still insists on asking you personal questions to try and get a clearer image of you and your story. It’s a great source of entertainment for you, personally, so you don’t mind. Plus, he’s always so helpful; offering his assistance and cleaning dishes before you can even think about it, that you think he deserves the chance to poke around a little.

On the fourth day of Wonwoo being off work, you wake when Wonwoo knocks on your bedroom door then lets himself in. You eye him blearily as you shuffle up to sit against the headboard, while he walks further into the room.

“Are you ever going home?” you mumble, while rubbing at your eyes. When you lower your hands, he’s placing a tray, which you somehow didn’t even notice him holding, on the duvet at your side and sitting on the other side. You notice the plate piled with steaming food, two mugs and two sets of cutlery on top “Oh, breakfast in bed?” you tease with a grin as he hands you a set of cutlery and holds the other, while he picks up his usual mug to sip at his steaming coffee.

He rolls his eyes before answering as you start to eat, “don’t say something weird; I just know you won’t come down to eat it. So, unless I want my hard work going to waste, I need to bring it to you. I’ve had enough of you digging your fucking fingers into my wounds when I try to pick you up to move you when you’re being a stubborn asshole.” 

You ignore his comments about your stubborn streak and your habit of playing dirty and using his healing injuries against him. “How lucky am I?” you coo, entirely ignoring his warning to not say something weird. Teasing him is just too much fun. “Well, I imagine your wife is luckier. You seem like the type of man to go all out on your lucky lady’s birthday; fancy breakfast in bed, whatever gifts she wants, romantic dinner at her favourite restaurant and a day being spoiled.” Wonwoo doesn’t answer, just keeps his gaze on the tray between you as he works on eating his share of the breakfast that he so carefully cooked for you both. “Well shit, you’ve never done that for her?” you baulk surprised. He truly does seem like the doting, romantic type. 

Even this; bringing breakfast to you so that you’ll eat the food he obviously tried very hard to cook, as he hadn’t burned any of it this time, even if it’s pretty bland and under seasoned, just proves that he’s a very doting man when he wants to be. Plus, he waited for you to take a bite first before making any attempt himself. It makes you realise that he always makes sure you go first with everything and quietly goes along with whatever you want; the game you want to play, the food you want to cook, the video you want to watch, he never complains.

It seems crazy to you that Wonwoo has never gone all out for his wife; the woman he promised forever to.

He scoffs. “Why should I? I tried to do nice things at first, but she was always expecting more and bitched.” 

“Has she ever done anything for you?” 

“Other than be a pain in my ass? No.” 

You pull a disgusted yet puzzled face. “Why the fuck did you marry her?” 

“Took one for the team,” he answers honestly for the first time, paired with a casual shrug. Before now, every time you’ve asked about his relationship, Wonwoo has always told you it’s not your business or avoided answering by changing the topic or simply stayed silent.

“What does that even mean?” you wonder, giving him a curious look as he lifts his gaze to look at you.

“Means that she’s the oldest kid, but as she’s a woman, she can’t take over the gang when her dad dies; so, it would go to her brother, who is even more fucking useless and entitled than she is.” The repulsed twist of Wonwoo’s expression gives away his clear disdain for his brother-in-law. “He’d fucking destroy the gang and everything we’ve put so much blood into creating. But the boss will give his son-in-law the position if he’s proven himself, and well, I’ve been in the gang since I was fourteen, so I’ve definitely proven myself after 20 fucking years.” 

“Well…shit,” you mumble, eyes wide as you absorb his unexpected words; unexpected for more than one reason.

“Mm,” he hums in agreement as he chews on another mouthful.

“I did not realise you’re so old!” you gawp, making him look at you with a miniature version of your shocked expression.

He quickly finishes chewing and swallows the food in his mouth so that he can talk. “Seriously? That’s what you took from that, my fucking age?” 

“What?” You shrug defensively. “I thought you’re my age, not eight years older.” 

Wonwoo stares at you dumbly for a few long seconds before he mumbles, “you’re 26?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh.” He licks his lips a little awkwardly. “I didn’t realise.” 

“Are you saying I look old?!” you sputter in offense.

He quickly shakes his head and holds up his hands placatingly. “No. Just, I guess I’m more used to women like my wife. All her friends are immature as fuck, all spoiled little princesses. She’s older than me, you know? By three years, yet you’re more mature than her. So, I thought based on that, you’re closer to my age at least,” he reasons. It’s a very understandable thought process and assumption, so your posture relaxes again.

“Huh, okay, I’ll accept that, but don’t disrespect princesses like that,” you warn. 

“Should I call them spoiled little daddy’s girls then?” he jokes.

“No.” You pout. “Don’t lump me with them.” 

“You’re a daddy’s girl?” he baulks in genuine shock.

“Yeah.” 

“Didn’t even know you have family, honestly,” Wonwoo admits, making you look at him as if he’s the dumbest person you’ve ever met.

“Did you think I grew out of the fucking ground?” you deadpan.

“Obviously not; I know how human biology works, brat.” He rolls his eyes. “Just…there’s no sign of family in your apartment; not a single photo or anything that could be deemed a family heirloom.” 

You shrug and pick up your mug. “I don’t need those things to remember; I have plenty of reminders on me at all times to remind me of family.” 

“Like what? That necklace you wear?” He points to the chain of the necklace you never take off, where it’s just about poking out from the collar of your pyjama t-shirt.

“No, this is just a cheap thing I got to replace another cheap one and so on and so forth because I just hate not wearing a necklace.” 

“I don’t see you in any other jewellery.” 

“Don’t own any.” 

“Really?” he asks surprised, slightly raising his eyebrows curiously. “Not a single thing?” 

“No. I used to have earrings, but I lost the back of one, so I stopped wearing them and just never got around to replacing them.” 

“Then what do you mean you have reminders on you all the time, if not jewellery?” he sounds genuinely confused and very curious as his attention remains solely on you. 

You motion to the plate as you lean back towards it yourself, dismissing the topic with a simple, slightly firm, “breakfast is getting cold.” 

Wonwoo gets the hint and doesn’t try to push you anymore, just leans in and gets back to eating.

The very next morning after Wonwoo brings you breakfast in bed, he doesn’t wake you with another tray, nor does he wake you to make lunch with him. You get up feeling very off kilter at waking naturally without him being the first thing you see once the sleep leaves your eyes. 

It only gets worse when you go downstairs, and he’s nowhere to be found. 

Bewilderedly, you waddle to the fridge to get the juice and notice a new note on the whiteboard from Wonwoo. It’s a short note, like always, and says that he’s gone back to work and won’t be back tonight, so don’t worry about cooking dinner for him. 

All day, you move around the apartment feeling oddly lost. 

Wonwoo was only home for four days, yet it already feels so strange not having him following you around to ask questions as you complete chores together or peering over your shoulder to learn how to cook or playfully shoving you when you’re playing against each other in a game instead of as a team. You don’t really know what to do without him.

When it comes to dinner, you don’t think before cooking and only realise that you’ve naturally made enough for Wonwoo too when you’re putting a plate in his usual seat and remember that he won’t be here to eat it. 

It feels pathetic to sit staring at an empty seat with a full plate on the placemat in front of it opposite you, as you eat your dinner, but there’s something in you that refuses to let you take his plate away, even knowing his note says he won’t be home tonight.

Only when you can’t handle being in the lounge as it feels so empty without him, do you remove his covered plate from the dining table to box up the leftovers to put in the fridge and put the dishes in the dishwasher.

It’s only 9pm when you crawl into bed freshly showered and turn on your TV to watch something, hoping to distract yourself from the hollow feeling in your chest.

Although you were in bed early last night, you didn’t manage to fall asleep until your usual time, so you’re up after midday again. 

Today when you wander downstairs, you don’t expect to see Wonwoo, as his note said he’ll be back this evening, but clearly, he had already returned and left again. When you enter the kitchen, you spot a little gift bag on the island. 

Curiously, you approach and inspect the bag, trying to find a logo on the packaging, but there isn’t one, though you do find your name on the tag in Wonwoo’s surprisingly pretty handwriting. He doesn’t usually write so neatly; it seems as if he focused on writing your name in a visibly appealing way, instead of the usual scrawls he puts on the whiteboard.

Now that you know that it’s for you, you open the bag, and after moving aside the neatly packed dark blue tissue paper, you spot a black jewellery box. You hesitate before reaching out to pick out the box and open it. 

Immediately, your breath catches, and your heart skips a beat.

Within the jewellery box, seated neatly on a cushioned display covered in dark silk, is a truly stunning necklace and earring set. They sparkle in the light; silver chain and clear jewels polished to perfection as they stare up at you tauntingly. You know they’re diamonds; you just know with everything in you that Wonwoo had purposely gone out and bought you an expensive, extremely high-quality necklace and earrings set to replace your own. And it hurts.  

There is no way that this is nothing; that Wonwoo would go out of his way to pick such a beautifully crafted set for any other friend. You’re pretty positive that he wouldn’t even pick such a nice set for his wife. It feels like he’s putting you higher than her, ranking you as more important, more meaningful to him than the woman he is lawfully devoted to, and that hurts.

It's all too much. You close the box and place it back in the bag, cover it with the tissue paper and leave it there.

As you reheat the leftovers from last night for your lunch, your gaze keeps returning to the gift. Even with your back to the island as you sit at the table to eat, your mind keeps reminding you that it’s there; keeps shouting at you to pay attention to it.

Unable to handle it, as soon as you’ve cleaned up after lunch, you go up to your room to spend the rest of the say sitting on your bed watching TV and pretending that Wonwoo hasn’t royally fucked with your head and implied far too much without saying a word.

When Wonwoo returns, you’re still sitting on your bed watching TV, or at least pretending to. You’ve been restless for the past half an hour, knowing that he’ll be home at any moment and there will have to be a conversation to be had; about the necklace, about him, about you.

Only a handful of minutes after hearing Wonwoo enter the apartment, he wanders into your room through the open door, holding the gift bag in one hand with a genuine frown on his features. He looks both confused and a little upset. “Haven’t you been in the kitchen today?” 

���Of course I have, you think I like starving myself? I enjoy food too much,” you answer without looking away from the TV, even if your full attention has been on him since before he entered the room, before he even entered the apartment.

“Okay, then why aren’t you wearing this?” He lifts the bag slightly.

You hesitate before letting out a defeated sigh and looking at him. “Why did you buy that for me, Wonwoo?” 

“Because you never replaced your earrings and wear a cheap necklace that will break easily and make you buy another. This one will last a long time and has a lifetime guarantee, so you can get it replaced if it does break, but it shouldn’t.” It all sounds so logical, so reasonable, but you know it isn’t. Wonwoo is far too smart of a man to be that dense. 

“Take it back,” you order. 

“You don’t like it? Tell me what you like and I’ll-” 

“You’re a married man, Wonwoo; you can’t buy another woman jewellery.” 

“It’s just jewellery,” he mutters, a hint of defensiveness to his tone. 

“No, it’s not, and you know it.” 

He stares at the bag for a few moments then nods slowly in agreement; admittance to knowing exactly what you’re saying, what he said by buying the jewellery in the first place. “I’ll return it tomorrow.” 

“Thank you.” You relax a little, relieved that he’s agreed to return the gift.

“I didn’t mean to overstep or make things uncomfortable between us; I just wanted to do something nice for you,” he says, talking softer than you’ve heard him before. It makes it hurt even more; the honesty in his voice, the truth to the depths of his care for you. It needs to stop before it burrows deeper in either of you.

“Well, you shouldn’t. I’m just your hostage. We’re not friends, Wonwoo,” you say, in reminder, even if it hurts you as much to say it as it clearly hurts him to hear it. You can see it in his eyes. But you have to say it; to remind the both of you of the boundaries and moral obligations in place. The reasons why you can’t be anything more than how this all started. 

“Right, yeah, just my hostage,” he scoffs and looks at you, eyes harsh and jaw tense. “Maybe I should treat you that way, huh? It’d make things easier.”

“I think this is way past the point that you could treat me that badly, Wonwoo,” you point out. “You bought me diamonds; that clearly isn’t the type of thing a man capable of doing bad things to me would do.” 

“Would if I’m trying to get my way with you. Buy you pretty things to sweeten you up and make you crawl willingly into my bed,” he reasons and lets his gaze drag over you as if he’s making his point that it’s a very real possibility. Even if you both know that Wonwoo is not that kind of man, despite his status and how easy it would be to get his way with whatever woman he wants if he was cruel in that way.

“You could buy me all the pretty things in the world, and I wouldn’t do that,” you inform firmly.

“Don’t act like you haven’t checked me out; you’ve even said I’m attractive,” he reminds, letting his intense eyes lock with yours.

“And married; I’m not a homewrecker, Wonwoo,” you scoff. “If she wasn’t an issue, I think we both know things would be very different right now.” 

“Would you be wearing the necklace?” 

You hesitate before answering, not wanting to lie but knowing what you’re clearly admitting to otherwise and knowing that it’s not something you ever thought you’d say to a married man. Still, you do. You can’t help but be honest with Wonwoo about this; about the two of you. “Yeah, and not much else.” 

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @tusswrites, @svtiddiess, @codeinebelle

[thewormofyourdreams]

first of all—

i canNOT imagine living with two men CONSTANTLY

but on the bright side, it's minwon ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

second of all-

“He’s… inside your head?” Dino’s face scrunches up in something like disgust. “You have a dude in your head right now?”

same dino, same.

how tf did u come up with these op? i just wanna dissect your brain for a min, promise I'll pit it back together

good & bad

🌙 staring. Kim Mingyu & Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “My new therapist says it’s healthy behavior to let Wonwoo do what he wants to do ever so often,” you explain, watching Wonwoo beat Seungcheol at the arm wrestling and proceed to down two shots in celebration. “I’m not sure how she can think him coming to frats, getting drunk, and getting into pissing contests is healthy, but hey, it’s not my job to counsel power holders.”

tw/cw. Threesome, unprotected sex, dirty talk, fingering, dry humping, horny!gyu, dom!wonwoo, Wonwoo tells virgin!Gyu what to do, hand job, Wonwoo using his power to help y/n ride Mingyu, manhandling, size kink, groping, nipple pinching, praise, degradation, voyeurism, pussy stretching, cream pie, multiple reader orgasms, etc… I pet names: (hers) gorgeous & baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 8.8k

🍭 aus. superpower au, uni au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I was thirsting for another Meanie fic and I came up with this super power, I'd never seen it before and I thought it would be fun :)

Prologue:

“We thought she just had an active imagination,” your mother explained, reaching over to grab your hand and give it a soft squeeze. “Most kids show signs of powers when they’re six or seven, she’s ten now, so we just thought maybe she wouldn’t have any. Her father is a none-supe, so we came to terms with it years ago.”

The doctor was looking over your family file, and she nodded softly, looking up at your mother, then to you. “When did you first see signs that these imaginary friends of hers weren’t just in her own head?”

“There were little things,” your mother admitted. “I was cooking one night and she was drawing. When I looked again, the paper next to her had this image on it- a completely different art style to what she had been doing. When I asked her who drew it, she told me that Mingyu had.”

“Mingyu is one of her imaginary friends, correct?”

“Yes, she has Mingyu, who at first was described as the ‘good’ one, and Wonwoo, the ‘bad.’”

“Something akin to an angel and devil on your shoulder,” the doctor nodded. 

“Exactly.”

“After the art incident?”

“She was outside one day, tossing a ball around, and the ball bounced back to her, like some invisible person had thrown it back. At first, we thought maybe she had some sort of telekinesis, but she told me she was playing catch with Wonwoo.”

“So this was the first instance you saw proof that one of her imaginary friends could actually manipulate real-life objects, correct?”

“Yes.”

The doctor leaned back in her chair. “Are there any other events that have happened that push you to believe these imaginary friends of hers are real and it’s not a telekinesis power?”

“Well, y/n fell off her bike last week. Her knee was all scraped up. I was about to run and get bandages when this soft glow appeared over her knee. The scrape disappeared and she told me that Mingyu had healed her.”

“Very interesting.” The doctor had looked at you then, rolling forward on her chair. “Can I see your knee, please?”

You lifted the hem of your dress, showing your leg. There wasn’t so much as a scratch where Mingyu had healed you, and your ‘imaginary friend’ leaned over the doctor's shoulder to inspect his work. 

“Can one of these imaginary friends move an object in the room for us?” The doctor had asked next. “Perhaps, a book on the shelf over there?”

“Wonwoo can do that,” you’d nodded, gazing over at the boy your age who was leaning by the door, a disinterested look on his face.

With a sigh, he’d approached the bookshelf, reaching for a copy of War and Peace. The book had clattered to the ground.

“I don’t like being paraded around like this,” Wonwoo had mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Very interesting,” the doctor nodded. “It appears there might be some power at work here. I’ve never heard of a power like this one- two imaginary friends, one of which has healing abilities. I’ll make a note of it, and we will see how the power progresses with age. It’s possible as your daughter grows, so will the strength of these friends of hers.”

“Do you mean…” Your mother looked down at you nervously. “Is it possible we’ll ever see these friends ourselves? Or do you think they’ll stay invisible forever?”

“It’s anyone’s guess on that. As I said, I’ve never seen a power like this one. All we can do is wait and see what happens.”

one 

You’re seated on a musty old couch in the middle of a loud frat party, and a large part of you really doesn’t want to be here. Even with your friend Joshua keeping you company, you’re not here for yourself, and that always feels obvious to those around you.

Your gaze keeps shifting to Wonwoo, who’s having the time of his life. He’d done a keg stand the moment you’d arrived, and now, he’s in the middle of an arm wrestle with Seungcheol, the frat president, who, like your dark protector, also has a strength power variation.

Dino, a new pledge approaches you, handing a fresh cup of alcohol to Joshua. Like you, Dino’s eyes are locked on Wonwoo. “Tell me again why that dude isn’t part of the frat? I’ve never seen anyone go toe to toe with Seungcheol like this.”

“Should I tell him, or do you want to?” Joshua grins, bumping his shoulder against your own.

“You can tell him,” you sigh. In the past ten years since you found out you had an unusual power, you’ve gotten tired of explaining it.

“Dino, this is y/n, y/n this is Dino. Dino, y/n has a power where she has two imaginary friends, except, these days, they’re not so imaginary,” Joshua begins. “Wonwoo is one of y/n’s imaginary friends-”

“Wonwoo prefers the term companions,” you quip.

“Right, one of her companions,” Joshua corrects himself. “He’s got super strength like Cheol does. The reason Wonwoo’s not in the frat is because he can’t go more than a ten-meter radius from y/n, he’s tethered to her.”

“That’s a weird power,” Dino muses.

“Don’t be rude,” Joshua snaps, smacking the pledge’s arm. “Anyways, y/n’s not a huge fan of frats, so Wonwoo can’t join because she won’t be caught dead here more than once, maybe twice, a week.”

“My new therapist says it’s healthy behavior to let Wonwoo do what he wants to do ever so often,” you explain, watching Wonwoo beat Seungcheol at the arm wrestling and proceed to down two shots in celebration. “I’m not sure how she can think him coming to frats, getting drunk, and getting into pissing contests is healthy, but hey, it’s not my job to counsel power holders.”

“You said you have two uh… companions, where’s the other?” Dino asks, looking around.

“Mingyu’s staying inside tonight, he doesn’t agree with this sort of thing,” you sigh.

“Staying in?” Dino’s brows furrow in confusion. “I thought you said there was a radius thing?”

“Staying in here.” You tap your head. 

“He’s… inside your head?” Dino’s face scrunches up in something like disgust. “You have a dude in your head right now?”

Before you can answer, another frat boy comes running up. Seungkwan looks frazzled, his shirt haphazardly buttoned, eyes wide. “Y/N!” he bellows. “Quick, I need Mingyu! Some kid is greening out and puking in the bathroom upstairs!”

In an instant, your light protector appears next to you. Mingyu stands up quickly, face already shadowed with concern. “Show me where.”

“Jesus-” Dino jumps from the sudden emergence of the six-foot-two brick wall of a man. 

“Come on,” Mingyu urges, grabbing your hand to pull you from the couch. You let out an annoyed groan as he drags you through the crowd after Seungkwan, leaving Joshua and Dino in your wake.

You arrive to the second-floor bathroom, and you wait outside while Mingyu goes to investigate. Ever since the frat found out Mingyu has healing powers, they call on him for any sort of drunken mistake, including greening out. One touch from Mingyu can clear nausea, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to his powers.

You’re at a university dedicated to helping people train their abilities, and yet, you often feel like an outsider. It had been clear that you’d been struggling when you arrived, after all, you yourself don’t have any overt powers other than being connected to two men with astounding abilities, and that’s when you’d been assigned a therapist.

This whole ‘do things for Wonwoo and Mingyu’ idea has been a lot to wrap your head around, but you’re trying to make it work-

Wonwoo bounds up the stairs, his eyes alight with anger. “What are you two doing up here?” he practically growls.

“Mingyu’s helping some kid who greened out,” you explain.

“Of course he is, fucking knight in shining armor. Doesn’t he know this is my night? He’s ruining it with good deeds- pulled me away from beer pong.”

You sigh. “Discuss this with him.”

“I will,” Wonwoo states, pushing past you to enter the bathroom.

Releasing a deep breath, you sink against the wall, listening to the two men argue. Their words are muffled by the loud music that thrums through the house, and you don’t particularly care to know the details of their heated exchange.

You’re exhausted, and after looking at your phone for the time, you decide enough is enough. Pushing your head into the bathroom, you find Mingyu and Wonwoo holding each other by the front of their shirts, and their argument stops the moment you appear.

“It’s past midnight, I want to leave,” you sigh.

“But-” Wonwoo begins.

“That’s a good idea!” Mingyu grins.

“Wonwoo, I know this is your night, and I’m sorry, but I just can’t do this right now.”

Wonwoo frowns at your words, then releases Mingyu. “Fine, whatever. Let’s just go.”

two

“You seem agitated,” the therapist notes, watching the way Mingyu is fidgeting on the couch.

“It’s just…” he casts a sideways glance at you and Wonwoo, seated next to him with noise canceler headphones on, “I worry that they can hear me.”

“I can promise you they can’t. The noise cancellers are playing loud music. This is your time to talk with me.”

“Still…” Mingyu frowns, “it feels weird.”

“We can ask Wonwoo to go back inside y/n’s head if you’d like.”

“I don’t want that either, Wonwoo prefers to be outside.”

The therapist looks down at her notes. “Tell me more about that. What does being ‘inside’ feel like.”

“It’s dark,” Mingyu explains. “I can’t really explain it. Wonwoo and I don’t sleep, so I don’t know what sleep is like- but I’m pretty sure it’s not just dark boredom the way being inside feels.”

“Do you both have a preference for being ‘out’ then?”

“I mean… it’s a whole lot nicer than being in.”

“Have you ever discussed this with y/n?” The therapist cocks her head, and it’s clear she’s trying to understand, but Mingyu’s still not used to her.

“No. She has enough on her plate, especially now with the whole ‘give Wonwoo time to do what he wants to do’ thing.” Mingyu looks down at his hands, and he picks at his skin.

“I take it you don’t enjoy doing what Wonwoo wants to do.”

“No, and neither does y/n. My night in control is all about good food, relaxing, and watching Netflix. Wonwoo’s night in control is frat parties, keg stands, and getting into fights.”

“Sounds like comfort versus destruction.”

“Destructive is a good word to describe Wonwoo,” Mingyu admits. 

“Aside from your feelings on frat parties and keg stands and fights, do you think you each having time to choose what’s happening has been beneficial?”

Mingyu thinks about it for a moment. “Wonwoo has been less of a dick lately.” 

“That’s good news.” The therapist jots down some notes. “If I may, from the way I understand y/n’s power, you and Wonwoo are both parts of her. Opposing parts, but parts nonetheless. Do you think it’s possible that seeing as you’re both parts of her, there’s some part of y/n, perhaps even some part of you, that enjoys frat parties?”

Mingyu only shrugs.

“From what I understand, you mostly stay in during Wonwoo’s controlled times. If you weren’t so focused on disagreeing with his morals, or whatever it is you do disagree with, are there things about frat parties that you might like?”

“Maybe.” Mingyu picks at his skin again. “I do like to dance.”

“What if I challenge you to be out more at frat parties, to let loose and give it a chance?”

“I’ll do it because you’re asking me to, but I’m not sure how good it will feel.”

“Maybe that’s something to discuss at our next one-on-one.”

Mingyu can only shrug. He’s been tied to Wonwoo for over ten years now, and he doubts much could change the destructive, obnoxious way he views your darker half.

three

When you’d been accepted to a superpower-focused university, you’d been enrolled in things that would benefit both Mingyu and Wonwoo’s powers. For Wonwoo, you have to go to the gym with him and watch him lift obscene amounts of weight. The gym isn’t your favorite place, but at least you can get a workout while he trains. For Mingyu, on the other hand, he’s doing healer training in the hospital, and due to doctor-patient confidentiality, you’re stuck sitting in the hallway outside the exam room where he heals people. 

It’s quite boring. 

The one shining grace is that Wonwoo often sits with you, and the two of you watch anime on your phone together. Although Wonwoo doesn’t complain as much as he used to about being bored, you can tell from his slouched stance and heavy sighs that he’s just as tired of this whole thing as you are.

“You know,” you say, nudging him between episodes, “you don’t have to sit with me.”

“If you have to be here, I have to be here.”

“You can go back inside, I wouldn’t blame you.”

“I’m entertaining, you’re less bored when I’m here,” Wonwoo insists. “Waiting for Mingyu is boring. You weren’t bored at the frat though, because frats are infinitely more fun than hospitals.”

“It might be boring,” you admit, “but… either way, it’s nice to see you both thriving. I think this therapy thing has been helpful with seeing all sides of this power.”

“As long as you’re thriving too,” Wonwoo notes, casting you a sideways glance. “It will be girls' night soon- you can have a whole night without us.”

“For real this time?” You narrow your eyes at the man who had ‘popped out’ during your last girls' night. While you enjoy Wonwoo’s company, both he and Mingyu make it very difficult to have female friends, who always get caught up in a sense of longing for the gorgeous men. 

“For real,” Wonwoo sighs. 

“Good, because if I get propositioned by one of my friends again for them to get a chance to sleep with one of you, I might just poke my eye out with a fork.”

Wonwoo lets out a soft chuckle. “Maybe that’s something you want to talk about with the therapist in your next session.”

“Maybe it is,” you huff, hating whenever Wonwoo says something that’s actually valid.

Your eyes turn back to your phone, where the anime has progressed through its recap and intro. As boring as sitting in a hospital for hours is, Wonwoo does make it a little bit easier.

four

Wonwoo appreciates Mingyu staying inside your head for his therapy sessions. It’s less stress having only you seated next to him, your noise cancellers on, your head leaned back, eyes closed. He thinks you might be sleeping, and he’s happy you can rest while his psyche is getting poked and prodded by the therapist. 

“How are your classes going?” 

“Fine,” Wonwoo murmurs.

“Elaborate on the word fine.”

He shrugs. “Fine. Not good, not bad. Just… fine.”

“What’s the not good aspect of that?”

Wonwoo looks up at the therapist. He doesn’t want to open up, but you’ve encouraged him that this is the place to do it.

With a loud sigh, he leans back against the couch. “I guess… last week we had a class about prospective jobs for people with strength powers, and I don’t know… all the other guys have options. They could join superhero teams, make a difference- and I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“No, I can’t,” Wonwoo repeats. “I’m tied to y/n. Anywhere I go, she has to be within a ten-meter radius. I couldn’t run into danger and worry about her getting hurt. She’s my priority, not anyone else. No matter how much I want to do more with my power- I can’t.”

The therapist cocks her head at him, assessing him with analytic eyes. “It sounds like you’re saying you feel like perhaps your skills are being… repressed, in a way.”

“I guess you could say that.” Wonwoo looks down. “I just… it’s not as bad for Mingyu. He could get a job at a hospital and y/n would be safe there. She’d be bored out of her fucking mind. But she wouldn’t be in danger. I’m starting to think that’s the best path forward, as much as I hate to admit it.”

“Do you think y/n would prefer that path?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t talked about it with her.”

“For three people so closely tied together, it seems as though there’s not as much communication about the important things as there could be.”

“We talk,” Wonwoo insists.

“When was the last time you all talked about something important?”

Wonwoo can feel hot anger bubbling up inside of him, but luckily, he has a quick example. “We talked about how we feel about this whole sharing time thing.”

“And?”

“Mingyu and I both like it, but… as much as y/n says she’s okay with it, I’m pretty sure it’s draining her to be bored all the time.”

“Earlier you said being tied to y/n has restrictions, do you think being tied to the two of you has restrictions for y/n too?”

“Clearly it does.” Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “Some days, I think she’d prefer to be powerless and be at a regular university.”

“Has she ever voiced that to you?”

“She never would, even if she felt it. No matter what it might look like to outsiders, the three of us care about each other. Or… well, I care about y/n, and so does Mingyu, and she cares about us.”

“You and Mingyu still haven’t been getting along I take it.”

“Nope.”

“And yet, Mingyu is inside right now. He’s giving you space to have a private conversation, which is a grace you don’t return when it’s his chance to talk with me one-on-one.”

“I hate being inside her head.” Wonwoo has never told you this, but most nights, when you go to sleep, he waits for you to be fully passed out before coming out again. He sits on the couch, watches anime- Mingyu’s gotten on his case for it a number of times, but Wonwoo hates boredom like he hates sand, hot weather, and the way Mingyu hums to himself when he cooks for you. “I don’t like being inside,” Wonwoo states again, more firmly this time.

“If you had your preference, how often would you be out?”

The answer comes quickly, “A hundred percent of the time.”

“And this is not something you can talk about with y/n?”

“It would make her uncomfortable,” Wonwoo says. “She never talks about it, but- she’d never had a proper relationship, she can’t with two dudes in her head or hanging around all day. I bet she can’t even touch herself without worrying me or Mingyu will pop out- I can imagine it would be very uncomfortable, and if I asked to be out all the time, it would put even more pressure on her. I don’t want that.”

“You care about her a lot.”

Wonwoo doesn’t see the need in responding.

The therapist clicks her pen. “Do you often think about these things? About… y/n’s sexual restrictions due to you and Mingyu?”

A wave of heated anger flashed over Wonwoo’s skin at the question. “I’m not a fucking pervert.”

“I never said you were, I’m just trying to understand the way this unique power affects that aspect of y/n’s life, of your life. Humans are sexual beings, and repression of desires like that can lead to anyone being pent up and frustrated.”

“If you’re asking if I’m a virgin, I’m not.”

“No?”

“Y/N’s had sleepovers with other girls since coming to university. More than one of her friends has propositioned me.”

“How frequent are these… encounters?”

“Not at all now. Y/N was getting upset with her friends falling for me, and sometimes I felt it was unfair to the girl. I can never have a relationship. On top of that, I felt bad keeping it a secret from y/n.” Wonwoo lets out a sigh. “It’s better for everyone if I keep it in my pants.”

five

Girls' night is going very well so far. You and two friends have already watched a movie, and now, while checking for your next rom-com, you’re all chatting about classes.

Jenni has ice powers, and she’s progressed an astounding amount already with how long she can use them. Yeji, on the other hand, can manipulate sound waves, and there have been all sorts of weird ways she’s adapted that for offensive and defensive situations.

It sucks sometimes to listen to them gush about their powers while you don’t really have any of your own. Besides Mingyu and Wonwoo, you feel like you’re just y/n. You yourself have no super strength or healing, no mind reading or telekinesis- you’re… just y/n, and in a university surrounded by amazing power wielders, it can be hard to hold your head high.

“Anyways, enough about us,” Jenni says, turning her eyes to you, “How are Wonwoo and Mingyu doing? I heard Mingyu’s one of the top healing power students this year.”

“Yeah, they’re doing good,” you shrug. “We’ve been spending more time at the hospital, Mingyu seems happy to be helping people.”

“He’s definitely the good one,” Yeji nods, flashing a grin at Jenni. “Are they gonna pop by tonight? They’re both uh… really hot.”

“I don’t think so… this is girls' night.”

You don’t miss the way Yeji frowns or the way she exchanges a glance with Jenni. 

“Anyways,” you turn to the TV, “should we start our movie?”

The girls nod and you begin to watch your next rom-com. You try to enjoy having just girl time, but soon, you start to get hungry. 

“How do you feel about ramen?” you ask.

“Oooh yum!” Yeji’s eyes brighten at the idea, and you immediately stand to go to the kitchen.

You haven’t even reached for a pot to boil water when you feel a presence beside you, and you turn to look up at Mingyu.

“You guys need a cook?” he grins. 

You let out a sigh, turning to see if Yeji and Jenni have noticed Mingyu, but they’re leaning together discussing classes.

“Gyu,” you whisper, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“But I thought maybe you’d wanna relax and I could cook?”

“Wait-” you narrow your eyes at him, “this is the second time in two weeks you’ve popped up at the exact time something was convenient for you. First with someone getting sick at the frat, and now with cooking-”

Mingyu looks guilty, and you cross your arms over your chest, waiting for him to explain himself. “Look… my uh… my power has been getting a little better and I kind of have a general sense for your thoughts when I’m in your head now.”

“What!?” You can’t help the way your voice raises, and you see Jenni and Yeji whip to look at you from over the couch. “Since when!?”

“Just for a bit-” Mingyu raises his hands in defense. “Look, I especially didn’t hear anything about Yeji calling me hot like two seconds ago.”

Now you’re mortified, and one look at your friend’s pink face shows you she is too-

Before you can say another word, Wonwoo appears, and he gives you a once over, then Mingyu. “I uh… sensed a disturbance in the force.”

He’s such a nerd, and in an odd way, he actually calms you down a little. “You know what? Fuck it. Mingyu, you can cook for us, but when you’re done, you’re both going to my room and wearing headphones and not eavesdropping on my girls' night!”

“Okay, you got it.” Mingyu turns to begin making the ramen, and before you can go to join your friends, Wonwoo grabs your arms.

“Uh, sorry about this,” he apologizes, and you’re shocked he’s apologizing for Mingyu’s behavior. “Neither of us really like being ‘inside,’ I think… he was just looking for an excuse not to be cooped up.”

“I’m very sorry,” Mingyu says over his shoulder.

“Look- we can talk about all of this later,” you sigh, trying to process what Wonwoo just said. “Please just- this is my night, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Wonwoo nods. “We’ll try not to be a bother.”

six

At this point, you’re pretty sure neither Wonwoo or Mingyu can hear you talking to the therapist, after all, whenever you have the headphones on, everything else is muted by music. Even so, if they were to hear you, part of you wouldn’t care.

“It was girls’ night,” you state. “Girls’ night. My night. And even though I asked them to stay inside and not interrupt, they still popped out! And it turns out, their powers have been getting better, so now, even when they’re inside, they can sense my thoughts?! I have no privacy! It’s a disaster!”

“Deep breaths,” the therapist encourages you. “I can see why that would be frustrating.”

“Very frustrating!” You let out a deep sigh, and you’re shocked when it helps calm you down. “The thing that really bugs me though- is Wonwoo said they don’t like being inside.”

“What about that bugs you?”

“Because now I feel bad- now I feel like I’m being a bad friend whenever I ask them to go back inside- but, a girl needs alone time. She needs girl time- without two hot guys walking around and making her friends drool and go all googly-eyed!”

“What about your friends ogling Mingyu and Wonwoo frustrates you?”

“I guess- it’s more than the fact that they’re both hot,” you admit. “I think- sometimes I think I feel lesser to begin with because I don’t have any overt powers. I feel powerless in a university of power holders. It’s hard to make friends if you can’t do anything flashy- I never know if girls are friends with me for me, or for them.”

“Let's touch on that feeling of being lesser for a moment, then we can circle back to everything else,” your therapist suggests. “You said you feel powerless, although, the way I see it, you have two top-tier protectors. Mingyu is the highest-ranked in his healing classes, and his professors say he’s extremely gifted. And Wonwoo is strong, he’ll protect you no matter what.”

“But those are their powers, not mine.”

“They only exist because of you. Have you ever thought about your future after this? After school?”

“Not extensively,” you admit.

“How would you feel about being outside an operating room, about Mingyu being the main breadwinner and using his powers to take care of you?”

This isn’t something you’ve ever considered, and the notion takes you by surprise. 

“Many people use their powers to make a living, Mingyu is no different, and since he’s an extension of you, allowing him to use his power to take care of things would be moral, it would be natural even, don’t you think?”

“Are you suggesting I be a pretty little stay-at-home powerless tether to a healer?” you ask.

“It’s one possible outcome if that’s something you’d be interested in.” The therapist cocks her head at you. “You enrolled in this university, obviously you care about Wonwoo and Mingyu furthering their powers- I would find it difficult to see you go through all of this only to get a regular job that doesn’t utilize them.”

“I really have not thought that far ahead.”

“Think that far ahead for a moment. Tell me your ideal situation.”

You sit there, thinking. The Mingyu outcome she’d just painted was interesting, so you dare to consider a Wonwoo option. Could you go with him on hero missions? No. He wouldn’t let you. The Wonwoo path wouldn’t be good for anyone. Wonwoo gets distracted enough about your safety when you try new weight machines.

“Maybe… maybe going forward with Mingyu’s healing career would be good.” 

“Healers with the aptitude he has go far in this life,” your therapist notes. “You wouldn’t have to worry about money, or getting hurt.”

“But what about…” You bite your tongue. When Mingyu and Wonwoo had first become visible to others when you were fourteen, it felt like a dream, but when you’d been sixteen and unable to spend time with boys for fear of one appearing- you’d started to realize the downside to having two constant protectors. You try not to think about having a relationship too often, but now that you’re being asked to consider your future, you know you’d be happier to have someone in your life five years from now- even a week from now if that was possible.

“What are you thinking?” the therapist asks.

“Just that… as years go by, I feel like my hopes for getting a boyfriend diminish more and more. If we’re talking about my future, the one thing I know for sure is that I want someone to share it with.”

“You have someone. Two someones, in fact.”

Your heart skips a beat in your chest. “Are you suggesting…”

The therapist shrugs, sending you a girlie smile, one Yeji has sent your way multiple times before. “Are you interested in either of them that way?”

“I mean… sure… look at them.” You cast a sideways glance at Wonwoo, then Mingyu. “But… would it be weird to do that? They’re part of me, aren’t they?”

“Self-love and acceptance is the most important part of life, or so many Yogi’s say.”

“Yeah, but… I don’t know, I’ve always thought maybe that would be crossing a line.”

“What line?”

“An invisible one?” you suggest, not quite having the words to explain it yourself. 

“Listen, I understand why this might be daunting. It would change the dynamic, as I’m sure you know, but, if you are looking to be romantic with someone, or two someones, I know that it would be hard to find a man who would care about you and want to take care of you the way Mingyu and Wonwoo do.”

“Is it okay for you to be suggesting this?” you ask.

“My job is to further your development, to straighten out any roughness in this dynamic. I’ve not shared this with you yet, but my power is to see auras. Whenever you talk about Mingyu or Wonwoo, your aura lightens, it’s a sign of love. Theirs lighten when they’re talking about you too. Wonwoo’s in particular is quite dark, but whenever you come up, he’s shockingly thoughtful and candid. Mingyu’s easy to read, as I’m sure you know. They both care about you, and you care about them.”

“I guess- if they feel that way, why haven’t they ever said anything?”

“You’re the boss, y/n, I think sometimes maybe you forget that.”

seven

If there’s one thing all three of you can agree on, it’s anime. Nights spent watching shows together are always very civil, and you enjoy the peace of this, even as you begin to get a little sleepy.

When you yawn for the third time, Mingyu turns to you. “Do you want to go to bed?”

“Nah, not bed, I think I just need a nap,” you explain. “But don’t worry, you don’t have to go back inside, I can just… curl up here and rest for a bit.”

You and Mingyu are on the main couch, with Wonwoo on the solo seater just next to you. You lay down, but Mingyu’s so big and takes up half of the space, so your feet end up haphazardly on top of his lap, and it’s not the most comfortable position.

“Do you want me to be the big spoon?” Mingyu suggests.

“That would be nice,” you admit.

You don’t often get that close to Mingyu and Wonwoo, but on rare occasions, when you’re feeling an extra need for protective energy, you’ve found yourself as a little spoon.

Carefully getting behind you, Mingyu opens up the space so you can stretch your legs. A soft sigh escapes you as you curl up to the pillow, with Mingyu’s warmth heating your back. 

You close your eyes, and while you are able to rest, you aren’t able to fall asleep.

Your mind is too full of thoughts about your last therapy session. Now that a professional has given you the go-ahead to explore things sexually with your two protectors, it’s frequently at the forefront of your mind. Having Mingyu’s strong body behind you isn’t helping any of these dirty thoughts, and you do your best to readjust slightly, trying to get into the most comfortable position in the hopes that you’ll pass out.

“You good?” Wonwoo asks. 

“You seem fidgety,” Mingyu notes. 

“Just thinking,” you sigh. 

Wonwoo casts you a glance. “About?” 

“Just…” Should you tell them? “I guess I had a kind of weird chat in therapy yesterday.”

“Our therapist is definitely a little unconventional,” Wonwoo agrees, and from the look on his face, you can tell he’s had an interesting chat or too as well.

“Do you want to tell us what happened?” Mingyu asks softly, his hand soothing against your arm.

“We were talking about the future,” you explain. “She asked what I wanted with my life. I hadn’t thought about it much before, but… I did tell her that one thing I’ve always wanted is a relationship. I don’t see myself getting old and being alone, you know?”

“You’ll never be alone,” Mingyu assures you, wrapping his arm tight around you to pull you close to his chest. “We’ll always be here with you.”

“And that’s the thing,” you let out a small laugh. “I’m out here wishing for a life partner, when I already have two.”

The room goes quiet, neither of your protectors say anything. You hear Mingyu take in a sharp breath, and Wonwoo looks at the man over your shoulder. There’s an unspoken communication between the two of them, and then Wonwoo’s eyes meet yours.

“What are you saying, y/n?” he asks.

“I guess… what I’m saying is…” You take a deep breath, mustering up your courage. “What if… what if we gave it a try?”

“Gave it a try?” Mingyu repeats.

“You know, it.” You look at him over your shoulder, willing him to understand.

“I think you need to spell it out for him,” Wonwoo chuckles. “He’s such a goody toe shoes he doesn’t get that you’re propositioning us for sex.”

“She’s what?” Mingyu’s lips part in confusion, and he looks between you and Wonwoo.

“I mean, unless you don’t want to-” You’re quick to try to back out of this, feeling anxious that you’d ever even brought it up.

“We want to,” Wonwoo assures you. “Mingyu’s been in love with you since we were sixteen.”

“Have you really?” you ask, blinking up at your bright protector. 

“I uh… well…” Mingyu stammers, his skin turning a cute shade of pink.

“And what about you, Wonwoo?” you turn, looking at the stoic man. “Are you in love with me too?”

“I’m the bad one, remember?” Wonwoo smirks. “As if I’d get sappy like he does.”

“I feel like that’s a yes,” you grin, heart thundering in your chest at this new development. “How come neither of you ever said anything.”

“We’re not big fans of putting pressure on you,” Mingyu says softly.

“It would also change things,” Wonwoo notes.

“Yeah, but, part of me thinks it would change things for the better,” you admit.

“So…” Wonwoo pauses your show, turning to face you and Mingyu. “Are we going to do this?”

You swallow the lump in your throat, giving a quick nod.

“Yeah?” Behind you, Mingyu presses closer, his hand caressing your arm again, his breath hot along your throat. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“I think he wants to hear you say it,” Wonwoo grins. “We both do.”

“I want…” your words falter, but you’re quick to steady yourself even as Mingyu rubs his clothed cock against your ass. “I want you both to fuck me.”

Mingyu presses his lips to your neck, it’s a soft kiss, but it sets your body on fire. You let out a sigh of delight, tilting your head to give him more access. Tingles of pleasure erupt across you as he continues to press his gentle lips to your skin, his hand slipping down to cup your hip.

He squeezes you, almost enough to hurt, and it’s a rough motion from your generally gentle giant- it betrays how he feels, how deeply he wants you, and it makes you moan in excitement.

“We should move into the bedroom,” Wonwoo directs, standing from the single sofa. “Come on,” he reaches down for you, easily lifting you from Mingyu, who lets out an annoyed whine.

Sometimes you forget Wonwoo has the power of strength, and he carries you like you weigh nothing. His gaze is forward, his intentions set on getting to your bed, and it’s so incredibly sexy you think you might die.

“How do you want to do this?” Wonwoo asks softly.

“Hmm?” You’re a little shocked at the question, and it takes you a moment to even register it. “Oh, uh… no anal?”

Wonwoo laughs, looking down at you with those pretty eyes of his. “Yeah, that feels a little advanced for you.”

“Fuck you, I can be advanced!”

“Sure you can, just not tonight.” Wonwoo places you on the bed, and Mingyu, who had been following the two of you, is quick to big spoon you again, his lips returning to your throat.

Your eyes are on Wonwoo, and after a moment of watching you, he gets onto the bed too, facing you.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” he asks, cupping your cheek.

“Uh huh.”

Wonwoo only laughs, shaking his head slightly before he brings his mouth to your own. It’s a soft kiss, and it takes you off guard. Behind you, Mingyu is getting more and more restless, all hands and tongue- but Wonwoo, in contrast, feels as cool, calm and collected as a cucumber.

At this point, Mingyu is practically dry-humping your butt, grinding his front against you and moaning. His sounds are awfully distracting, and you break your kiss with Wonwoo to look over your shoulder at the man who immediately grabs you to bring your lips to his.

Wonwoo lets out a chuckle again. “I’ve got good news and bad news. The bad news is, Mingyu’s a virgin. The good news is, that means he’ll be easy to teach.”

“I’ll be good,” Mingyu murmurs against your lips.

“Wait.” You turn to look at Wonwoo again. “He’s a virgin… you’re not?”

“I’m the bad one, you keep forgetting that,” Wonwoo laughs. “It’s not like you’re an angel either.”

That’s true, so you choose not to dwell on it. Instead, you grab Mingyu’s hand on your hip, guiding it down to your abdomen, then bellow the waistband of your sweatpants. 

“Do you want to direct him, or should I?” you challenge Wonwoo, who cocks a brow at your change in tone.

“Touch her pussy, Gyu. Tell me how wet she is.”

Mingyu moans in your ear as his hand explores further down, his fingers brushing over your clit then between your pussy lips. “Fuck, she’s so wet, and so warm-”

“Tease her a little. Her clit is at the top, it’s this small, pearl-shaped bud. Girls love it when you play with that. She’ll be dripping by the time you’re done.”

God, hearing Wonwoo talk like this is taking your breath away, and you squirm as Mingyu does as he’s told, his touch lingering on your clit.

“I found it,” Mingyu groans, pressing his cock against your ass again. “Does this feel good, baby?”

“Feels so good, Gyu,” you whine, your hands reaching out to grab Wonwoo’s broad shoulders like an anchor. 

Wonwoo watches your every expression. “Once she’s wet enough, you can try to slide one of your fingers into that tight pussy of hers. It’s important to stretch her out since I know you’re packing.”

A shiver runs through you now. Mingyu’s big- you know it in your bones, you feel it against your ass- 

“Can I?” Mingyu asks, sucking on your ear lobe. “Can I put my finger in your tight, wet pussy?”

You nod. “Please-”

He teases your opening, and you wait with bated breath for him to finally push in. When he does, you both moan loudly.

“Fuck her like that for a bit, then see if she can handle another finger,” Wonwoo instructs next. “While you’re doing that… how do you feel about stroking me off, gorgeous?”

You swallow thickly, nodding. Then you reach down for Wonwoo’s pants, helping him shift them down to his thighs. His cock slaps up against his abdomen, hard as a rock and glistening with precum. He’s big, on the longer side more than thick, but you don’t mind. You grasp him, rubbing your thumb through the precum to spread it across his skin.

“Do you need direction too?” Wonwoo grins at you.

“Don’t even try it,” you warn him.

“I was just teasing, you don’t seem to mind Mingyu’s teasing.”

“That’s cuz he’s-” Your words are choked off as Mingyu thrusts his finger in your pussy. “He’s doing a different kind of teasing.”

“Can I add another?” Mingyu groans in your ear, seemingly oblivious to the bickering between you and Wonwoo. 

“Yeah,” you nod, stroking Wonwoo faster while you wiggle your hips as an open invitation to Mingyu. 

Two fingers drag through your pussy lips, and when Mingyu pushes them into you, you swear you see stars. You throw your head back, eyes closing in ecstasy-

“If you crook your fingers, there should be a soft, spongy spot. That’s called the G-spot, girls like it when you apply pressure there,” Wonwoo tells Mingyu.

You feel Mingyu’s fingers beginning to explore inside of you, and you let out a whimper when he finds the spot Wonwoo is talking about.

“Looks like you found it, Gyu,” Wonwoo grins. “See? What did I tell you? A quick learner.”

Mingyu applies more pressure to your G-spot as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you. Soon, you can hear how wet you are, and Wonwoo’s eyes darken.

“I think you’re just about ready for him, don’t you?” he asks.

“Yeah- fuck it, yeah,” you nod quickly. “Let's all get naked.”

Mingyu’s hand is out of your pants before you can even finish your sentence. He licks his fingers off, groaning at your taste, before he rips off his pants and shirt.

Your clothes are quick to follow, discarded onto the floor. “I’m gonna ride him,” you announce.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Wonwoo nods. 

You swing a leg over Mingyu’s hips, your hands flat on his chest- when you look down at Mingyu, you’re overwhelmed with a feeling you quite can’t explain. Bending down, you press your lips to Mingyu’s, capturing his cock between his body and your pussy. You grind against him while you make out, a flurry of tongues and whimpers of pleasure. 

“He might not last long, so I’d be careful if I were you,” Wonwoo warns, and you feel his body behind yours, his hands trailing up your sides.

You pull away from Mingyu, grabbing his cock and lining it up with your pussy. He’s so big- and his tip stretches you out as you slowly seat yourself down onto him, your wet hole taking inch after inch until you’re full to the hilt. 

“Fuck-” Mingyu whimpers, his hands settling on your hips.

“Feels like heaven, huh?” Wonwoo asks.

“Even better than heaven,” Mingyu breathes.

Wonwoo’s lips find your throat, and you arch your head back, enjoying the way his hands capture your breasts, massaging you. His thumb and pointer squeeze your nipple and you gasp, your pussy clamping down on Mingyu, who groans loudly.

“You should start riding him,” Wonwoo says, his mouth hot on your neck. “Here, I’ll help you.”

Wonwoo’s hands find your hips, and he lifts you off of his fried before pushing you back down. You let out a whimper of pleasure, closing your eyes and resting your head back against Wonwoo’s shoulder. 

With his super strength, he can easily lift you up and put you back down on Mingyu’s cock, effectively taking away all the leg strain so you can enjoy every moment of Mingyu filling you up.

“I might be bad, but I can be nice,” Wonwoo coos. “Look at me doing all the work.”

Mingyu lets out a grunt, and he begins to thrust up to meet you, driving his cock even deeper into your pussy.

“Fuck-” you gasp, reaching behind you to thread your fingers in Wonwoo’s hair.

“He feels good, doesn’t he?” Wonwoo asks. “Hey Gyu, rub her clit. Wonder if we can get her to cum for us.”

Mingyu’s thumb finds your sensitive bud and you squeal with delight, pussy throbbing around the massive cock impaling you. 

Each circle of his digit on your clit drags you closer and closer to the edge, your sounds filling the room-

“She’s gonna cum,” Wonwoo announces. “Tell her how badly you want to watch her cum.”

“Wanna watch you cum,” Mingyu moans.

“That’s not very original,” Wonwoo tuts.

“Fuck, you look so good bouncing on my cock. We both wanna see you cum. You’ll cum for us, right?” Mingyu looks so desperate. Lips puffy and parted, skin a soft pink, dark hair curled with sweat by his strong brow-

“Okay, okay- fuck,” you groan. “I’m gonna- fuck, I’m close-”

“When a girl tells you she’s close, don’t change anything,” Wonwoo tells the man below you. “Don’t add pressure or take pressure away from her clit. Don’t change your pace- the only thing I’d say you can change, is you can fuck her harder, but since you’re the bottom right now...”

Wonwoo’s grip on you tightens, and he bounces you even harder onto Mingyu’s cock, which makes you nearly cry from how good it feels. “Oh my god, oh my god-”

“How about you cum for us?” Wonwoo suggests. “I’m sure you’ll get Mingyu there too.” 

“Are you gonna cum with me, Gyu?” you ask, looking down at Mingyu from under heavy lids. “Please- I want you to cum with me?”

Mingyu lets out a grunt, his brows furrowing in concentration. You’d bet he’s holding off his high now, waiting for you, waiting for the moment you say it’s okay-

The cord in your stomach coils tighter and tighter, and when Wonwoo leans over you to whisper the word, “Cum,” in your ear, you can’t even help yourself.

Your pussy tightens like a vice on Mingyu’s cock, all the tension snapping as waves of pleasure throb from your core outward to the rest of your body.  The moan you let out is obscene, and the one Mingyu echoes is even worse, in the most sinful, sexy way.

“Fuck-” Mingyu grabs your hips, forcing you down on him completely, unable to move while the contractions of your orgasm milk his cock for all he’s worth.

“Look at you two cum whores,” Wonwoo breathes, and for some reason, the degradation doesn’t phase you in the slightest. “Bet you both needed that, didn’t you?”

You can only whimper a sound of affirmation. 

Wonwoo’s hands smooth along your back, helping your body calm down from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“Let me know when you’re ready for more,” he says softly.

“Now,” you respond without hesitation. “Fuck me now.”

“You’re that eager?”

“Eager- plus the moment we’re done, I think I might pass out,” you admit. 

Wonwoo only laughs. “I’m going to help you off of him, then it’s face down, ass up. You good with that?”

“So good with that,” you grin. 

It’s easy enough for Wonwoo to help you off of Mingyu. He sets you next to your gentle giant, who’s still trying to catch his breath. 

You immediately push your butt toward Wonwoo, arching your back and looking at him over your shoulder.

“Wow, you really are ready,” he muses, hands gliding over your ass. “Don’t fall asleep on me or it might bruise my ego.”

“Sleep after you cum, so don’t worry if it’s quick.”

“What if I want to take my time?” Wonwoo asks, dragging his cock up and down your slit.

“Then I’d say you have so many other opportunities in the future to take your time, but right now, I just want to be full, and then I can pass out between you and Gyu.”

“You know what? That doesn’t actually sound that bad.” Wonwoo presses his cock into your wet hole, Mingyu’s cum acting as a kind of lube that makes it all too easy for Wonwoo’s length to glide against your walls.

“Fuck-” you groan, grabbing at the bed sheets. 

Wonwoo isn’t as thick as Mingyu, but somehow he reaches deeper. Two hands spread your ass cheeks so each rough thrust has Wonwoo’s cock going as deep as possible, his tip kissing your cervix and making your toes curl.

“Taking it so good,” Wonwoo muses, digging his fingers into your flesh.

“So pretty,” Mingyu whispers, pushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

He leans in, and you find yourself kissing Mingyu while Wonwoo rails you from behind. You can hardly help your moans as Mingyu’s tongue glides over yours.

“It’s kind of hot watching you two make out,” Wonwoo admits, his thrusts slowing so he can appreciate the view in front of him.

“Yeah?” You kiss Mingyu even harder and he shuffles closer, groping your breast.

“Rub her clit for me Gyu,” Wonwoo instructs. “If she wants this fast, we’ll have to get her to cum first.”

Your body tingles- you should have known Wonwoo would want one of your orgasms for himself if you gave one to Gyu. You have no problems with them providing you pleasure and you providing them with a view of your high in return.

You simply relax while they work you up together, acting in unison. 

Mingyu’s fingers are rubbing your clit in rough circles, and the feeling of Wonwoo filling you up has you going crazy. You’re doing your best to hold onto the moment, but you can feel yourself getting close to the edge again.

“You’re getting tight, gorgeous,” Wonwoo muses. “Gonna cum for us?”

“Yeah- almost there,” you whimper, arching your back even more so when Wonwoo drives forward, he hits a specific spot that has you seeing stars. “Fuck-”

“You feel so good, want to feel you cum on my cock, wanna feel your perfect pussy get all tight and creamy with my cum-” Wonwoo grabs your ass tighter, and the slight pain paired with his dirty words is enough to throw you over the edge.

Your entire body tenses as the cord of pleasure snaps, erupting through you like a volcano of white, hot intensity. “Fuck-” you whine, and Wonwoo echoes the sound as your pussy grips him harder than ever before.

“Shit, I’m cumming,” Wonwoo warns you, his thrusts faltering as he shoots his load deep inside your throbbing core. 

He lets out sinful groans, and you love the way he sounds as he rides you through your orgasm, roughly ramming into your gspot with shallow thrusts that feel like heaven.

Wonwoo finally comes to a stop, and you can feel him breathing heavily against your bare shoulders. 

“Clean up time, then bed,” Mingyu reminds you before you can close your eyes and fall asleep then and there.

“Right-” you whisper lazily, resting your cheek against the comforter.

“Here, I’ll help you, but only if I get to be your big spoon,” Mingyu suggests.

You nod. Wonwoo pulls out of you, and Mingyu is quick to bring a warm cloth to your aching core, wiping up the cum and getting you situated. He helps you lay down, disposing of the towel before joining you at your rear. His lips are soft against your shoulder, his hand gliding the expanse of your arm.

“We love you,” he tells you. “Even if Wonwoo won’t say it cuz he’s a jerk.”

Wonwoo only laughs, laying on his back in front of you and Mingyu. You’re too exhausted to say much other than, “I love you guys too,” and with that, you fall asleep next to your two lifelong protectors.

You don’t know what the future holds, but one thing is clear; as long as Mingyu and Wonwoo are protecting you, you have absolutely nothing to worry about.

☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! this might be low key my hero academia inspired- I've been going through the anime's like an addict lol

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cw/ tw. Threesome, unprotected sex, dildo use, pussy eating, oral (m/f receiving), deep throating, Mingyu monster cock agenda, spitting, spanking, dirty talk, dom!wonwoo, multiple reader orgasms, cream pie, Eiffel tower/spit roasting, double penetration, cumming on y/n’s face, masturbation, etc…   I petnames. Baby & gorgeous. 

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 bonus

“So,” your therapist grins as she looks amongst you and your protectors, “I’m guessing things are going well?”

You can only smile, squeezing Wonwoo and Mingyu’s hands.

“It’s never been this easy,” Mingyu says wistfully, bringing your knuckles up to his lips to kiss.

“How are you two getting along?” your therapist addresses Wonwoo and Mingyu.

“Shockingly,” Wonwoo sighs, turning to grin at Mingyu, “I feel like we’re pretty good. Once Mingyu started listening to me, for once, things got easier.”

You nearly choke at Wonwoo’s words- reminiscing about how well Mingyu listens to Wonwoo’s instructions in bed.

“This is a good step,” your therapist smiles. “I’m proud of all three of you.”

No one’s ever told you they were proud of you for getting railed like a whore in heat by not one, but two, men- but hey, there’s a first time for everything.

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@citycupids - @wonwoothinker - @luvlino - @babieculture

[ddeonghwa-s]

good behavior .ᐟ.ᐟ

you're riding kim mingyu and find him absolutely beautiful and perfect. and so it's so easy for good boy to slip from your lips. little do you know that's all he needs to take full control so he can truly show you how much of a good boy he really is.

꒰୨୧꒱— kim mingyu x fem!reader

꒰୨୧꒱— wc is approx. 2.8k

꒰୨୧꒱— genre : smut (mdni)

꒰୨୧꒱— cw : switch!gyu and switch!reader with dom!gyu. penetrative sex, unprotected sex. gendered praise on both sides (good boy/good girl), pet names (reader: princess). descriptive dirty talk, both narratively and with dialogue itself. heavy praise kink!

꒰୨୧꒱— tw : overstimulation, dummification, crying during sex from pleasure n overstimulation. cumming inside, heavy (?) subspace.

꒰୨୧꒱— notes : pure smut! this fic is written very stylistically for smut lol

you don’t think you’ll ever get over the sounds your boyfriend makes. 

kim mingyu is beautiful; this is no different even when he is beneath you. 

your knees press into the mattress on either side of his hips. your arms are behind you, hands braced on his strong — thick — thighs. you can feel the clench of muscle underneath you with every gentle fuck of your hips, every sweet roll. your body is like the bow of a violin, his the instrument; with every soft grind of your body against his, the most beautiful, loud song sings, his thighs and abdomen clenching underneath you, his mouth parted wide. 

your boyfriend’s pleasure is undeniable as you look down at him. your hips move in sweet figure eights that make his hands constantly shift from gripping at your thighs to the bedsheets, that makes his head tilt back and bare his golden throat to you. 

and of course his voice. 

mingyu is not quiet with his pleasure, body or sound. so while his body bends and shifts beneath yours, seeking and pushing from the pleasure of his dick in your cunt, his mouth sings. 

“fuck,” he whines, dark brows furrowed together. he hisses, white canines glinting in the bedroom light as his jaw drops in his moan. you can see where his teeth are indenting his pinkish brown mouth, marking his lips while in his sexual trance. 

“feels good,” you question, voice breathy as you continue to gently fuck down on him. it’s a trick question: you know he feels good. you feel so fucking powerful: mingyu, tall and broad and handsome and perfect mingyu, beneath you, his fat cock so deep inside your pussy you swear it’s in your cervix, gravity pushing you further and further down with every roll of your hips. 

his fat dick is deep within you, his large hands digging into the flesh of your thighs, and he’s moaning, mingyu is moaning, lips curling with pleasure. this man, this absolute powerhouse of a man, is moaning and whimpering beneath you, and fuck if you don’t feel absolutely heady with that power. 

when you fuck down on him you ensure his cock is sliding along that pleasure-spot in your pussy, sweetly stoking your own fires of passion. you can’t help but roll your head back at the slide of his dick, eyes falling shut prettily at the sensation. 

mingyu’s hands slip over you. he’s touching without any particular aim, just wanting to feel. he slides his hands over your thighs, your knees. he brush his fingers along the outside of your legs before he grips at your hips. he nails, neatly trimmed and cleaned, dig into the flesh there. 

he doesn’t use his grip to manipulate you in any way. mingyu just holds you like that, possessively marking your skin. 

“feels so good,” he says, hands flexing against you. you can feel him shift beneath you, hips minutely tilting. “you feel so good, princess.”

you let out a little huff of laughter. sweat dots your hairline, your skin is discolored from his enthusiastic mouth and teeth, and your cunt is soaking from your arousal and his precum; yet you’re princess. 

you move forward. you place your hands on mingyu’s abdomen. for a moment you just take in the feel of him beneath your hands. his soft skin, the way it rises and falls with every ragged breath he takes. you don’t think you’ll ever spend a moment not admiring mingyu; his heavy thighs and plush tits, his brown nipples and sweet mouth. 

using your hands to give yourself leverage, you raise your hips off of mingyu. he lets out a shuttering hiss, voice cracking high on the tail-end of it. 

when you drop back down on his cock, the flesh of your thighs meeting his with a sharp slap!, mingyu lets out a deep groan that seems to bubble out from deep within him. 

you laugh again. “that’s it,” you say, still smiling as you raise yourself up off of his dick once more. “gotta be loud for me, sweetheart.”

mingyu lets out another little noise at the deceptively-soft nickname. “gonna kill me,” he whines. “you’re so —”

you drop back on his dick roughly. if you hadn’t spent so long riding him already, hadn’t already been thoroughly fucked open by his cock, the momentum would’ve absolutely torn you in half. as it is you feel breathless, as if the wind had been knocked out from you. 

mingyu lets out a moan. “princess —”

“good boy,” you say, not quite aware of what words are escaping from between your lips, “such a good fucking boy.”

mingyu’s dark eyes open wide, his mouth parting. for a moment or two he just stares, just looks at you. 

you raise your brows at him, hips shallowly fucking down on him, a silent challenge. 

but then mingyu is flushing, blood rushing to color his golden skin. “say it again,” he properly whines, “say it again.”

you laugh at him, breathless. “taking me like a good boy,” you say. “you feel so fucking good inside of me, baby. stretching my tight little pussy so good like the good boy you are.”

mingyu groans again, and then he’s using his grip on your hips to tip you over onto the bed. his dick slips from your pussy as he moves the two of you, pressing your hot, sweaty body into the sheets and claiming your mouth with his. 

mingyu kisses you with absolutely no finesse. it’s all tongue. he shoves his tongue into your mouth and sucks at yours in turn as he lines his dick back to your pussy. 

he doesn’t fuck back into you immediately. mingyu holds his dick with one hand, sliding the tip of it along your folds. you’re absolutely soaking, and you can already feel fluid, a combination of your own juices and his precum, leaking down your cunt. 

“say it again,” mingyu demands, eyes pleading. his curls stick to his forehead sweetly. altogether he paints a cute picture of desperation, of a man trapped in a place where the lines between want and need blur completely. 

you laugh against his mouth. you wind your arms around his neck, bringing his mouth to yours once more. you suck at his lower lip, and for a moment he’s so distracted by your mouth that he forgets how he was taunting you with his dick, cock and the hand guiding it stilling. 

“fuck me, mingyu,” you say against his chin. “fuck me like a good boy.”

mingyu lets out a groan, and then he’s fucking his fat cock back inside. 

your cunt is, rather bluntly, gaping; there’s no pain from the stretch of his dick against your walls because there is no stretch. your pussy has so sweetly molded itself to the shape of him, allowing mingyu to seamlessly thrust back in. 

immediately he’s pushing until his dick is perfectly nestled in, the root of his dick against you. mingyu tucks his head against your neck, letting out a shuddering breath. 

you smile, one of your hands going to entangle with the sweaty curls at the base of his neck. “c’mon,” you gently taunt, “fuck me, baby.”

mingyu groans, a strangled noise, and then, ever obedient, he begins to fuck you. 

the slide of his dick against your walls has you tightening your hold on him, knees squeezing at his hips and toes curling. mingyu can’t help but grunt a little as you constrict him. so he shifts, arms moving to loop underneath your legs and forcing them up, breaking your hold around his neck. 

“gotta fuck you good,” he huffs. he uses the fold of your legs as leverage, slowly, maddingly, pulling his cock back from the hot heat of your pussy. “gonna fuck you so good, princess.”

his hands slip along the underside of your thighs, gripping them as mingyu moves to his knees. mingyu begins to fuck you properly, his thighs meeting your ass with sharp noises that seem to echo throughout the room; they do nothing, however, to hide the wet squelching noise of his cock thrusting in your pussy. 

despite all the times you’ve fucked before, you never seem to be able to get over this. the feeling of his dick striking against your cunt walls, the slight burn of your legs from the position he has you in, the noise of your cunt squelching with every quick thrust. 

because mingyu fucks you so eagerly. he’s chasing that high, chasing that hot pleasure that burns at his core. but he isn’t, of course, a greedy lover. 

mingyu makes sure to grind his hips against you, makes sure to rub against your walls and make those electric bundles within you dance from the stimulation. and he talks as he does it, lisp becoming prominent, eyes bright with the fever of passion. 

“feel so fucking good,” he says, and you almost can’t hear him over the sharp slap of his hips. “you’re so fucking hot and wet, princess — so fucking perfect, fucking made for me, made for my cock. 

“perfect pussy — it’s mine, princess. you’re mine, fuck —” and when your cunt clenches down around his dick in response, mingyu can’t help but laugh breathessly, canines peaking. “like that, princess? like me telling you that you’re mine? you are. all fucking mine, no one else’s.

“no one else gets to see this,” he says, eyes darting over your body. he takes in the jiggle of your tits as he thrusts, the sweat that glistens on your skin. “no one gets to see you all fucked out ‘n pretty like this. no one else gets to see your pretty fucking tits, your cute little cunt.”

he lets out another laugh, and then he’s covering your body with his, hands sliding to the backside of your knees to force them lower and lower. you can’t help but groan a little at the pain of it, toes curling at the stretch. 

and his dick — his dick seems to slide deeper in you, somehow forces itself further. 

“tell me,” mingyu hisses, beginning to fuck you once more. “tell me i’m doing good, princess. gotta say it. say i’m fucking you good.”

you can’t speak for a moment. so much is going on. your pussy is clenching, gut tightening. you’re trying to pay attention to what he’s saying, but you can’t help but feel everything so acutely; the slap of skin against skin, the stretch of your legs, his fat cock going so deep inside —

“tell me.”

your mouth quivers for a moment. when you speak it’s all automatic, not a single actual thought running through your brain. “so good, gyu — so — you fuck me so — so good —”

finally, and inevitably, mingyu slips his hand down to your cunt. it’s an easy glide of his thick fingers, slippery with your precious juices. for a moment he feels at your hole, feels your little hole gape around his dick as he fucks in out, in out. 

then mingyu’s hand continues on its journey, slipping up to frame your cute clit with his fingers. you’re already tensing up, pussy gripping his cock, in anticipation. 

and then mingyu begins rubbing at the muscle on either side of your clit, sending electric desire sparking up your body. he doesn’t rub in rhythm with his thrusts; instead mingyu keeps his hips quick and rabid and his rubbing smooth, a constant wave. it’s so much, it’s verging on overstimulating. 

you don’t know what to focus on — you can’t focus. 

your hips are bucking up into his, trying to meet each thrust, trying to spear yourself on his fat cock. at the same time you’re trying to force his fingers against you, trying to seek them out, and it’s this horrible, delightful overstimulation where you just don’t know what to do. 

it’s mind dumbing. you feel frantic; wantonly so. there’s no thought in your mind, no desire other than this. 

you want and you’re not even sure what you want; his cock fucking you so good, drilling into your sopping wet pussy, or his fingers, coaxing around your clit. 

you feel dumb with desire and overstimulation. you don’t know, you just don’t know. 

and it’s inevitable, really: you burst into tears. they spring out from your eyes and your mouth opens in a sob, your head pressing back against the mattress. you want want want but you don’t know, you don’t know —

mingyu presses his body against yours, grounding you with his heavy bulk. he presses open-mouthed kisses to your shoulders and throat and chest, trailing his lips. “c’mon,” he says, “gotta cum for me, princess. cum on my cock, fuckin’ cum on it.”

and you want want want —

mingyu’s teeth are sharp as he bites down onto your shoulder, digging in. the pain is bright and furious as it slices through you. it’s so startling that your entire body just seems to snap, and then you’re cumming, cumming cumming. 

it’s — you don’t even know what it is. all-consuming; electric; overpowering. it’s a cosmos bursting into everything and nothingness. 

mingyu stops thrusting as you cum, instead focusing on rubbing at your clit to get you through the orgasm. the loss of sensation has you sobbing once more, fingers twisting into the sheets as you buck your hips. 

you try to say something; fail. you try again. “p — please, please —”

mingyu lets out a loud groan. once he’s sure your orgasm has subsided, he withdraws from your cunt. you can’t help but cry at the loss, cry at how empty and gaping your pussy feels. 

mingyu manhandles you, twisting your body so your chest is pressing against the mattress and your ass is in the air. he mounts you, cock thrusting inside of you in one swift, almost brutal, movement. 

you press your face against the sheets, crying into them. so much is happening. your body is still ringing with the aftershocks of your orgasm, but mingyu is fucking you, and it’s so so so much and it’s so so so wonderful. 

because you feel so utterly used. you’re just a hole for him at this point, just a pussy for him to fuck and get his full of. 

and mingyu does. 

mingyu fucks you. there’s no love in it other than the fact he’s fucking his girl, his princess; no love other than the fact you’re his. he fucks you purely to seek his end, to make that burning-hot fever within him snap, and it just so happens the hole he’s using belongs to you. 

his hands are strong as they grip your hips, slapping you back onto his dick. he lets out soft pants, deep moans. 

“good boy,” he hisses out, mostly air. “‘m your good boy, yeah? fuckin’ you so good, princess. say it. say i’m fucking you so good.”

you fight around the sobs that escape you, and when you speak your words are muffled by the mattress. “fuckin’ me good,” you sob, “my good — good boy, gyu —”

mingyu lets out a low noise, a growl, of satisfaction. he fucks your cunt a few more times, each thrust harsh and quick. the noises are crude, the sound of wet skin against skin, of his dick resisting against the wet suction of your pussy with every pull out. 

and then mingyu’s cumming in you. his cum is hot and thick, and as soon as you feel it fill you there’s an overwhelming satisfaction that shoots through you. 

you made him cum; he came from your cunt. 

mingyu drapes himself over your back, ignoring how your body collapses beneath him. he’s still inside of your pussy, dick plugging your hole and keeping his white cum from dripping out. 

he pushes your sweaty hair aside, presses his nose against the shell of your ear. when he speaks his breath is hot against your flesh. “good girl,” he groans, his hips giving a gentle buck into you. “what a good girl you are. you’re my good girl, aren’t you? my babygirl with the fucking perfect little cunt, perfect little pussy.”

you whine, nodding against the mattress. his words echo in your brain: good girl, good girl, good girl. 

“say it.”

“‘m your good girl,” you whimper.

mingyu laughs against you, breathless. “yes, you are. and ‘cause you’re my good girl you’ll let me, let your good boy keep fucking your cunt, yeah? let me fill you up?”

your body is exhausted. your mind is exhausted. you can’t think, and you don’t know, quite frankly, how you’re even breathing. absolutely nothing is happening; even your blood seems to slow to a stillness within you, your body overwhelmed to a point of merely existing. 

but still: 

“my princess is a good girl,” he says, nipping at your ear lobe. “you’ll let me fill you up again, yeah?”

and you are. you are his good girl, are totally, completely his. 

and so you say: 

“yes.”

[hannieoftheyear]

Clarity (k.mg) TEASER

Mingyu doesn't want to pay you any mind. To him, you're just another girl that'll get her heart broken by his dumb best friend.

Why would he care, right? He shouldn't care about the crying sounds he can hear from his bedroom when his friend leaves you there alone for the girl he's actually in love with. And he shouldn't be getting close to you. He shouldn't dread the day his friend decides to end things with you and bring someone else home. He shouldn't be wishing to have met you first.

✧˖* pairing: mingyu x f!reader (with a side of toxic bf!jungkook)

✧˖* estimated release: middle of May! hopefully

✧˖* w.c: 1,4k for this teaser, full work around 20k (i think... it'll probably be longer).

✧˖* genre: bf's roommate mingyu, (awkward) acquaintances to lovers, the other side of the f2l trope, angst, smut.

✧˖* content warnings (full work): emotional cheating, but not actual cheating, jk is in love with his girl bsf, being with someone uninterested, crying, self-manipulating, jealousy, jk and reader break it off before anything actually happens with mingyu, also mingyu's kind of an asshole at first too, maybe a love triangle? i don't personally think it is but i see how it could look like one | explicit smut (not in teaser),body worship, praise, protected penetration. I'll probably add more as I'm still writing :)

THIS FIC IS FOR +18 READERS ONLY! I can't control what people read, but I can control who interacts with my blog. MINORS CAUGHT INTERACTING WILL BE BLOCKED.

✧˖* note: hi! I'm so happy to be sharing this will you! I hope you'll like this as much as I'm liking writing it ♡♡ also, I changed a few details after copying and pasting this scene onto tumblr, so there might be a few mistakes I forgot to change here! (like the girl bsf's name 😖)

comment this post to be added to the taglist! (minors and ageless blogs wont be added)

The waitress carries two pieces of cake and the biggest strawberry smoothie you’ve ever seen in your life, heading to your table. The size of the cup brings out chuckles from both Jungkook and you, but as soon as it gets placed between you on the table, the two straws draw your attention, and Jungkook asks the waitress for another smaller chocolate smoothie. 

“You can have that all for yourself babe, I know how much you love strawberries.” 

You don’t admit that you were excited for the corny romantic moment of sharing a smoothie with two straws, appreciating that he at least remembered your love for berries. 

Jungkook’s phone keeps vibrating with notifications, which he reads but doesn’t respond to, trying his best to focus on whatever you’re telling him. His mind is anywhere but the diner where you decided to have an afternoon snack, battling between answering Cathlyn’s worrying texts and listening to the ideas you gave for the congress you’re doing with your research group soon. 

In the middle of your story is when you realize Jungkook hasn’t said a word, his eyes lost to the much more interesting brown swirls on the wooden table. 

“Is everything okay?” He’s been noticeably distracted lately, getting lost in thought more often, taking longer to reply to your texts. You attribute it to the time of the year, as he’s busier at work and with his studies, and so are you. But even if he says he’s fine, you’re beginning to worry. 

“Yeah babe, sorry, just a little tired.” His lips line up in a tight smile in an attempt to reassure you. “Do you mind hanging out at my apartment after?” 

Scraping your plans to catch an afternoon movie, you hum and nod before returning to eating your piece of cake, seemingly disguising your disappointment since he doesn’t ask any more questions. 

Jungkook leaves his plate exactly the way the server left it for him, the piece of chocolate cake with not even a particle less, his fork unused and clean on the side. He gulps down his new personal smoothie in a second, and as soon as the last piece of your cake is entering your mouth, he’s asking the waitress for the bill. He knows you’re still talking to him, he can see your lips moving, but your words enter one ear and leave through the other, having no meaning in his mind. 

He pays without asking for your share, which you weren’t even going to argue with him about. You’re usually a heavy supporter of each person paying for what they ordered, but as the minutes pass by, it’s becoming harder and harder to not get mad at him, so you’re going to spend his money without feeling bad about it. You know you should ask him about it, but shouldn’t he tell you if something was wrong? Especially after you’ve already asked him? Between being a pushover and pretending nothing’s happening, you end up choosing to just spend the rest of the afternoon with him and hope he’ll just tell you the truth. 

The walk to his apartment is less than 10 minutes long, but every dreaded step drags heavily, making everything move slower, with the both of you in silence, and the incessant notifications blowing up his phone acting as a remainder of his true priority. 

Jungkook’s trying to ignore the constant ping coming out of the pocket of his jeans, pretending he isn’t dying to just answer whoever keeps trying to contact him. 

And you have a vague idea of who it could possibly be. 

The cold apartment doesn’t feel welcoming as you enter through the door, lights off and deadly silent. Excusing yourself to the bathroom, you tiptoe around as if in fear. Your reflection in the mirror looks unmistakably disappointed and sad, and you wonder if Jungkook really didn’t notice or just didn’t care. 

He can be charming and gentle when he wants to, always so polite and respectful, but the ability to be aware of your feelings may be something he could work on. Or at least understand that the things he does ultimately affect you too. 

On the kitchen, he’s already forgot his one rule for the date, and is carefully reading every message he got, the glasses of water he was filling for the both of you forgotten on the counter. 

When he hears you come out to the living room, Jungkook rushes to sit with you, with a plan already in mind. 

“Babe, will you get mad if I go for a bit?” His fingers trace lines on your forearm, and you begin to lean into him before your brain registers his words. 

“What? Why?”  

“Cathy called me,” he takes a second to think about the best words to use, “she had a fight with her boyfriend, and I have to be there for her.” 

Jungkook never liked Cathlyn's boyfriends. Something about them always feels off to him, as if none of them are ever right for his best friend. In his eyes, he just wants the best for her, someone who'll really be able to care for Cathlyn in the way he thinks she deserves. 

“Oh, I hope she’s okay.” Deep down, you wonder if it really is so serious that Jungkook feels obligated to stand you up. But it’s fair, she needs her best friend when she’s having a bad time. The fact that her best friend is your boyfriend is just a coincidence. 

“I’ll be back before dinner and I’ll make it up to you, okay?” He’s already standing up, his arms on both of your sides as he crouches to give you a quick peck goodbye. 

The door closes shut before you can ever utter a reply, and his steps echo on the hallway, getting further away every second, until you’re left in complete silence. 

In the quietness of the apartment, you instantly feel out of place, unwelcomed by the inanimate objects surrounding you. Seconds turn into minutes, the ticking sounds of the clock being the only sense of time you have left. You don’t even want to grab your phone, in an intent to avoid the inevitable feeling of disappointment that’ll take over you if there are no texts from Jungkook waiting in your notifications. 

How stupid is what you’re doing? How desperate? Waiting for your boyfriend to come back from the home of the woman that seems to be his priority? You shouldn’t be feeling this way, especially since he's already told you that there’s nothing more to their friendship. But it’s still hard. 

The back of your eyes burn as tears threaten to come out, blurring your vision just as you hear a key turn, heavy steps entering the home you’re not supposed to be in.

Mingyu knew he'd find you at his apartment.  

Jungkook texted him that he had an emergency and had to leave in a rush. And Mingyu knows what “emergency” really means in that context. It means Jungkook rushed over to Cathlyn's at the first sign that she was feeling off, and he wanted to hide it from him so he wouldn’t have to hear the same reprimand again. 

What Mingyu didn’t expect was to find you on the verge of crying on his couch, scattering to find any form of tissue paper somewhere inside your bag. 

His friend put him in an awkward situation once again. Mingyu doesn’t want to get to know you more than he already does. He knows you're on a different major and that’s enough, because one day, in the near future, it’s going to be another girl walking through the door instead of you, and he’ll never see you again.

Mingyu would usually come home from work, put on his headphones, and spend a few hours on his computer until his stomach urges him to eat something. But for this particular afternoon he’s been put in, he skips the headphones in case you need something, or at least until Jungkook comes back, which he isn’t even sure is going to happen.

A project for work distracts him for a good while, organizing different stats and numbers on the excel sheet his boss sent him earlier in the day. He almost forgets you’re on the other side of the wall. Almost.

If he loses his focus on his computer screen, he can hear when you move around on the couch. What can you possibly be doing? Is what he asks himself at any noise that reaches his ears, but there’s never an answer. Until something alerts him that you’re not doing well. The same sniffle he heard days ago as you were watching a movie with Jungkook echoes against the walls of his bedroom.

can't wait to share this with you! don't forget to comment this post to be on the taglist! :)

[synthetickitsune]

hi! can you write a fluff fic for wonwoo? like wonwoo's reaction to his s/o having a big fat crush on him despite them already dating. getting shy around him sometimes, touching squeezing and poking his face cause it just gets her all giddy and he's just there like ☺️

hey, i hope this is okay! thanks for requesting ♡

Wonwoo (SVT) | Shy fluff | 0.6k | gn!reader

He wonders if you know. Anytime you look away from his gaze, every time you immediately check if he’s still watching you and whine because he absolutely is, he wonders if you realize how hard it is to pretend he’s not affected.

Wonwoo is genuinely proud of himself for getting to this level of acting cool, even if he’s anything but. His naturally stoic expression and features that make him look cold help and for once he’s grateful. He’ll take any help he can. He wants you to know that he loves you, of course. He tries hard to show it, to make you feel loved and cherished. It’s just that he doesn’t need you to know that he’s wrapped around your finger.

And you’re doing it again - that thing you do, lowering your voice when you call him love. Like it’s a secret, like it’s new and unfamiliar, not a nickname you’ve been calling him for months. He remembers when you, half-asleep, admitted it doesn’t feel like you deserve him. Perhaps that’s why he always turns to you so eagerly when you call him that. With a small, private smile that belongs only to you and eyes that betray what he’s trying to hide. Yet he’d rather his secret be revealed than you thinking anything other than that you’re perfect for him. 

How could you think anything else? His heart races so fast you must hear it trying to beat out of his chest. Wonwoo might be able to control his breathing, yet his heart will always speak the truth. And as your finger traces the side of his face while he pretends to be asleep, he soon might lose control of his lungs as well. Your touch is gentle, obviously you’re trying not to wake him. If only you knew he’s been awake long before you, just biding his time until you wake up and make his morning better.

The sheets are too warm and comfortable to get out of and you might be too shy to initiate these soft, affectionate moments otherwise. It’s cute - as cute as it is frustrating. There’s nothing to be shy about. He’s scared too, afraid he’ll chase you away without meaning to. More than that, he supposes it’s just his nature. Just the walls he built around himself. The urge to protect his feelings, to hide them. He’s trying for you, trying hard to love you in a way that you will feel. And perhaps your shyness does help him peek out of his protective shell. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to see you bloom as well.

“Good morning,” he whispers softly, his arm already reaching for you to bring you closer. Today you go easily, allowing him to embrace you and kiss the top of your head. Not a single squeak, not a single jerk that would betray your surprise.

“You were awake the whole time, right?” you murmur against his chest. Slowly you hug him back.

“Mhm,” he confirms wordlessly. He has yet to open his eyes. “Why?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you ask, your lips press against his skin in a pout. At times like these Wonwoo’s especially glad he doesn’t wear a shirt when he sleeps. He smiles. He might not be able to see you now, but you’re adorable when you’re sulking.

“You’d stop,” he answers simply. You don’t try to disprove that statement.

It’s quiet for a moment, only the sheets rustling while he readjusts the blanket to cover your shoulders. You must hear how ridiculous his heart is being. All simply because you’re cuddled up to him like this, warming him up more than any blanket or the sun could.

“Thank you for not saying anything,” you eventually whisper. He doesn’t push for you to tell him why, doesn’t push for you to stop being shy. One day you’ll realize there’s no need.

And when you do, he thinks he’s going to miss moments like these.

[hannieween]

sabotage! | wicked games series | k. mg

You had just walked away from something neither of you was ready for—but you couldn’t avoid much it longer. You were falling for Mingyu. And you had to admit it.

☆ pairings: kim mingyu x female reader ☆ genre: angst, fluff, smut (18+) ☆ aus: bartender mingyu, friends to rebound fucking, no strings attached ☆ word count: 12.5k

› CHAPTER ONE – CHAPTER TWO – READ MORE

› 🎧: up late – gemini | take it slow – yugyeom | toxic love – colde | only girl – hyejin | we got time – hojean | i want u around – yugyeom ft. devita | closer to you – jungkook | dope lovers – dpr ian | can't get you – jaehyun | fwb – twlv | middle of the night – monsta x

☆ warnings: smut with plot, toxic dynamics, possessiveness, soft dom mingyu, sub reader, unprotected p in v sex, reader is on birth control, oral sex (f. receiver), fingering, dirty talk, creampie, sex on the floor. reader is chubby. pet names: baby, shorty, sugar, sweetheart (hers)

☆ disclaimer: minors DO NOT INTERACT. this post is intended for 18+ readers ONLY. please have your age stated in your blog description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂

sabotage!

The fan turned slowly, rustling the leaves of the plants hanging from your ceiling. Every time it swept your direction, a wave of relief washed over you. The heat emanating from every wall of the apartment was unbearable—bad enough that you’d grown used to spending your evenings in the little office you rented just to escape it.

But you had to be at home. At least sometimes.

The open window allowed no breeze in. The building’s ventilation was so poorly designed it felt like the heat was sitting on the back of your head. Heavy. Suffocating. You moved slowly through the haze, trying to focus on the chores piling up around you.

Mingyu was supposed to come over in a few minutes. But the apartment was in such a state that you couldn’t procrastinate any longer.

Two things made that nearly impossible: Mingyu. And the damn heat.

“I could bring ice cream. Or beer. Or both,” read his most recent text.

You could read it in his voice.

“No ice cream, no entry,” you replied, shaking your head and huffing at yourself for smiling at your screen.

You left your phone charging on the kitchen counter and returned to rinsing the plates. A few seconds later, it buzzed again. You nearly dropped one bowl, scrambling to check your phone.

“Oof. Cruel. Chocolate or vanilla?”

“Not cruel. Just fair. Strawberry.”

You paused, eyes on the screen, waiting for those three little dots to appear. Then, without meaning to, you scrolled back through hundreds of messages. Conversations that wandered from the mundane to the ridiculous to the deeply personal. The memes, the TMIs. As if you’d never stopped talking.

It was as though those years without seeing each other had never happened. As though those years had happened in one day. You hadn’t seen Mingyu since you both turned eighteen. After school ended, life pulled you in opposite directions. Years without contact—until now, of course.

You rinsed off the last plate and placed it neatly in the rack. Leaning against the counter, you stared out of the window, even though there was nothing to see but the windows of the next building reflecting the heat from the summer.

Your phone buzzed one more time on the counter, and you raised it to read Mingyu’s text causing your tummy to clench. “On my way”

You didn’t know exactly when it had started—this ache inside you whenever Mingyu texted. Or whenever you began checking your phone every morning and before going to bed. Your heart did this anxious little flip every time you knew he was coming over or every time he called.

It isn’t like that. You told yourself sternly. It’s not like you’re in love already. It can’t be.

Then, like a mantra, you repeated to yourself: no strings, no expectations. It’s casual.

Would it be so bad, though? To fall for someone who has shown you affection, and cares for you. Not only that but—Mingyu looked good. Better than you remembered. In school, he was one of the good-looking ones, but quiet, and focused. Top of the class. Not the flirty type. Now he was taller. Broader. He carried himself proudly. He was stronger and softer all at once. The baby fat was gone from his face, but the boy you knew was still there—the same warmth behind the smile, the same gentleness in the teasing and bantering.

You, on the other hand, did not have the same figure you had at school. Your body had changed, your chest and hips had filled out and, although you still had some belly and fluffy thighs, you felt comfortable in your skin. Good, even.

And what was best of all was that Mingyu made you feel seen.

Not that it meant a thing, though. The last time you talked, you were still labelled your thing as friends. Friends who have crossed a line no friends usually do.

You looked around your apartment and suddenly were very aware of how it looked. It wasn’t messy, just a plain picture of how you were living your life currently. Like someone who was doing their best to keep up with life, work, and such. A cluttered rack of shoes. A forgotten bowl of cereal sitting beside your laptop. A load of clothes spinning in the washing machine.

That wasn’t the problem, though. You felt that the real mess was in you. But you weren’t ready to admit that yet.

The last breakup was still a wound you hadn’t dared to touch again. Your ex had waited years to tell you he didn’t believe he would want marriage, nor something more committed. And even if Mingyu’s breakup was a different kind of heartbreak, you weren’t sure he’d understand yours. Even worse—you weren’t sure you would recover if he didn’t.

You were about to fold the blanket thrown on the couch, suppressing the thought of checking your phone. But you knew there were no new messages. Mingyu was coming. And that was almost both the comfort and the problem. As though you wanted to see him but push the truth as far as you could.  

You wanted to tell him the truth. But you also wanted to stretch what you had before you gathered the courage to tell him.

Your heart gave a leap inside your chest when the doorbell rang. You ran to the door to get it, taking a deep breath before pulling the door open.

Mingyu stood there. Perfect in all his six-foot-something glory, wearing green cargo pants, a plain white t-shirt, and that beautiful smile that made your tummy twist. In one hand, he held a bag of groceries.

He lifted the bag to show off the pint of ice cream. “Strawberry, as Milady requested,” he announced with a goofy tone.

You huffed despite yourself, leaning against the doorframe. “Wow. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Cute and also melting,” he said with a heavy sigh, looking at you in plea. “Please tell me your fan is working.”

“It’s barely hanging in there, but it’s working just fine,” you rolled your eyes playfully, stepping aside so he could get inside your apartment.

He kicked off his shoes at the door and headed straight for the living room, dropping the bag on the kitchen counter along the way. The second the fan hit him, he groaned in delight, collapsing onto the couch as though he lived there.

You didn’t want to admit that hanging out with Mingyu was becoming addictive. So much so that your body was starting to depend on him. You felt as though you could finally breathe now that he was there. 

“So this is the screen,” he said, pointing at the rectangular box propped against the wall. Then he comically slid off the couch to sit beside it on the floor, inspecting the unopened stand box like it was a Christmas gift waiting for it to be opened.

“It came yesterday,” you replied, putting the ice cream in the freezer and the beer in the fridge.

“And this is the stand?” he asked, turning the box over.  

“Yup,” you said, closing the fridge. “I haven’t had the time to put it up.”

“Or to get rid of the packaging I see,” he added with a playful grin.  

You shot him a glare. “God forbid I have a life.”

“Sure, yeah,” he teased, his eyes flitting to the stack of dishes and the rumble of your washing machine.  

You rolled your eyes, crossed the room and stood over him. “Your visiting privileges are gonna be revoked real soon.”

Mingyu clicked his tongue and reached for the back of your knee, tugging it lightly. With his other hand, he took yours and pulled you down beside him on the floor. He was warm, as he usually was. And you hated how good it felt to have his touch on you again.  

You sat down next to him, your knee brushing his.

Mingyu looked at you, his gaze softening as it drifted from your eyes and then to your lips. “I bought you ice cream,” he said like it meant something.

“I know,” you replied, grinning while looking at him expectantly.

“Don’t I get something in return?” he asked, his tone low.

You laughed lightly, though your heart was fluttering like crazy. “You get a thanks,” you said.

Mingyu smiled, slipping a hand on the back of your neck to pull you into a kiss. His lips met yours in a tender kiss, fleeting. “Mmn,” he mumbled. “That’s enough.”

He kissed you like he meant it. That’s what you wanted to believe—because it was what you felt. “Okay,” you giggled sweetly, kissing him again. “Thank you for the ice cream.”

He gave a small smile and nudged the box again. “So where do you want this thing?”

You pointed to the bare wall across from the couch. “Right there.”

Mingyu pulled back slightly. “You have a good eye,” he said, grinning when you just clicked your tongue. “What? I mean it!”

Mingyu got to work while you just hovered, handing him screws, and the drill. Almost like playing doctor—he’d say, “Drill,” and you would pass it to him. “Screw. Hold this. Now give me a kiss.”

While he worked, you tried not to stare, but something about watching him work, his focused brow, the sleeves of this t-shirt rolled up to his pits, the sweat trickling down his forehead… he made it impossible not to gawk.

It took a little over half an hour, and a bit of playful bantering over how low or how high the TV should go, considering you were, in his words “A cute baby.” But the TV was successfully mounted. And he gave it a firm pat like he was proud of a job well done.

“Okay, you’re hired,” you said as he turned to you, almost completely covered in sweat.

“I’ll accept payments in ice cream and kisses,” he shrugged with an incredible ease.

The two of you ended up back on the floor again, the fan humming in front of you, the screen glowing in the dark with the opening credits of some mind-numbing action movie neither of you had the interest to actually watch.

But he sat beside you, legs extended on the floor, his thigh brushing yours, his arm slung loosely on the couch behind you.

You felt the need to relax into his arm. To stay in the comfort of his warmth and not think too hard.

“Do you want more ice cream?” he asked softly as the movie dove into another mindless action scene. It was a car chase this time, and it was so long that both of you just disconnected. 

“Yes, please,” you said, getting ready to stand up.

“Stay here. I’ll bring it to you,” he said kindly, getting your mug and his.

You watched him go to the kitchen, but you were suddenly distracted by his phone buzzing on the floor right beside you. The screen lit up, and you wouldn’t have looked, but the name was too easy to watch with just one blink of your eyes.

Gigi: Give me a chance to explain. I think we made a mistake… Read the preview message on the screen.

But before you could even muster a reaction, he was coming back, two mugs full of ice cream in his hands. He plopped down beside you with a sigh, completely oblivious to his phone, or the stammering pain in your heart.

The TV screen cast a soft light across the room, flickering over your face, and the faint sheen of sweat on your collarbones. You weren’t really watching the movie anymore, or eating ice cream. Instead, your eyes kept drifting toward his phone. It lay between you and Mingyu, silent. But your heart was still buzzing with the name you’d seen flash on the screen.

Gigi.

You didn’t know her. Not really. You hadn’t dared ask. Mingyu had mentioned his ex only a couple of times when he told you about her, about the things she did to leave a mark on him.

But you never pressed. Maybe because you were afraid of what he’d say. Or deep down, you didn’t want to be compared. You didn’t want her to exist in your mind. A faceless, nameless competitor.

But now, she had a name.

You were sure it was her. Who else would be texting those words?

You shifted slightly, pulling your knees up to your chest and hugged them tightly. You pretended to focus on the movie. Mingyu laughed at something, nudging your shoulder. You laughed too. But you were on autopilot now.

Your throat tightened.

No strings, no expectations. This was supposed to be casual, and easy. You had agreed to this. You said yes to casual. You said yes to him, even when you knew that you weren’t getting all of him.

But here you were, trying to get rid of the pain invading your chest.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine.

The phone buzzed again—furiously this time. The screen lit up. Gigi was calling now. You swallowed hard, pretending to get your mug to swallow half-melted, but still cold strawberry ice cream.

Mingyu reached for his phone, pressing the Decline button and discarding the phone too easily. There was no expression on his face, nothing. He was too sure that you hadn’t seen anything because he leaned on you again like nothing had happened.

He declined the call. He didn’t even react. He was here, beside you.

Still, the pain inside you tightened.

You glanced at him, his profile soft in the glow of the screen, his lips slightly curled in a downturned smile.

He looked relaxed. Happy, even. And it made something sting deep inside you. You felt that it was unfair that you were upset over something that he didn’t even give a second thought to. You wanted to be present in the moment. You wanted tonight to be just another night of comfort, of kisses, of strawberry ice cream.

You blinked slowly, forcing a breath through your nose.

Don’t say anything. Don’t ruin it. You’ll scare him off. You’ll make it something it’s not. It’s casual. It’s casual. It’s casual.

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder like you didn’t see his ex calling his phone. Like you weren’t spiraling underneath your mask.

Mingyu didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arm around you, letting his fingers trail gingerly along your arm.

At that moment, you decided to believe that this was enough.

You closed your eyes. He felt so close, and yet you felt so detached from yourself.

You could smell his cologne—the smell that lingered on your pillows for days. Citrusy, a mix of coconut and vanilla. Like summer, and so familiar. You could hear his soft breathing beside you, his little huffs of amusement when something in the ridiculously action-packed movie made him laugh.

And still, you felt stiff under his arm. Every nerve in your body recoiled at the gentle circles he was drawing on your shoulder. You tried to will yourself to relax, to enjoy his caress on your skin.

But you couldn’t stop the thoughts now. Had Gigi ever felt this too? Had she been leaning against his shoulder, skin prickling at those same soft circles Mingyu drew with his fingers?

You tried to push those thoughts away, to swallow the knot in your throat.

Mingyu shifted beside you, pulling you slightly closer to him, and you let him. But you couldn’t relax. Because you felt that if you did, you would sink deeper into the spiral. And he’d vanish. He’d leave like your ex did.

You had to come clean now. You had to admit it. You had fallen for someone who was never really yours. And you had done it willingly.

He leaned his head gently against yours. His voice came quiet and soft. “You okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I’m just tired.”

He mouthed an okay and didn’t press any further. You realized then, that he never insisted. And that was part of the problem.

You wanted him to ask. You wanted to believe that if you allowed yourself to be vulnerable with him, he would say the right thing, do the right thing—stay. Tell you he feels the same.  

You curled in closer and said nothing. Mingyu welcomed you in, his lips brushing the top of your head. He made a trail of soft kisses from your forehead to the tip of your nose, ending in your lips.

It almost made you cry.

The credits began to roll on the screen, the living room now splashed by blueish and greenish lights from the movie ending in a slideshow of the names of the cast. You were still curled into him, his arm loose around your shoulders, his body warm against yours.

You could feel his breathing, steady against your skin.

And for a second, fear loosened its grip around your heart.

You turned to him, lifting a hand to brush your fingers against his cheek, commanding his eyes to yours. You looked at the shape of his jaw, and the way his eyes focused on you. He looked peaceful. Present.

You opened your mouth, the words hovered on the tip of your tongue.

“I think I’m falling for you.”

But they stayed there. Heavy. Waiting.

You blinked, dropping your gaze to the floor again. The TV screen kept flashing, and the fan kept turning, brushing the back of your neck with its weak, rhythmic breeze. It wasn’t enough to cool the heat that had settled in the back of your head.

You swallowed hard. “Hey,” you said, your voice soft, so soft.

Mingyu tilted his head toward you. “Hm?”

You looked at him. Your chest ached with the thought of how easy it would be to love him.

But you swallowed your words. Maybe you were wrong to say yes to no strings. Maybe you were afraid to love again.

“I need to tell you something.”

But instead, you smiled.

“Thank you for the ice cream.” You said, tilting your head to press a kiss on his lips.

Mingyu smiled, pulling you closer to return the kiss to you, cupping your cheek with his hand. “Anytime.”

You leaned in against his body, kissing him deeper. His hand found your waist, clutching it gently as he slid his tongue on your lower lip. A moan bubbled in your chest before you could stop it. You didn’t want to moan. But it was too late now.

It was his effect. The effect his lips had on you. It was so irresistible, and addictive that you just couldn’t help it.

Mingyu smiled into the kiss, backing away a little, pressing a ghostly kiss on your lower lip. “I like it when you do that,” he whispered softly.

“When I do what?” you asked dumbly, afraid to open your eyes. You were just so flustered already that you didn’t want to see his stupidly beautiful face.

“Those sounds,” he said, closing the little space between you to press more featherlight kisses on your lips, using a hand on your chin to keep you in place.

“Yeah?” you breathed, becoming more and more drunk on his kisses.

“Yeah,” he replied in kind. “Makes me a little crazy,” he added, diving for another kiss.

Another moan got caught in your throat, but you kissed him back, tasting the strawberry ice cream on his tongue. Mingyu clutched your waist, his fingers brushing the sliver of tummy spilling between your shorts and your t-shirt that had hiked up your waist.

Your heart was racing now, feeling like you were on the verge of insanity. You didn’t care anymore—about no strings, about her name displaying on his phone.

Mingyu wasn’t yours. But he was here.

And he was kissing you like you were his. Touching you like your skin belonged to him and no one else. That was all that mattered. All you needed.

Your hand found his torso, loving the way his body was always warm, the way he always seemed to radiate warmth. As though even the sun loved him so much that he carried it everywhere.

You slipped a hand beneath his t-shirt, shyly feeling his lower tummy, the way his muscles clenched softly upon feeling your hand against his warm and soft skin. His breath hitched as he paused between kisses, and that almost made you stop.

But Mingyu grabbed your wrist, guiding your hand further up his torso, telling you where he needed your touch. You felt him up, his lats, his pectorals, inadvertently pushing his t-shirt up with your hands.

You backed away slightly, taking his t-shirt off and left it beside you on the floor. Returning your hands to him, you kissed him now with abandon, moaning salaciously in his mouth. You felt his chest, the warmth of his skin and the vibrations when he moaned back.

His hands roved on your back, dipping beneath your tank top to feel your skin freely. You let out a tiny moan when his fingers reached the line of your bra. He pulled away to remove your tank top, leaving it on top of his t-shirt.

Mingyu sent a silent glance at your face, right before his fingers slipped beneath the straps of your bra, tugging them down your shoulders. His hand moved back, unclasping your bra efficiently and leaving it on the floor.

You closed your eyes, releasing a sigh as his hands cupped your tits, palming them gently as his thumbs found your nipples to play with them. The fan swept over your half-naked bodies, making your skin prickle under his hands.

Mingyu wanted control that night. You could tell when he motioned you to lay back on the floor, and so you did, letting him have whatever he wanted from you. He started kissing your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses from the crook of your neck to your collarbones.

You sighed blissfully, a hand cupping the back of his head, feeling his long hair beneath your fingertips. You swallowed hard as his lips reached your chest, a hand cupping one of your tits again as he kissed and licked your skin.

“God—Mingyu,” you called softly in praise as his mouth wrapped around one of your nipples, humming softly as his tongue rolled around your areola.

Your breathing hitched embarrassingly, your fingers curling around the strands of his hair as he nipped and tugged at your nipple with his teeth. Your mouth parted, letting out a soft moan that was barely audible.

The TV continued streaming another movie, one that you were too entranced to even pay attention to. But the soft glow coming from the screen allowed you to look at Mingyu as he glanced at your eyes. A soft smile appeared on his lips as he pressed a peck on your nipple before teasing the other.

Noises filled the room, the movie playing on the TV, the fan turning on one corner, Mingyu’s lips on your skin and your moans.

His trail of kisses continued down your tummy, kissing every inch of your skin slowly, as though he wanted to cover your whole body with affection. You flinched slightly when his hands clutched your waist, his fingers sinking onto your skin as his lips reached the spot below your belly button.

Mingyu pulled back as his hands grabbed the band of your shorts, pulling them down, and bringing your panties along. You raised your knees, helping him get the last two pieces of clothing you were wearing. He left your clothes aside, stopping to look at you—splayed on the floor, completely naked for him. The only thing illuminating the room was the soft glow coming from the TV screen, but it was enough to see the entranced look on his face.

You were about to ask—just pry a little into the meaning of that look he was giving you. Your heart was racing like crazy, and even though you wanted to, you couldn’t bring yourself to speak up.

Mingyu beat you to it. With a sigh, he said, “You’re beautiful.”

Your heart paused, unsure of what to say. It was certainly not the first time he had said something like this, but you were too stunned or too entranced to even reply with a simple thanks.

“I have something to tell you, Mingyu,” your inner voice spoke, over and over as he continued loving your skin with kisses, sending you looks while his lips descended to your mound.

His hands parted your thighs gently, and you closed your eyes as he ran his tongue on your inner thigh, bringing a lewd moan from you. Feeling his mouth so close to your pussy sent you into a frenzy, making you nearly forget everything. He continued kissing and licking, prepping you until your pussy was dripping.

And when he finally licked you, your body became ablaze with pleasure. You arched your back on the floor, your fingers reaching for his hair as he licked your pussy with broad strokes, tasting you, drinking you in.

“Fuck—Mingyu,” you moaned, the sound so lewd, so sweet that it made him moan against your pussy.

His tongue slid up and down your folds, teasing you until you were reaching desperation. You buckled your hips slightly, trying to tell him where you needed his mouth the most.

But his hands gripped you by the thighs, forcing them open and commanding you to hold steady, right before his lips trapped your clit, sucking it gently. You cried out loudly, thankful that the movie playing on the TV was loud enough to cover your noises.

He suckled your clit, tugging it gently and slowly as his tongue started teasing it too, pushing it with slow motions. You were breathing hard, your body limp with pleasure, skin prickling under his hands.

You opened your eyes and saw his head between your thighs, pleasuring you like there was no tomorrow like there was no other girl in the world. 

That was when the phone on the floor next to the couch came back on. The soft glow cast a slight shadow on the ceiling above you. You didn’t need to look. But your eyes moved anyway. Gigi. She was calling again.

You stared at the screen for a second, your heart racing. But Mingyu kept pleasuring you, oblivious to his surroundings, so wrapped up in you that he hummed against your skin.

Two of his fingers slipped inside you, curling gently against your walls. You exhaled a moan, the pleasure so great, so sweet that you decided to ignore the phone. It was still buzzing on the floor, sounding so faint in contrast to the TV screen that he remained blissfully oblivious to it.

So you stroked his scalp with your fingers, gently brushing his hair as he ate you out. Suddenly, something came over you, something so ugly you didn’t know how to get rid of it—Mingyu was here, while his ex was trying to reach for him. And you couldn’t even bring yourself to feel sorry for the girl.

Because when Mingyu made you cum, it was the best experience you had ever felt in your life. Your orgasm was so long, so intense that you felt like you were falling from the tallest building, out of control. You screamed his name, you gasped, you cried until you couldn’t breathe.

And when he finally climbed on top of your body, you wrapped your arms tightly around him as he fucked you. You forgot about his ex the minute his cock was inside you.

She didn’t call again. And Mingyu slept in your bed.

The next few days were slow. It was a lazy morning for Mingyu. The apartment was quiet, aside from the TV running on low volume.

Mingyu saw on the couch, sprawled with one arm tucked under his head, his eyes barely on the screen. His coffee sat untouched on the table, and he believed that it had already gone cold.

He checked his phone lazily, seeing your name from a message you had sent half an hour ago. He didn’t want to open it, not yet. Not when his ex’s name was just below yours.

Wonwoo came out of his bedroom, curiously sending his gaze over the living room. “Morning,” he said flatly, entering the open kitchen.

“Good morning,” he replied with a soulless tone.

Wonwoo grabbed the cereal box, and a bowl and got the milk from the fridge with mechanical movements. “Everything okay with you?”

Mingyu shook his head no. He sighed again, opening his phone to block Gigi’s number after sending her a simple text that read, “Don’t look for me anymore” and turned off his phone again.

“What’s up with you, then?” Wonwoo asked.

Mingyu didn’t look at him. “I’m just tired.”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow. “No, this is new.”

Mingyu exhaled, rubbing his hands over his face. “It’s not a big deal, hyung.”

“Which only means that it is,” Wonwoo said with expert ease, moving to sit on the other end of the couch.

Mingyu remained silent, and this was his biggest tell. He was usually the talkative one, not Wonwoo. Their dynamic as best friends and roommates had always been easy. But ever since Mingyu and his ex broke up, Wonwoo had been selecting his words carefully.

“Is this… about your ex?” Wonwoo dared to ask.

Mingyu huffed. “I just blocked her,” he rolled his eyes.

Wonwoo cocked his head to one side. “Really?”

“Really. This isn’t about Gigi.”

Wonwoo gaped a little. “So this is about her,” he realized, not hiding his surprise. “Isn’t your thing casual?” he asked carefully, pushing his frames up the bridge of his nose with one knuckle.

Mingyu nodded, sitting up straight on the couch. “Yeah, that’s the problem.” He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back and releasing a heavy sigh. “I don’t know. Maybe… I mean—it’s easy with her. But I’m starting to think that I’m just not doing this for fun.”

Wonwoo listened quietly.

Mingyu continued, “She makes me feel—” Mingyu stopped, pausing to glance at the ceiling. “I don’t know.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “She makes me feel like being with someone again isn’t such a bad idea.”

Wonwoo let out a breath. “But that’s good, isn’t it?” he asked.

Mingyu shrugged. “It should be.” He said half-heartedly, leaning his head on the headrest of the couch, his eyes swimming upwards. “But every time I think about labelling it something, I freeze. I don’t even have the courage to take her on a date. I feel like I’ll mess it up.”

The moment Wonwoo heard that, he went rigid. Mingyu had told him so little about how his relationship with Gigi ended. But he was there to see the state that Mingyu had been in when they broke up. 

It was as though the very life had been drained from him. The kind, charismatic Mingyu was replaced by the shadow of a stranger. Cold, lifeless, broken.

Something unfamiliar stirred deep within Wonwoo. He thought about keeping his judgement light, and impartial. But he couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of worry—not only for Mingyu but for you as well. 

“I may not know her like you,” Wonwoo said after the long pause. “But I know that most women don’t want a perfect guy, just someone that cares.”

Mingyu continued staring at the ceiling, letting the words sink in. “Yeah, I know. And I care.”

Wonwoo refrained from pointing out the way that Mingyu uttered those last words. It was a detached manner, weak. Just off.

Mingyu sighed, running his hand over his face again. “Okay, maybe I’m not all in,” he confessed, drawing his words weakly. “I think it’s easier this way, you know? If I don’t care, it won’t hurt when she leaves once she figures I’m not enough for her.”

“Why are you so sure she’ll leave?” Wonwoo asked slowly.

Mingyu shook his head lightly, chewing his lip like it was the best way to keep his mouth from saying something stupid. “Gigi left like it was nothing. Like all the time we were together was nothing.”

Wonwoo sat there, rigid. He wanted to get a better look at Mingyu’s face, to understand what was happening behind those eyes.

But Mingyu remained looking at the ceiling, it was the best way he could keep himself talking without giving too much. So he continued, his voice lower now: “And now I have this girl who actually listens. She makes me laugh. She makes me want to do things again. But I keep thinking—Mingyu, you’re going to fuck this up.”

Wonwoo waited for Mingyu to keep talking. But when nothing more was said, he racked his brains for something smart to say. But the truth was, Wonwoo was a calculated man. His advice was always straight to the point. And he didn’t have a lot of experience with romantic feelings.

He was a guy that just knew what he wanted, but sometimes people wanted what they couldn’t get. And Wonwoo knew that well enough.

“Maybe. Maybe you will. Maybe you won’t,” Wonwoo said, remembering vaguely the things he said to you the last time he saw you. “Maybe she’s not Gigi.”

Mingyu snapped, his gaze panning to Wonwoo. “She’s not.” He said without hesitation.

Wonwoo huffed, rolling his eyes with faux annoyance. “You care.” He said. “It’s blatantly obvious that you do. So stop acting like it’s casual. Because if you’re not all in, then that would make things ugly. Not only for you, but for her too.”

Mingyu swallowed hard, he didn’t speak. Something in his entire demeanour softened, and then he sighed, blinking for a long second. “Yeah,” he whispered.

Then he reached for his phone, opened it, and looked at your message. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard before he started typing.

Wonwoo got up from the couch, patting Mingyu’s head gently. “You’ll be fine,” he said quietly.

Mingyu didn’t reply, his eyes lifting to look at his best friend. He smiled softly, nodding at him before driving his attention back to his phone.

Maybe Wonwoo was right. Maybe Mingyu won’t fuck this up. Maybe he will. But he had to at least try.

The next week, the gym was buzzing with energy—loud music playing through the speakers, weights clanking, fans turning on the ceiling.

You were now taking a liking to coming here late in the morning when it wasn’t too packed. You were midway through the second set of weighted squats, trying to keep your form perfect and your gaze away from the mirrors. 

But a looming figure over your body made you lift your gaze, spotting Jungkook behind you, grinning like an idiot. 

“You need a spot or just trying to show off?” he said with a tone you hated to hear from him.

You rolled your eyes but ended up smiling. “Don’t you have other people to bother?”

He leaned against the support bar of the smith machine, tattoed arms crossed over his puffed chest. “I do. But none of them clap back at me like you.”

“Pfffft.” You racked the bar, grabbing your towel. “Trainer and local menace. You really do multitask.”

“Triple threat,” he said, half-joking. “I’m also a hottie. And on top of that, I make playlists that motivate you to take over the world.”

You laughed, genuinely this time. “Sure. Can you make a playlist to motivate me to not have an emotional crisis?”

“No. But I took a course on self-therapy,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “Do you want to talk?” he asked genuinely. 

You smiled at him, shrugging off. “I’m okay,” you reassured him, though deep inside something protested against your lie. “I’m just here to clear my head.”

“And look great while doing it,” he added without missing a beat.

You gave a dramatic gasp. “Jungkook, are you hitting on me again?”

He shrugged. “Can’t help it. It’s in my nature. And listen, if whoever broke your heart isn’t coming back, I’m totally available to make bad choices with you. You have my number.”

Your mouth was still hanging open, and you were about to fire something back, to call out his bluff. But your words caught mid-throat when you spotted a familiar figure across the room.

Mingyu.

Your stomach did a wild flip. He was walking in, gym bag slung over his shoulder, headphones half on, his gaze panning lazily across the gym floor—until it landed on you. Or more specifically, you and Jungkook.

Your breath hitched before you could control yourself.

Mingyu slowed just slightly, eyes tracking the two of you. There was a pause, a purse of his lips. He continued his stride towards you—he didn’t look happy. There was something flickering in his gaze. You were too slow to read it. Surprise, confusion? Something.

And that was when Jungkook interrupted whatever Mingyu was about to say. “Mingyuuuu. What’s up, man?”

Your stomach dropped. That was when you remembered that you had suspected Jungkook and Mingyu were friends. But you had to pretend you were none the wiser. “You two know each other?” you asked.

Jungkook looked between you both, genuinely confused. “Y-yeah? Mingyu is my best friend,” his brow furrowed. “Wait—” he looked at you, then at Mingyu. Then back to you. “Oh my god,” he drawled the words out. “You two know each other?”

Neither of you answered right away. But the silence made it more than obvious.

Jungkook blinked dumbly. “Wait. Like… know each other?”

Mingyu shrugged. “Yeah.”

You shot him a quick glance, then gave Jungkook a tight smile. “We have known each other since high school. We’ve reconnected recently.”

Jungkook’s jaw dropped. “You guys are—?” he pointed between you. “Like… you’ve—?”

Mingyu crossed his arms. “We’ve hung out.”

Jungkook stared at you both, then let out a breathy, awkward laugh. “Wow. Okay. Wow—”

“Stop it.” You deadpanned. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I would never,” he said, crossing his heart. Then he turned to Mingyu. “I swear I had no idea, man. I would’ve dialed the flirting back if I’d known she was your girl.”

Mingyu flinched a little. “She’s not.”

Your heart squeezed so hard that the air in your lungs disappeared. You could tell that he didn’t mean to say it like that, but it was too late to take it back. Or to fix it. 

“Oh,” Jungkook said, his eyes flicking to you. Then he seemed to understand something. He knew you well enough now to see the pain in your eyes. “Okay, then.”

You swallowed around the knot in your throat. “Mingyu, do you want to spot me?”

He nodded. “Sure.”

Jungkook stood between you, hands on his hips and looking like he had nowhere to go. “Alright. I’ll be… here if you need anything.”

Mingyu nodded silently, following you as you made your way to the rack where you were doing your squats.

Looking at Mingyu through the mirror, you noticed that his features were rigid under an emotion that you couldn’t quite place. This was when you realized that you had never seen him this serious—or upset.

You positioned yourself in the rack, pressing the bar on your shoulders and firmly gripping the it with both hands.

Mingyu got behind you, close enough to make you feel his presence as he surveyed your form. His gaze travelled from your figure and stopped in your eyes. “Ready?” he asked.

You replied with a nod, tightening your grip around the bar and pushing it from the rack. The weight on your shoulders was uncomfortable at first, as you were standing back from the rack.

But he seemed to catch something that you were unaware of. “Don’t carry the weight with your back,” he instructed, using a hand to motion at the area of your quads and glutes. “Focus on using the area here.”

“Okay,” you sighed and counted from one to three quietly before sinking down in a squat. Mingyu followed your movement, watching that your form was correct.

“Go lower,” he instructed now.

“I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he cut in.

You sent him an alarm look. “But I—”

“No buts,” he snapped, shaking his head twice. “You have to go lower. Half squats don’t count as reps.”

You gaped at him through the mirror, still carrying the heavy barbell on your shoulders. You couldn’t come up with any contradictions. You repeated your movements, sinking lower with the bar on your shoulders. The squat was deeper and required Mingyu to squat with you when you felt like your knees were about to give out.

“That’s it, baby,” he praised behind you, his eyes flitted to your reflection in the mirror, but then he looked somewhere else.

You followed his gaze, your stomach twisting violently when you realized that he had looked at Jungkook for a split second.

The bar clicked back into place with a metallic clank. You took deep breaths, feeling like if your knees weren’t giving out, your head would. You felt dizzy but weren’t entirely sure that it was because of the extraneous exercise.

Mingyu had helped you place the bar back, so his hands lingered on the bar, looking like he needed to grip himself back to earth.

You turned around, chest still heaving. His jaw was tight, his eyes trained on the mirror, and you knew who he was glaring at now.

“Mingyu,” you said cautiously.

He raised his eyebrows, pulling his gaze back to you. “Hm?”

“You’re staring,” you pointed.

He blinked, his features softening at once. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Are you sure?”

He lowered his head a little, but his gaze remained on you. He was still gripping the bar, as though he needed something solid to hold onto. “I just…” he whispered, unsure. “I didn’t know you and Jungkook were that close.”

“We’re not,” you said quickly. “We’re just friends.”

Mingyu nodded, his eyes flitting away from your face. “Does he know that?” 

You went rigid, feeling confusion stunning you beyond your will. “Excuse me?”

Without meeting your eyes, he said, “He’s into you.”

You hadn’t quite recuperated from the exercise, you were still breathing hard. But realizing that Mingyu was genuinely jealous might have made you even dizzier.

Mingyu shook his head. “I mean, I can’t blame him,” he glanced back at your face. “You’re beautiful.”

You were too stunned to take his words as a compliment. “Does that bother you?”

Mingyu looked at you for a long second. “Yes,” he admitted with a soft tone. “It does.”

There was a pause, silence. You couldn’t comprehend the sudden surge of emotions that overcame you. A mix of confusion, excitement, relief…

But he sighed, lowering his gaze again. “I know we agreed to no labels. But when I saw him with you… when he said he has flirted with you, I—” He swallowed his words, and you knew well that he was also trying to push down his feelings. “I’m sorry,” he admitted. “I’m not being fair to you.”

You blinked at him, your heart pulsating in your ears. You wanted to tell him a million things. You wanted to tell him the exact thing he was feeling, you felt it when you saw his ex’s name on his phone the other night. You wanted to tell him to label this thing between you. 

“I understand,” you said, cursing yourself for being a coward again. “It’s okay. You’re being honest. But Jungkook and I are just friends. I don’t flirt with him—or anyone else.”

That made him look at you again. “Me neither,” he confessed, and you could see it in his eyes, the honesty was still there.

And you knew you were crazy because the fact made you feel happy. It made you feel special.

You showed him a light smirk, closing the distance despite the bar that was still between you. “You know,” you mumbled sweetly at him. “I’d kiss you right now.”

That caught him off-guard. He blinked twice, a smile tugging at his lips. “And what is stopping you?” he mumbled too, his voice low and sweet. It made something stir inside you.

“I’m all sweaty,” you giggled. You hated the sound. Sweet, honeyed.

He rolled his eyes playfully. “Baby don’t be ridiculous,” he said, slipping a finger beneath your chin, tilting your head back. He pressed his lips on yours a couple of times, giving you sweet kisses. Like those kisses, he gave you in the mornings. 

You smiled softly, backing away to look at his eyes. “I’m not done,” he mumbled, placing his hand on your cheek before he kissed you again, deeper this time.

“Gyu, we’re in public,” you whispered.

He smiled. “And? I haven’t seen my girl in days.”

Your breath hitched.

“Oh, I’m your girl now?” you asked playfully, ignoring the wild leap your heart gave.

He went still, pulling back so he could make eye contact with you again. “We need to talk about it but…” he sighed softly. “I’m not seeing anyone else. Just you. And I don’t want you to see anyone else either.”

Your heart fluttered and then sank a little. Because you understood where this conversation was going.

He was talking about exclusivity. Not commitment.

“I don’t understand,” you whispered, not hiding how alarmed you were sounding. “I thought we said no—”

“I know, I know,” he said quickly, his thumb brushing your cheek. “We’ll talk about it. Okay?”

You hesitated. But nodded all the same. “Okay,” you echoed.

However, you finished training before he did. Since you’d arrived earlier, you were already gathering your things by the time he was halfway through his long push workout. And you had to go—you were behind on work, and there were a dozen other things demanding your attention.

But you didn’t want to leave.

Mingyu was in the free weight section, focused on a set of bench presses. He looked glorious—sweaty, tired, but determined. His long hair was a mess, sticking damply against his face, and he kept pushing it back in between sets, clearly annoyed by it.

You walked over, gym bag slung over one shoulder.

Mingyu caught your reflection in the mirror, eyes flicking up to meet yours. He returned the bar to its rack with a loud metallic clang, then sat up and pulled his headphones down.

“You heading out?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

You nodded, slowly. Hesitant.

You wanted to say something. To ask if now was the time to talk about what had happened earlier—that weird little twist of jealousy, the accidental “my girl.” And also to talk about what had happened the other night at yours. You wondered if he had gotten around to talking with his ex after her incessant calling.

But the words stayed stuck in your throat.

Instead, you pulled the elastic band off your wrist and handed it to him. “You look like you need this.”

Mingyu smiled, taking it without hesitation. “That bad, huh?” he asked as he tied his hair up into a messy half ponytail with ease.

“Not bad,” you shrugged. “I kind of like it. It’s messy.”

He stood from the bench in one smooth motion. The proximity made your heart lurch. He somehow looked buffer, taller. 

You barely had time to react before his hand slipped to your lower back, tugging you gently against him. You giggled in protest. “Mingyu.”

“Hm?” he murmured, dipping his head. His lips grazed your cheek.

“You’re sweaty,” you sighed as he kissed the corner of your mouth.

“You mind?” he mumbled, voice low and unhurried.

You shook your head, a sweet smile tugging at your lips.

He smiled back knowingly—then kissed you properly. It wasn’t a long kiss, but it was deep, full of all the things neither of you had said nor talked about yet. The jealousy, the possessiveness, the longing. Like he wanted to show you off to someone. And you knew who. 

When he pulled back, his forehead touched yours for a second. “I’ll call you, okay?” he said gently.

“Okay,” you whispered. It was all you could manage.

You left after that.

And as soon as the gym door swung closed behind you, a hollow ache settled in your chest. You felt like you’d just walked away from a conversation neither of you was ready for—but you couldn’t avoid much longer.

You kicked your shoes off the moment you got to your apartment, dropping the gym bag beside the shoe rack and letting it slump to the floor.

The apartment felt warmer than usual. Still and heavy with humidity. You opened a window and turned the fan on, the soft hum filling in the noise that you were beginning to dread again.

You tossed your keys onto the counter and stood there. You just stood in the kitchen, as though you were a stranger in your own space. You needed to do something.

Mingyu had kissed you like he meant it. He told you he didn’t want to see anyone else. He didn’t want you seeing other men. He called you his girl like it was nothing. It was almost like he knew what he was making you feel.

And part of you wanted to believe the meaning behind his kiss. You wanted to believe that him calling you his girl wasn’t accidental, or the product of his jealousy. You wanted those things to be enough. You wanted to let his admission of jealousy be the closest thing to clarity. Or assuredness.

But you’ve been here before.

You peeled your shirt off slowly as you headed to your bedroom. Moving on autopilot now, you started a cold shower. Then you did what you always did; skincare, dress in comfy clothes and get yourself get busy. It was the only ritual that brought you peace.

You sat on the edge of your bed, tapping the phone screen with your fingers. Anxiety was creeping in, you knew it.

You opened your chat with Mingyu. Read over the last few texts, checking for any signs that told you something. You saw the little black heart emoji you had added to his name tag.

Then, you started typing, your fingers trembling and making dumb typos that you struggled to correct.

Mingyu. I have something to tell you.

You stared at the words. Then you backspaced.

Hey, Gyu. Can we talk?

Backspace.

I’ve been wanting to tell you something.

You couldn’t do it. You backspaced again.

You tossed your phone somewhere on your bed, deciding to forget about it. To push it away for a little while longer.  

The Spot was unusually quiet for a Thursday. The kind of quiet that would let you work on your laptop while slowly nursing a cold beer.

You were tucked into the farthest booth, screen open, fingers hovering over the keyboard. But you weren’t really working.

Mingyu had been busy since you arrived. You suspected his boss had something to do with that—giving him a list of endless tasks just to keep him busy and away from your table. You didn’t really mind. In fact, you were grateful for the distance. You were also trying to avoid him, to avoid the fluttering, anxious feeling that his smile stirred in your tummy.

You hadn’t had a chance to talk. Not really. And yet, your connection hadn’t slowed. You still saw each other almost daily—at the gym, before his shifts, and sometimes after. You were both playing along. Avoiding the conversation. Avoiding the words that had started looming over you both: we need to talk.

So here you were, on a Thursday night, pretending to work while waiting for Mingyu to finish his shift. It wasn’t the first time. And you were almost certain that the second his boss saw you walk in, he found more things for Mingyu to do.

But that wasn’t the only reason you hadn’t typed a single word in twenty minutes.

You felt a heavy gaze on you. Wonwoo wasn’t nearly as busy. Just kept himself occupied with small tasks such as restocking the fridges, organizing the bar, and wiping down the same glass over and over.

From the corner of your eye, you caught him moving toward the fridge. He opened the door, and pulled out a fresh bottle of beer. You glanced down and realized yours was empty. You hadn’t even noticed you’d finished it.

Wonwoo approached and placed the new bottle on your table without a word. You blinked up at him, startled—pretending like you were only now realizing how long he’d been watching.

“Thanks,” you said.

Wonwoo had always shown himself to be cold. Reserved. Sometimes you swore he looked vaguely annoyed whenever he saw you with Mingyu. The only times you’d exchanged words with him, they left a bitterness lingering in your mouth.

You wrapped your fingers around the neck of your beer bottle, took a sip, and pretended to keep working on your laptop.

Wonwoo was still looking at you. Not saying anything. Just observing.

You were used to his observant nature by now. And as you took a longer gulp of beer, you geared up for what would no doubt be another awkward exchange.

You cleared your throat. “You’re staring,” you said, not bothering to look up.

He shrugged. “And you’re loitering.”

You raised your eyes from the screen. “I’m waiting,” you corrected. “I’m here for Mingyu.”

“Of course you are,” he snapped, crossing his arms.

There it is, you thought. That edge in his voice. The sarcasm he used was like a mask.

“You don’t like me much, do you?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

That caught him off guard, just for a second. The mask slipped off. Something flickered across his face—quick, but you saw it.

“Did I say that?” he replied flatly.

“You don’t have to.” You gave a faint smile. “I can tell.”

You exhaled, glancing behind Wonwoo to make sure Mingyu wasn’t nearby. “Look,” you said, quieter now. “I get that you’re protective. You’re his best friend. I understand.”

Wonwoo’s brow furrowed, just slightly. It wasn’t anger. It was something closer to confusion.

You watched him beneath the red neon lights and the soft, yellow glow from the lamps overhead. His expression was shadowed, unreadable. But it wasn’t cold anymore.

“But Mingyu’s not some wounded puppy that needs guarding,” you continued. “He’s smart. He knows what he’s doing.”

Wonwoo raised a brow. “Does he? With you?”

The words stung. “Yes,” you said, voice firm. Steady. “He’s been through a lot. But he’s trying. That’s more than I can say for most people.”

Wonwoo didn’t respond.

But something in his face softened. But barely. Like something shifted behind his mask—just enough to notice.

“You don’t have to like me,” you said. “But don’t assume I don’t care about him. Because I do.”

Your words came out shaper than you had intended, and they hung between you. Fear flickered inside you, certainty slipping away from you. You knew you had a point, but there was something underneath it.

You watched Wonwoo’s face, he didn’t respond right away. You expected him to say something snarky, to question you, to scoff. But he just kept looking at you quietly, like he was trying to make two pieces of a puzzle fit.

The silence stretched between you and Wonwoo said nothing. And you were starting to feel how exposed you really felt.

A part of you wondered if Wonwoo suspected the reason why Mingyu and his ex broke up—the real reason. Mingyu had been cheated on. And he decided to keep this concealed from all of his friends out of shame.

You suspected because of the way Wonwoo looked at you—like you were a temporary fix. Like you were going to leave once you’ve had your fill. Like you were wandering aimlessly.

Maybe you weren’t just defending Mingyu. Maybe you were defending yourself too. Maybe Wonwoo saw this. 

Wonwoo straightened his back, his expression hard to read. He said nothing, and somehow that made it worse.

He turned around, leaving your table just as Mingyu appeared from the backdoor. He was wearing that charming smile on his face as he approached you with a happy gait.

Meanwhile, your heart was still thumping in your throat. But you forced a smile as he leaned over you, planting a hand on the table and using the other one to cup your face gently. “Hey, baby,” he mumbled sweetly.

“Hi, Gyu,” you sighed, your heart melting just as his lips touched yours.

“I’m off in five minutes,” he said, pressing gentle kisses on your face. “Just gotta take out the trash, then I’m all yours.”

“Romantic,” you giggled.

Mingyu smiled. “Wait here,” he whispered, trapping your lower lip in a feathery kiss. “I’ll come get you.”

You watched him walk away and disappear through the door again. Wonwoo followed him with his gaze, and then, as though he knew you were looking, your gazes connected again.

Your tummy twisted. You turned away, shyly hiding your face behind your laptop as you silently closed the blank document you had been pretending to be working on and shut your laptop off.

Some minutes later, Mingyu returned. He was wearing a hoodie now, his backpack hung snuggly on his shoulders.

“Ready, baby?” he asked, approaching your table. He looked like he had a sudden rush of energy, perhaps from knowing he was free from work.

You nodded, rising from the booth and taking your laptop bag with you.

Then something you weren’t expecting at all happened. Mingyu smiled, his hand reaching for yours. He laced his fingers with yours, making your heart jolt. Mingyu was unaware of your reaction—your eyes widening in surprise, your breath catching in your throat.

It wasn’t the first time he took your hand. But it made you feel anxious. 

You let him take you, leading you through the front door of the bar. You couldn’t help but shoot a glance at Wonwoo—who was absolutely aware of how you reacted to Mingyu lacing his hand with yours. He watched as you and Mingyu exited the bar, you felt his gaze on the back of your head as the door closed behind you.

“How was work?” Mingyu asked intently. “Could you get anything done?”

You huffed a laugh. “Nope,” you replied, popping out the p sound. “I couldn’t focus.”

“Oh, was it the loud noise? The bar could be the least ideal place to work.”

“No, it wasn’t that,” you said, looking down at your hand firmly laced with his. “I’m probably hitting a burnout.”

“I see,” he said, pouting a little as he gathered his thoughts. “Have you thought about doing graphic design? You know, the thing you really like.”

You frowned. “I can’t change careers like that.”

“Why not?” he shrugged. “You’re your own boss. Maybe you could dedicate some time to getting yourself into graphic design, little by little before you do a full transition.”

You thought about it for a long second. It seemed curious to you that Mingyu had remembered how much you enjoyed talking about graphic design when you were younger. Whenever the conversation about college popped up in your friend group, you always mentioned it.

Even you had forgotten about your lost dream of getting the degree. You found translating documents easy, and quick. And once it started making money, you thought it was convenient.

“I think it’s a good idea,” you agreed. “Maybe not a full switch-up, like you say.”

“Yeah, and it case it doesn’t work… well you already have a thing for you, right?” he squeezed your hand.

You lifted your gaze, finding his light smile. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I got you, shorty,” he winked.

You laughed softly. Then you noticed that you were almost down the corner, and Mingyu seemed to notice too, because he stopped walking, forcing you to stop too.

“Your place or mine?” he asked.

Your heart dipped slightly. Mingyu had been avoiding talking about what happened the other day at the gym. And you had been too much of a coward to bring the subject up. 

“Yours is closest,” you shrugged, your tone off.

Mingyu noticed. “You don’t want to go to mine?” he asked, a smile tugging at his lips. “Why? Is it because of my roommate?”

You hesitated but nodded all the same.

“He’s not that bad,” he giggled. “Well, he does have a temper, but he leaves us alone.”

“It’s not that,” you replied quickly.

Mingyu paused, his mouth parting slightly when he realized. “Oh—” he giggled shyly.

“Stop,” you sighed a smile, bringing your free hand to pat his tummy lightly.

“You don’t want him hearing us?” he smiled, biting his bottom lip as his hand tugged you closer.

“Of course not,” you said, giggling with him.

“Don’t worry, sugar,” he said softly, his hand meeting your cheek. “I don’t think he’ll mind.”

Your insides twisted. “Has he heard us before?” you asked.

“No,” he said firmly. “We have this thing, if one of us is bringing someone over, we just crash late.”

That brought something to your mind. You nodded half-heartedly. “Oh, okay.”

“But let’s go to yours,” he decided.

“Okay, but before we start walking,” you said, tugging his hand with yours.

“Yes?” Mingyu raised his eyebrows.

“Could you please walk a little slower?” you pleaded, almost pouting.

Mingyu burst out laughing, cupping your nape before kissing your forehead fondly. “Yes, shorty, I can.”

As soon as you crossed your apartment door, Mingyu was all over you. He expertly grabbed you by the back of your thighs, lifting you to pin you against the wall.

You locked your arms around his neck, glancing up at his eyes before he closed the distance between his lips and yours. He kissed you softly at first, as though he were dying to kiss you tenderly, to taste your lips.

Your heart dipped. You knew that there was a pending conversation between you. But for a moment, you allowed yourself to enjoy another night of pleasure, pushing away your feelings, and your anxieties. You let yourself feel.

“Gyu,” you urged. “Take me to the bed.”

Without hesitation, he carried you to your bed. In seconds your back was hitting the mattress.

Mingyu took control, taking your clothes one by one. You noticed he was in no particular hurry because once he got you completely naked, he started taking his time kissing your body, humming softly against your skin.

“I love the way you smell,” he said softly, kissing your neck.

You brought a hand to stroke his hair. “Thank you,” you replied. “You smell nice too,” you confessed. And you wanted to tell him that you loved that the smell of his cologne lingered on your pillows for days, making you miss him more.

“Thank you,” he giggled softly, pausing to give you a look. “But you smell nicer.”

“Stop it,” you giggled too. But you grabbed his hoodie, taking it off for him.

You took his clothes off, sending him shy glances as you did so. He kept looking at you with a soft twinge of endearment, smiling when you struggled to get his jeans off.

Mingyu dipped his head, littering your chest with slow and wet kisses. Getting your heart to swell and race wildly when he took his time loving and worshipping your body. It was then that you noticed he was pressing kisses on every mole that he could find on your skin.

“Gyu,” you swallowed hard.

“Hm?” he hummed, glancing at your eyes. “Are you ready for me, baby?”

You nodded quickly.

“Yeah?” he breathed.

Mingyu parted your thighs gently as he leaned over your body, pressing his front to yours. You gasped, your gaze snapping to his when you felt his hard cock on your lower tummy.

Seeing your reaction made him smile softly. But he said nothing, continuing pleasuring your body as though his pleasure wasn’t important. He pressed one elbow on your pillow, just beside your head as his free hand made its way between your bodies.

Looking into your eyes, his lips parted slightly as his fingertips slid between your pussy lips. Using his pointer and ringer fingers, he gently nudged your entrance, wetting his fingers with your arousal right before he started rubbing slow circles against your clit.  

“Mingyu,” you stammered, your hands flying to hold onto him. “Please,” you swallowed hard, your body tensing with pleasure. “Fuck me.”

“Not yet,” he whispered. “I have to get you ready for me first, baby,” he said gently.

You were about to tell him to take you anyway. You liked the sting of his cock stretching your pussy. But his fingers slipped inside you, drawing out a lewd moan from you.

You blinked for a long second, enjoying the way he dragged his knuckles in and out of your walls, massaging them slowly, and so gently.

“Mmmn, look at this,” Mingyu drawled, pulling his fingers out of you to show you the wetness coating them, dripping from his fingertips to his knuckles, beginning to reach his palm.

“Please,” you whispered.

The corner of his lips curved. “What do you want, baby?” he purred, slipping his fingers inside you again, making you gasp.  “Do you want my cock?”

“Yes,” you mewled instantly, your head spinning slightly at the language he used. “Please, Gyu. Fuck me.”

Mingyu got on his knees, pulling his fingers out of you. You whined in protest, making him laugh. “Needy,” he clicked his tongue, but the look of endearment on his face made your heart skip.

Your thighs twitched with anticipation, looking at him as he stroked his cock languidly, using the hand that was wet with your arousal, smearing it all over himself. Mingyu noticed that you liked that, his lust-lidded eyes outlining your body before he positioned himself.

Your hands gripped your inner thighs, keeping yourself angled and ready for him as he guided his cock to your needy cunt. A moan spilled from your lips when you felt the bulbous head of his cock nudging at your entrance.

His dark eyes were lost in your body, entranced as he slipped his cock inside you, so very slowly. His mouth dropped open, his hands gripping your hips as he started thrusting his cock in with shallow motions.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasped, tilting his head back slightly. “So tight.”

“Gyu,” you whispered, blinking away the tears that started to form in the corners of your eyes. “Please.”

“Patience, sweetheart,” he replied in kind, clearly enjoying the way you were so needy for him. His gaze returned to yours, endearment showing in his lazy smile when he saw your tears of pleasure.

You removed one hand from your inner thigh, mind blank as you gripped his wrist. Mingyu pulled his cock out, leaving only his head in for a second before he pushed his length back inside you. You moaned loudly, not caring that it was the middle of the night, and the neighbors might take an annoyance at you.

Mingyu sighed in pleasure when he heard you, his eyebrows drawn in as he glanced down your body one more time. He gritted his teeth, muffling a moan as he watched his cock disappear into your pussy.

You removed your hand from his wrist, but Mingyu caught it first, lacing his fingers with yours. He did this almost too naturally—as though you were more than friends. As though you were two lovers, making love in the middle of the night.

It was overwhelming. A sob tore through you, the sound so soft and whiny that it was masked well by the pleasure you were feeling. Mingyu glanced at your face, taking your hand to kiss your knuckles.

“You okay, baby?” he asked softly in between breaths of exhaustion.

You nodded quickly. “Yeah,” you replied, squeezing his hand with yours.

The features of his face relaxed. And you thought that he might’ve noticed something in your eyes. He leaned over your body, framing your head with his arms, closing the space between you.

Mingyu kept pushing his hips against yours, thrusting his cock deeper, slower, as though he wanted to delay his own orgasm—which you suspected that he did. He dipped his head, pressing his lips against you, kissing you tenderly.

“Hey,” he whispered, looking into your eyes. “Move with me, yeah?”

You grabbed his shoulders, nodding as you started rolling your hips at the same pace he did, grounding your feet on the bed for support.

The bed creaked, the headboard slamming against the wall but neither of you cared.

Mingyu searched your eyes, his mouth parting as he released a small moan. “Baby,” he called, noticing something in you.

“Yeah?” you whispered.

“Breathe.” He instructed gently, his hand brushing your hair back. “Breathe with me, okay?”

Then he took your hand from his shoulder, wrapping it in his as he took a deep breath in without moving his gaze away from your eyes. You followed the movement of his chest, drawing in a deep breath as he pushed inside you.

The pleasure came instantly to your body, overwhelming you. You let out a moan, your eyebrows knitting together.

“Breathe,” he mouthed, taking another deep breath with you.

“Mingyu,” you moaned sweetly, inching closer to your release. 

“I know—” he replied, squeezing your hand in his. “I know, baby.”

You didn’t need to tell him, just from the expression on your face he could tell that you were closer. You breathed with him again, releasing your breath at the same time pleasure bloomed inside you, from the pit of your tummy to the rest of your body.

You let out a long cry, cumming so hard that your eyes started to brim with tears. But you continued rolling your hips with him, breathing at the same time he did. Mingyu gasped, looking into your eyes as well as his hips slowed down slightly.

Mingyu pressed his forehead against yours, gasping into your mouth before he kissed you swiftly. “I’m cumming,” he whispered, and you nodded, moaning with him as he pushed his cum deep inside you with sloppy thrusts.

You were a mess, breathing heavily under him. But that wasn’t the reason you felt out of it.

You wanted to cry. You had never in your life made love so softly to someone, let alone someone who didn’t consider himself your boyfriend. 

Firmly pressed against your body, Mingyu brushed your hairline with his thumb, pressing soft kisses on your bottom lip, and the corner of your mouth.

“You’re okay?” he whispered without moving away from your body, his forehead still pressing against yours.

“I’m okay,” you replied in kind. “You?”

He smiled. “I’m okay, sweetheart.” He pushed himself from you, although he was still inside you. “Want me to start a shower for you?”

Your hand slipped from his, making your heart dip. “No, I—” You instinctively reached for his hand again, but he didn’t notice. “I want to stay in bed for a little while.”

Mingyu paused, tilting his head to one side slightly. “Sure you’re okay, baby? You seem out of it.”

You nodded. “Cuddle with me, please,” you mumbled, not caring how desperate you were sounding.

Mingyu followed without giving a second thought. He pulled out of you gently, tugging the bed covers to tuck you both in.

As soon as you were both under your bedsheets, he wrapped an arm around you, his fingers grazing the space between your shoulder blades. He looked at you for a long second, his gaze outlining every feature of your face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

You smiled at him. “Thanks, Gyu,” you replied. Dropping your gaze to the bedsheets, you confessed: “You’re beautiful too.”

You heard him smile, and that was what drove you to look at him again. Mingyu closed the space between you, his hand moving to cup your cheek. You thought for a moment that he would kiss your lips, but instead, he pressed his lips against your forehead.

Your heart skipped a beat. “Gyu,” you whispered.

“Mm?” he hummed, kissing your cheek.

You closed your eyes, swallowing hard. His lips were on yours, kissing you slowly, deeply.

You brought a hand on his chest, trying to hold onto him for a second. “Can I tell you something?”

Mingyu stilled, looking in your eyes. “Of course,” he said softly.

You stared at your fingers on his chest, discovering that he had a tiny mole right below your ring finger.

“I never told you the real reason why I moved here,” you said quietly.

Mingyu didn’t say anything, but you could feel that there was a shift in the air.

“It wasn’t because I wanted a change of scenery, or because of work or whatever,” you let out a shaky breath. “I moved because I couldn’t stay at my other place.”

You glanced at his face quickly. He was still looking at you, waiting, listening.

“I was with someone. We broke up eight months ago.”

You avoided his gaze, you avoided doing something that would ruin the tiny bit of courage that you had gathered.

“We were together for years, even lived together. But no matter what, he never wanted more.” You blinked slowly, hating that saying this aloud was bringing a long-forgotten ache to your heart. “I waited for so long. I thought that if I just kept being there for him, supporting him and loving him, he would change his mind.”

You paused, your heart thudding painfully, ringing in your ears.

“But he told me he wasn’t ready. And that I probably never would be,” you took a breath and let it out slowly. “And when he left, I didn’t recognize myself. I had spent so much time waiting, molding myself for him, that I didn’t know who I was anymore.”

Mingyu exhaled and his hand stroked your back again, as if he knew you needed comfort. That encouraged you to look into his eyes again. It was a fleeting glance, but you sensed that he felt something for you.

“So I packed my things and moved here. I told myself that I wasn’t going to allow myself to get involved. Not ever again. Not like that,” you glanced up at him again, searching his eyes.

There he was. Watching you, softly, gently, welcoming.

“But then, you came.”

He remained silent, and you knew he wasn’t judging you—he was just listening and waiting. But something shone in his eyes.

“I know I’m not perfect. I have baggage,” you whispered, unable to raise your voice any higher. “But I’m not here to use you. I didn’t expect to care so much about you...”

You took one final deep breath, trying to muster another shred of courage.

“But I do. I care about you.”

You didn’t expect him to say anything. But you still waited, deciding that, whatever happened, you were ready for it.

☆ author's note: hello!

i uh, eeeh have nothing to say. i don't know what came over me. i just had the impulse to write another chapter! heh

i want to use this author's note to express my gratitude toward every single one of you that commented, reblogged, and liked the previous chapter. my heart is so happy to see so many of you just engaging.

thank you so much for reading!! tell me what you guys think 🥺🩵

toodles

☆ STAY TUNED FOR PART IV! ☆ | PREVIOUS CHAPTERS | BUY ME COFFEE? ♡

© TO HANNIEWEEN I DO NOT ALLOW TRANSLATIONS, CONTINUATIONS, REIMAGINATIONS OF MY WORKS OR THEIR REPOSTING ON OTHER WEBSITES.

[hhaechansmoless]

OFF THE GRID [TEASER]

pairing: f1driver!scoups x ex!femreader

genre: angst, romance, exes to lovers au, childhood bestfriends / neighbours au

description: Part of the Beyond The Grid series. Four-time world champion Choi Seungcheol has spent years at the top with Ferrari, but as the 2025 season drags on, he can’t shake the feeling that he’s not quite where he used to be. The competition is catching up, his team isn't what it used to be, and for the first time, he’s starting to wonder if he’s past his prime. By the time the season winds down, he finds himself back in his hometown, which isn't quite the same either. But the hardest race was never on track, and sooner or later, he’ll have to figure out what comes next.

warnings: strong language, stressful situations, descriptions of car crashes and physical exhaustion, f1 heavy, miscommunication

teaser w/c: 1.3k fic w/c: 46.5k . Part 1

glossary

a/n: While it is not required to read Lights Out to understand what's going on here, the first half of this fic runs parallel to it. I personally had fun writing the parallels, oh you know, the downfall of one, rise of another. If you've read lights out though, you probably know how this weekend ends, but shush! LMAO. This one's run longer than I expected it to, so it'll be divided into three parts. Again, the glossary helps, so do read it! you can sign up for the taglist here !

ITALY, AUTODROMO NAZIONALE MONZA

Saturday, Qualifying

The roar of the Tifosi is deafening, even from inside the garage.

Seungcheol sits in his cockpit, helmet still on, hands resting lightly on the wheel as the mechanics swarm around his car, making final adjustments. The session clock is still running, but for now, he’s stationary—P3 on the leaderboard, a tenth ahead of Jaehyun.

Outside, Monza is alive.

The Tifosi are everywhere, packed into every inch of the grandstands, a sea of red that stretches as far as the eye can see. Flags whip through the air, massive banners draped across the stands, their messages bold and impossible to miss. Monza is one of the circuits where the grandstands are sold out even during qualifying. There’s something different about this place. Something that doesn’t exist at any other circuit, something even the best drivers struggle to explain. It’s not just the speed, the history, the track itself. It’s this. The weight of expectation. The way Ferrari doesn’t just belong to the team—it belongs to the people. To the thousands in the stands who live for this weekend.

Usually, Monza is Seungcheol’s favourite track. He’s set impressive records here before and the energy of the crowd is always motivating.

Even through the layers of his helmet, his balaclava, and the deafening sounds of the other cars on the track, he hears them chant his name.

At least they haven’t given up on me.

His fingers tighten slightly around the wheel.

He sits in P3 for now. Ahead of Jaehyun, but still behind a Red Bull. A Red Bull on pole.

At Ferrari’s home race.

It’s an insult to their team, a disgrace on their part.

His gaze flickers across the garage, past the blur of engineers watching the monitors, past the mechanics murmuring updates to one another. No one looks at him. Not directly. Not long enough for it to mean anything.

But they’re waiting.

They won’t say it, won’t dare to speak it aloud but he knows what they need from him.

They need him to take back Monza.

They need him to put Ferrari back where it belongs.

Like always. Funny that they need me, now that their new star driver can’t manage to fucking qualify above P5 when it actually matters.

His race engineer's voice cuts through his earpiece, slightly more alert now.

“Track is clear. Sending you out now.”

Seungcheol scoffs, a humorless laugh against the inside of his helmet.

Right. Of course they are.

He presses the clutch paddle, lets the engine roar back to life, and rolls out onto the pit lane.

The television flickers, the glow of the screen casting soft light across the dimly lit living room. You keep the volume as low as possible. Your parents are sleeping, and you wouldn’t want to wake them up because of the commentary at this ungodly hour. 

You hadn’t planned on watching qualifying. It had been a long day and the last thing you needed was to be up at one in the morning, wet hair dripping onto your t-shirt after a bath, on the edge of your seat as you watched your ex-boyfriend qualify for his team’s home race.

You should be asleep, but instead, you sit curled into the corner of your couch, staring at the leaderboard on the screen.

P3 – Choi Seungcheol.

The commentators have been talking about him all session. About how this weekend is crucial, about how Ferrari needs a strong result at their home race. About how Jaehyun is only P5 and how Seungcheol is the only Ferrari in a position to fight for pole.

The pressure is unbearable even from here, thousands of miles away. You can only imagine what it must feel like there, in the cockpit, in that worrying little head of Seungcheol’s.

The camera cuts to the Ferrari garage, to Seungcheol sitting in his car, helmet on, hands loose on the steering wheel as he waits.

Your stomach twists as his engineer’s voice crackles through the radio.

"Track is clear. Sending you out now."

Seungcheol doesn’t respond. Just shifts into gear, rolling out of the garage onto the pit lane.

The commentators barely take a breath before launching into his out-lap analysis.

"This is it, folks. One final shot for Ferrari’s Choi Seungcheol. He’s currently sitting in P3, but can he challenge for pole?"

"He’s had a tough session so far, struggling with the car’s balance, but he’s pulled off magic laps before. Let’s see what he can do."

You exhale slowly, pressing your knuckles against your lips as the camera follows him through the out-lap. He’s weaving aggressively, warming up his tires, testing every movement.

And then, finally—

"Choi Seungcheol begins his final lap."

The screen shows his car flying into a long, sweeping curve, and something tugs at your memory.

"It’s trickier than it looks," Seungcheol had once told you. It was late, the two of you sitting in the dim glow of his kitchen after Monza in 2023. "It’s easy to take it flat-out, but if you misjudge the line by even half a meter, you’re screwed on the exit."

Your breath catches slightly as you watch him now, the Ferrari holding steady, perfectly placed, just like he described.

The timing screen flashes, indicating a purple sector.

The commentators react instantly.

"He’s improving! Seungcheol is on a great lap. Can he challenge for pole?"

Your fingers tighten around the edge of the blanket draped over your legs.

The car flies through the next sector, fast and on the edge. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. It’s pure instinct, the kind that only comes after years of knowing exactly where the limit is.

Purple again.

"He's still gaining! This could be huge for Ferrari!"

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath.

The final corner looms. The moment of truth.

"It’s deceptive," he'd said, "the Parabolica. The biggest mistake is to brake early. If you do, you lose all your momentum. You have to trust the car. Trust yourself."

His Ferrari dives in so late you think for a second that he’s overdone it. But who are you kidding? It's Seungcheol. Seungcheol who would never settle for anything less than a front row at Monza. He knows what he's doing.

As he crosses the finish line, the leaderboard updates.

P2.

The commentators erupt—a front row start for Ferrari. The camera cuts to the grandstands, where thousands of fans in red are screaming his name.

You exhale.

Not pole.

But at least he’s ahead of Jaehyun.

The screen flickers back to the garage. Seungcheol removes his helmet slowly, setting it down beside him. He doesn’t look at anyone, doesn’t react to the pats on his back. His expression is unreadable.

Seungcheol is disappointed. Yes, he's out-qualified Jaehyun. But a Red Bull still sits on pole. Another at P3. His teammate's stuck at P5.

He mentally scoffs, A championship contender, that boy.

It's been a hard weekend for Ferrari this year. The Red Bulls have been fast all weekend. All season, but this weekend matters the most and Seungcheol has a chance. To prove to the team, to prove to himself and to win for the fans. 

He watches as Jaehyun gets out of his cockpit, looking thoroughly frustrated for once. 

Good, Seungcheol thinks. He's not going to be able to fight for the championship always, but if Ferrari has any chance of challenging for the constructors then Jaehyun needs to start doing better. Needs to start being harder on himself. 

As his PR manager approaches him, Seungcheol thinks about what this year's driver’s championship winner would mean. If it’s going to be Haechan, which seems to be the most probable case, then that would mean the downfall of Ferrari again. If Jaehyun won against the odds, it would mean that Seungcheol lost to a teammate for the first time in his career.

Ferrari is going to start asking him to play the team game soon. He's not going to have the choice to deny that. He just hopes it doesn't start tomorrow.

He needs that win.

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 reacting to their s/o flashing them mid-argument to shut them up

Request: hey!!

first of all it is incredibly nice of you to not post any suggestive/smutty things during ramadan!! I still have a silly request in that direction and I know you won't do it until after this month but I fear I might forget it if I don't request now😭😭

how do you think would the svt members react if you (their gf) randomly flash them during an argument?? for e.g lets say they don't let you talk or smth and yoi just pull up your shirt to make them shut up😭

thank you so much and have a nice day!!💓

A/N: You are so sweet for what reason? 🥺 Here you go, I hope you like it !!!

A/N #2: I lost myself while writing Mingyu and Minghao's parts lmao, I hope you don't mind this reaction being long.

Content warning: MDNI! Established relationship. manhandling, kissing, teasing, body worship, missionary, flustered to focused, praise, overstimulation if you keep teasing him/let him, pussy eating, slow burn to deep heat, dirty talk, couch, kitchen counter and bed scenes , low-key subby energy in seungkwan for some reason, messy kisses, they're down bad for you, clothing kink, mirror play, possessiveness, oral ( bot m. and f. receiving), unprotected sex (don't be stupid), mild degradation, rough makeout, sadism, bondage, edging. lmk if I missed anything !

This is my personal opinion and perspective. It may not accurately reflect their real-life personalities or behaviors.

Seungcheol: You’re arguing—well, he’s arguing, raising his voice and not letting you get a word in. And then you suddenly lift your shirt. Now, thanks to you, all you can hear rn is, dead silence. His mouth stays open mid-sentence. “...What?” His anger deflates instantly and now he’s just blinking at you, jaw flexing as he tries not to smirk. “…You trying to distract me, baby?” Steps forward, corners you against a wall, smirking low. “It worked. Let’s talk after.” Seungcheol leans in, his face inches from yours as he traps you against the wall with his arms caging you in. His smirk turns into a playful grin as he presses his forehead against yours. "You know what? Forget the argument. You win." Hands slide down the wall to grip your hips, pulling you closer as he leans in, presses a soft kiss to your neck, biting gently before pulling back with a laugh.

Jeonghan: You’re mid-bickering over something really stupidly dumb when you’ve had enough of his smug comebacks. So you flash him without any warning. Jeonghan laughs like it’s the best thing he’s seen all week [probably (?)] “Oh? That’s your strategy now?” he says and walks over slowly, dragging a finger across your exposed skin. “Keep doing that and you’ll never win another argument again. I’ll make sure of it.” I KNOW IT'S SO HOT OF HIM Jeonghan leans in closer, his breath tickling your skin as he traces patterns on your stomach. Kisses trail lower as he hooks his fingers in your waistband, slowly tugging down the fabric to reveal more skin. "You know what happens now, right?" He looks up at you with a mischievous grin, "You lose the argument, remember?" He drops to his knees in front of you, kissing a trail from your stomach downwards as his hands grip your thighs firmly. "You used your body to shut me up... now I'm going to use my mouth to make you shut up." His tongue flickers out, teasing along your inner thigh.

Joshua: You try to explain your point but he’s lowkey ignoring you. One flash and— his eyes go wide. “Babe??” That fucking hottie, turns red. Literally flustered like he just saw his first boob. “I—are we seriously doing this right now?” He starts giggling laughing nervously, covers his face, then just sighs. “Okay… okay you win. Come here.” Clearly aroused, decides to take control in the most primal way. He steps closer, his hands wrapping around your waist as he lifts you effortlessly off the ground. “Starting fights and flashing me like that?” his voice husky as he murmurs, “you better be ready for what comes next.” He tosses you on the bed gently and follows after, pinning you beneath him with a hungry look. Slowly, he leans down, kissing along your collarbone. His hands slide under your shirt again, but this time with reverence. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, “and all mine.” And that night, he shows you exactly what happens when you tease a man like Joshua Hong.

Jun: You catch him off guard while he’s getting fired up about you ‘never listening.’ So you flash him. He freezes but his shameless ass stares. “...That’s not fair.” But he’s definitely grinning now. His voice lowers, “you’re gonna have to take responsibility, you know?” Jun doesn’t care about the argument anymore bc all he wants rn is you. His grin turns mischievous, mirroring his suddenly sadistic thoughts. He reaches over to grab something from the bedside drawer and pulls out a pair of handcuffs and a gag, his eyes gleaming. He quickly cuffs your wrists to the headboard, ensuring you're securely bound. "Let's see how well you argue now, without a voice or the ability to move," He shoves the gag into your mouth, effectively silencing you. He then takes your underwear off and spreads your legs wide, exposing you completely. "From now on, I make the rules. And right now, the rule is - you take whatever I give you, however I give it to you."

Hoshi: He’s pacing, being annoying as fuck, hands flying everywhere, so what you do? You lift your shirt. Yes and he yelps, “EXCUSE ME??” He's fully flustered and shuts the fuck up immediately and just STARES. Still walks over like a confused puppy, muttering under his breath, “Why are you like this…” as his hands fall to his sides uselessly as he pauses right in front of you. Unable to resist any longer, he leans in and crashes his lips onto yours, passionate and demanding. His hands find your hips, gripping them tightly as he pulls you against him. Suddenly, he breaks the kiss and spins you around, bending you over the nearest surface, and without hesitation, Hoshi lifts your skirt and pulls down your underwear. He starts spanking you hard, the sound of his palm hitting your flesh echoing through the room. Between spanks, he kisses you, "You're just showing off your arousal, even as you ignore me."

Wonwoo: You’re trying to explain something, but he’s giving you that cold, nonchalant stare. So, you shock him with a quick flash. Wonwoo blinks, and then he calmly removes his glasses. “...Okay.” Walks straight toward you. "You want my attention that bad?” Now it’s you who's speechless as he pins you to the couch and whispers, “Next time just ask.” A tell that you just gave him your undivided attention by basically sexually harassing him. He smirks slightly, and without any more back and forth, Wonwoo strips you both bare, his movements swift and decisive. He settles between your legs, his dark brown eyes burning with an intensity you've never seen before. He kisses you fiercely, his hands roaming your body possessively. One hand cupping your breast and teasing your nipple with his thumb. He rolls it between his fingers, making you gasp into his mouth. Simultaneously, his other hand slides down your stomach, finding your clit and rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles. As you arch into his touch, Wonwoo breaks the kiss to trail his lips down your neck and chest. He takes your other nipple into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around it. His fingers continue their relentless teasing of your clit, building a steady pressure that makes your hips squirm and cry.

Woozi: He’s on a full rant, not even letting you breathe. You lift your shirt: ERROR 404: LEE JIHOON HAS CRASHED. He fucking stares and then have the audacity to cover his face with both hands. “Are you INSANE?!” He’s mad, but also not mad, but also—mad that he can’t be mad anymore. Eventually just groans, hugs you tight. "You know what your problem is?" Woozi suddenly releases you, pushing his glasses up his nose. His eyes darken slightly, voice dropping an octave. He snaps his fingers suddenly. "You're sadistic. That's why you tease like that." He low-key, harshly, pushes you onto the bed behind you. His pretty hands trace your curves slowly, intentionally building anticipation. "Such pretty eyes... they'll look even better filled with tears." Jihoon leans down, his breath hot on your ear. "Let's see those tears, shall we?"

Dokyeom: You’re getting overwhelmed, so you hit him with a quick flash out of desperation. He gasps like you guys aren't dating already and doesn't see eachother's body minimum twice a day, “WHAT THE—” Fully scandalized, he looks away, then looks back, “babe. You… you distracted me!!” Argument’s over. He grouses, pulling you onto the bed while exclaiming about how ‘unfair’ that move was. Kyeom's hands are rough and impatient as he pulls you onto his lap, his fingers immediately finding their way to your pussy. "I'm going to edge you until you're begging for release," he mutters, "And do you know how I'll do thay? I'm going to make you come so many times that you'll be crying, but I won't let you have a real orgasm. You'll be reduced to a whimpering mess, all because of that damn flash." His fingers move faster, bringing you right to the edge before suddenly stopping. Dokyeom watches your face intently, a mix of amusement and dominance in his eyes. "See how close you are?" he whispers, his fingers hovering just above your clit without touching. "I can keep you right here on the edge all night." He leans down, his lips brushing against your lips.

Mingyu: He’s being annoyingly loud and trying to act like he’s right. You flash him and he, rightfully, chokes. Literally drops the mug he was holding. “HUH?!” Walk up to you like a hungry, horny man on a mission. “You better be ready to finish what you started, because I’m not letting this go.” Before you can even blink, he has you pinned against the counter, your legs boxed in by his. One hand fists the back of your shirt and tugs hard, pulling the fabric higher until you're bared to him again. He growls softly, lips brushing your collarbone. “Distracting me with these perfect tits?” He presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss just above your nipple and you gasp—loud, shaky, already arching into his touch. Your breath catches when he drops to his knees in front of you without a word, both hands now gripping your thighs. He mouths at the soft curve of your inner thigh, teeth dragging just enough to leave a mark. His tongue is teasing, but there’s nothing playful in the way he pushes your panties aside and buries his face between your legs like a man starving [which he is]. He groans into you like he’s the one being touched, hips grinding slightly into the floor as if he’s losing control just from the taste of you. “Turn around,” he says, standing up and tugging at your hips until your front is pressed against the kitchen counter, “now.” He’s already undoing his pants, groaning as he slides them down just enough, his cock hard and flushed and angry red at the tip.

Minghao: You’re in a tense back-and-forth. You flash him; dead serious. He raises one elegant brow. “Oh… so that’s how you handle conflict.” Stares you down until you’re the one blushing. "Interesting strategy," he mutters, stepping closer. “You better mean it.” He’s in front of you now, tall and intimidating, one hand sliding around your waist as the other tugs your shirt all the way off. His fingertips trace your bare skin, mapping out his next move. “You’re already blushing,” he says with a smirk. “What happened to all that attitude from five minutes ago?” You really don’t have any smartass answer 🤷🏻‍♀️ His lips ghost over your shoulder, hand slipping beneath your waistband and then, he leads you to the full-length mirror in the bedroom, pulling you to stand in front of him, chest to your back. He meets your eyes in the reflection. “Look at you. All flushed and trembling from one look, from one little comment.” His hand slides lower, fingers teasing over your wet heat. You bite your lip, struggling to hold still. “Watch what you started,” he whispers, kissing behind your ear. “No looking away.” His fingers move slowly, knowing, driving you insane while he watches your expression change in the mirror. One hand teasing your chest, the other curled against your core. You cry out as he sinks two fingers into you, curling them just right. He pulls his fingers out slowly and licks them clean right behind you—eyes meeting yours in the mirror. “Get on the bed. On your knees. I want that mouth next.” You move without a word, body shaking, heat pooling in your stomach. You’re already dizzy from the pace lmao. He lets you worship him first, praises falling from his lips between soft groans, hands gripping your hair with barely restrained control, and when he finally takes you—you feel owned, worshiped and ruined all at once. Hao holds you still, hips rolling into yours as his voice stays steady against your skin. “Next time we argue,” he murmurs, thrusts hitting deeper, “just strip. Saves us both the trouble.”

Seungkwan: “You’re not even listening to what I’m trying to—” Boob flash “AAAAAAAAAA—” Takes a fucking step back, “you did NOT just do that!” He's blushing so hard, flustered beyond help, pacing like an ajumma in crisis, but he caves instantly. “Okay, fine! You win!! Just stop flashing me when I’m trying to make a point!!” He storms toward you like a man on a mission, face red, eyes dark. “You’re evil,” he mutters, yanking your shirt off. “Evil, evil woman—” His mouth is already on you, hot and open, kissing the fuck out of everywhere he can reach. He pushes you down onto the couch nearby, tugging your shorts down halfway before dropping to his knees. “Now you don’t get to argue,” he says, kissing between your thighs. “You just stay quiet and take it.” And oh, you do [He makes sure of it.]

Vernon: “…What?” He deadpan stares at your boobs, then at your face, then back. “Are you serious right now?” Confused. Slightly aroused. Definitely distracted. “I don’t even remember what we were talking about.” [He never will, bc he’s too focused on you now.] He steps closer, hands slowly finding your waist, one thumb brushes the underside of your breast, reverent. “…You’re insane,” he whispers, grinning. He pulls you in a slow, heated kiss. Touches you like you're made of art. Lifts you up onto the counter or couch, whatever’s nearest, pushing your legs open as his mouth moves lower. “You win,” he murmurs against your skin. “Now let me worship you for it.” He presses a kiss to your inner thigh before licking a hot stripe over your center. “God, you taste like a sin,” he groans. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you still when you squirm. “You’re not going anywhere, baby. Not until you can’t remember your own name either,” and he keeps his promise :> Tongue deep, lips wrapped around your clit, humming every time you moan his name. When your thighs clamp around his head, he just groans into you like it fuels him.

Dino: You hit him with the flash mid-sentence and I kid you no, je literally shuts down. Eyes go wide. “Did… did you just—?” He walks away for a full 30 seconds before coming back. “That’s illegal. You can’t just do that.” Dino.exe has crashed. You raise an eyebrow, smug. “I just did.” He stares, then grabs your hand and pulls you toward the bedroom. “You better be ready to take responsibility.” Once you’re on the bed, he’s on his knees between your thighs in seconds, lips trailing fire up your skin, and then he devours you. Lips wrapped around your clit, tongue flicking just right. His focus is insane; he’s making a point with every swipe of his tongue. “Next time you flash me like that,” he murmurs against your soaked core, “just know I won’t stop until you’re begging.” p.s: you do beg.

[wonustars]

Your Cat Loves You (Ft. Norbert)

𖥔. ˖ ࣪ 𓂃 pairing: kim mingyu x f. reader 𖥔. ˖ ࣪ 𓂃 genre: fluff, smut (R: 18+ mdni) 𖥔. ˖ ࣪ 𓂃 wordcount: 2.8k

𖥔. ˖ ࣪ 𓂃summary: you and mingyu finally have a moment to yourselves, or so you thought... 𖥔. ˖ ࣪  𓂃 tags/smut warnings: the way of the house husband couple, husband!mingyu, wife!reader, norbert is a silly little menace, dom!mingyu, brat-ish!reader, oral (m. receiving), creampie, dryhumping, facefucking, big dick!mingyu. 𖥔. ˖ ࣪  𓂃note: part 1 of the winter event is dedicated to @onlymingyus, ily sm marsie pie ♡! thank you to my two beta-readers! @ylangelegy and @junkissed, ily boaf what the flip!! special thanks to @cheolism and @wooahaeproductions for helping me w brainstorming ideas as well! i missed writing this couple so i hope you all enjoy hehe. lmk what you think of this one thru a reblog or a comment! see u in the next installment! - anna ♡

𖥔. ˖ ࣪  𓂃event masterpost

“I'm horny,” you pout as you place the book you’re reading down on the bedside table. 

Mingyu walks out of the connected bathroom, towel slung around his waist, eyes wide, staring at the way your figure lays sensually along the mattress. 

You’re turned onto your stomach, his large t-shirt draped over your body, the curve of your ass peeking through the bottom hem. Mingyu’s mouth runs dry, contemplating a response to your outcry of desperation. 

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he shrugs. 

The aforementioned towel is thrown across your bedroom with unbridled abandonment. Jumping onto the bed, he grabs your hips, turning you around as he straddles your torso. 

Calloused hands grasp onto your wrists, pinning them above your head. Mingyu dives in without much afterthought, connecting his plump lips onto yours. Raw and unashamed, there's vigour behind his actions, swallowing your lustful moans in the process. 

Unfortunately for you, there’s an abrupt pause. Mingyu pulls away from you, a frown along his swollen lips. 

“Where’s Norbert?” 

“I want your cock inside me and you’re busy thinking about the cat?” You roll your eyes, huffing out with annoyance. 

“I don’t want him seeing us,” Mingyu mumbles before standing up to check the door. 

A disgruntled groan leaves your lips. Leave it up to your husband to worry about the cat in the most compromising of situations. In other circumstances, this would’ve endeared you, but your body has been brimming with sexual tension. A tension that only Mingyu can resolve.

“Last time I checked he was sleeping in his room,” you sigh, sitting up to admire the dragon tattoo on Mingyu’s back. 

You never get tired of the black ink that adorns his skin, eyeing the way it creeps up onto his shoulders. It’s like a sweet treat every time. 

He peeks into the hallway and nods shortly after being met with the still air outside your room. No cat ready to scratch at his chest or steal his spot on your bed. As soon as he has confirmation that Norbert isn’t looming in the shadows of the long hallway, he rushes to lock the door before flopping back onto the mattress. 

Sitting against the headboard, he pulls you onto his lap, the unamused expression on your face vanishes as you feel his rock-hard length against your bare cunt. Mingyu’s groans are guttural as you hump himself along his member. Wet and ready for him to finally take you. 

“You done being paranoid?” your question comes out breathless as you continue to stimulate the nerves between your thighs. 

“Uhuh,” Mingyu mumbles. 

Large hands travel under the hem of your shirt, rubbing and squeezing your flesh before he reaches your tits. Full in his hands, he pulls the fabric till it hits your chin, perked nipples placing him in a trance. Mingyu's mind swirls as he tweaks each one between his fingers, your breath becoming ragged as his pace starts to quicken. 

The shirt you’re wearing becomes a nuisance quickly after, even though he enjoys seeing you in his clothes, Mingyu prefers when you’re wearing nothing at all. Removing the tee from your body, he drinks in your figure. 

“Fuck, this pussy is always soaking,” Mingyu mutters, eyes glued to where your bodies are connected. 

“Been trying to get to you fuck me all day,” you whimper. 

He chuckles at your desperation. Even though only two of you live in this large house, alongside your gremlin of a cat, Mingyu has found it hard to get you moaning underneath him for about a week. 

Norbert had been the number one culprit as to why you and Mingyu haven’t been able to fool around for the past few days. It started with your cat barging into your room right before anything other than a few innocent pecks were exchanged between the two of you. 

You don’t know how he’s learnt to turn door knobs, but his curiosity had been never-ending since you and Mingyu made things official. Then he started to drag Mingyu’s clothes into his litterbox. 

Neither of you knew what had caused Norbert’s spur of rebellious attitude, but you’ve slowly learned how to deal with it. Now the door to Mingyu’s closet remains locked, and you also make it a habit to lock the bedroom door each night as well. 

The sexual frustration between you and Mingyu had become so palpable that you’ve woken up to his morning wood four out of seven times this week. There have been a few blowjobs and hand stuff here and there, but you haven’t had his dick inside you for what feels like an eternity. You’re almost convinced that your cunt has forgotten what it feels like to be filled by him. 

In all honesty, you just miss the way his cum would spurt inside you every night. 

For the first time in a while, Norbert wasn’t needy for your attention, and you’d be damned to not take the opportunity while it was still in front of you. 

“God I need it so bad,” you whine. 

Nuzzling into Mingyu’s neck, your hips continue to sway back and forth, the slick between your thighs starting to coat your legs and his pelvis. 

“It’s been too fucking long,” Mingyu hums, hands tracing the curve of your ass. 

Moaning into his skin, you feel his palms squeeze the flesh with an iron grip. Forcing the fat to shake with the force of his touch. His free hand still groping your left tit. 

Mingyu almost blacks out, your hole catching his tip with each move you make. He can’t have you on top any longer. Thoughts of using you like his own personal sex doll rampage violently, his fully hard length starting to leak precum with your increasing pace. 

“Think you can take me without any prep?” he asks, and your legs visibly shake at his words. 

“I-I don’t know, probably not, you’re fucking massive.” 

A laugh bubbles up from his throat; he’s never fucked you without at least stretching you out first. But the thought is too tempting to not try at least once. 

“Willing to try for me, baby?” He whispers in your ear. 

“Mhm, I’ll do anything. Just need you inside me,” you whimper. 

“That’s my girl.” 

A hard slap comes down onto your ass, the skin stinging in a way that's both painful but so delicious at the same time. Your mouth almost waters at how good he feels against you, and he barely even touches you. 

“I’ll give it to you. But—” Mingyu starts but you cut him off. 

“But?” your pitch raises, not liking how he’s continuing to drag out the foreplay. 

“But you suck me off first.” 

“Fuck, really? That's it? Can't we do that after? I need you now,” you continue to whine, pretending like your walls aren't gushing at the idea. 

It doesn’t hurt to act spoiled once in a while. 

“You’re gonna suck me off or I’m not fucking you tonight.” Mingyu’s voice is stern. You can’t help but hide the smirk on your face. 

The pout on your lips is instantaneous. You need to see how far you can take the brat persona before Mingyu’s fed up. Hopefully, it leads to him flipping you over and fucking you into the next universe.

“But don’t you wanna fuck me now? It’s been too long,” you sigh, halting your movements to rub your hands against his muscular chest.

Your fingertips flow with appreciation for the hard muscle under your touch, his nipples erect as you swipe over them briefly. 

Mingyu’s eyebrows scrunch together, jaw slack as you continue to feel him up. Moving over to his biceps you give them a squeeze before peppering kisses along his collarbones then at the base of his neck. 

Entranced by your touch, Mingyu almost loses focus on who's really in control here. Almost. 

Throwing you off his lap, he stands at the edge of the bed. His cock bobs from how stiff he’s gotten from a bit of rubbing. Tip red and angry, the veins along his shaft almost look like they’re about to burst from all your teasing. 

“On your knees. Now.” He tells you, tone unwavering. 

With a defeated huff, you gingerly move towards the end of the bed. Your knees cause the mattress to dip, your hips in the air, giving him a little show of your ass. Mingyu’s jaw clenches, trying his best not to fold from seeing your body in such compromising angles. 

“Like this baby?” You look up at him as you prop yourself up with your elbows. 

“Good girl. Stay put for me, yeah?” 

You smile at his words of affirmation, one hand against the sheets while your other hand grips his length. There’s something about his dominating aura that radiates off of him when you’re about to blow him, it’s addicting. 

Placing his cock against your cheek, your eyes become doe-like as you stare up at him through your lashes.  

“See how big you are?” you mumble, the tip almost hitting your lashes as it’s pressed to the side of your face. 

“Fuck me…” Mingyu drawls out, unable to comprehend how sexy you look in this angle. 

Fisting your hair in his hands, he’s had enough of your attitude. Your jaw opens as if it's second nature, tongue shooting out, waiting for him to use your mouth like a fleshlight. He taps the tip against your tongue before tracing it around your pink lips. You look like an absolute dream. 

Without a second left to waste, he shoves the entirety of himself into your warm mouth, fucking it until your throat restricts and your gag reflex emerges. Groaning from above you, Mingyu continues to push your head up and down the length of his pulsating cock, relishing in the warmth that envelopes him. The heat sears into his veins, culminating before it spreads throughout his limbs. 

“Yeah, keep taking this cock,” Mingyu groans, fingers tightening around the strands of hair in his grasp. “Bet you love getting your mouth fucked, huh?” 

You moan in response to the filth spilling from his mouth. With furrowed eyebrows, you do your best to breathe through your nose in an attempt to keep yourself from gagging further. 

Mingyu’s thrusts slow down, not wanting to bust a nut until he’s inside that sopping cunt of yours. You know he’s saving the best for last as he removes himself from your mouth with an audible pop. 

“Turn around.” He grunts, but you don’t move. 

As you catch your breath, Mingyu tsks at your reluctance to do what he asks of you. Slapping your cheek, he wakes you from your cock drunk trance. 

“What did I say? You were begging for me to be inside you less than ten minutes ago,” He laments. 

“I’m tired. You do it,” your smile hidden. 

He’s right where you want him. 

You continue to lay there, waiting for him to give up and take matters into his own hands. Without missing a beat, he grapples you until your ass is up in the air. The view of your glistening folds welcoming him as if he’s carved out a special place for his cock inside you. The familiar sheen of your arousal and puffed-up clit greet his length as you wiggle your hips for him. 

The smack of skin resounds against the walls of your room, your pussy clenching around nothing as Mingyu continues to hit your cunt until the juices gush past your entrance. 

“Holy fu-uck,” you choke out, face slamming into the mattress. 

Hands clutched onto the sheets, your eyes squeeze shut as you feel Mingyu’s tip tracing around your hole. Smearing the wetness seeping from your folds before you hear him spit onto your leaking pussy. 

“Hmph, shit!” you squeak, the heat of his spit dripping down the expanse of your sex. 

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” Mingyu praises you before plunging his cock into your awaiting warmth. 

The stretch is nearing unbearable, and the pain of his cock filling you almost causes you to pass out. But it’s satisfying all at the same time. He’s only halfway in, but your breath labours, chest heaving as you continue to take what he gives you. 

“So tight, you’re squeezing me like crazy,” Mingyu gasps, vision turning white as he continues to force himself inside you. Your moans increase in pitch as Mingyu bottoms out. Filling your walls till the hilt of his cock is pressed up right against your ass cheeks. Warm palms grope at your skin, slapping and squishing the flesh till handprints begin to appear. 

“G-gyu, please I need you to move. Fuck, I could cum right now,” you whine, squeezing his length involuntarily from how unprepared you are to take him. 

He agrees to your request without another word. Pulling back till only the tip of his cock is left only to ram his hips back into you. The sound of skin on skin hitting one another fills the room. Mingyu’s speed is steady as he thrusts in and out of you. 

The moans you let out almost sound as if you’re in pain, but it’s the complete opposite. Pleasure courses through your veins until you feel it in your toes, you’re a-dick-ted to the feeling of having him inside you. 

“You wanna cum? Show me how much you deserve to cum on this cock, baby,” Mingyu speaks through strained groans. 

Relishing in your wetness, he knows he’s about to fill you with his seed. His balls retract with each movement he makes, he can only wish to stay inside you forever. 

Without anything stopping you, your pussy convulses around him as you orgasm. The breath is knocked out of your chest, your fingers still wound tightly around the threads of your bedsheets. 

“I fucking love you, baby,” Mingyu practically wheezes, moving his hand to push your head further into your sheets. 

The flood of semen fills your walls, so much so that it dribbles past your entrance and onto both his dick and the bed beneath you. There’s so much, and it’s like his climax is never ending, cum continuing to shoot itself into your needy cunt.

Panting, you allow yourself to flop unceremoniously onto the bed. Tired and finally ready for bed, you wait for Mingyu to dislodge himself from you. A whimper leaves your lips as he finally unsheaths his softening member from your heat. His touch is as soft as a mouse, he pushes the hair out of your eyes before kissing your temple. 

“You did so good, baby. I’m gonna clean you up okay?” 

“Okay, baby,” you whisper. 

Unsure of how many seconds have passed, Mingyu comes back with a warm cloth. He wipes you and himself clean before moving you so that you’re lying on the bed properly. 

“We needed that,” he says in hushed chuckles. 

“I agree,” you laugh along with him. 

Right as you’re about to close your eyes, the door creaks open. The small shadow of your cat catches the candle's light by the TV stand. The pitter-patter of Norbert's paws fills the once-quiet room. 

Turning to Mingyu, your expression is evident that you’re ready to scold him for not locking the door. But before you can get a word in he’s already defending his case. 

“I promise, baby, I locked the door. I'm serious, please don’t kill me.” Mingyu pleads, hiding himself in your bare chest. 

“Kim Mingyu. If you locked the door, then Norbert wouldn’t be here right now,” you explain. 

Mingyu sighs, his warm breath leaving goosebumps against your skin. And he continues to swear that he really did lock the door, and even checked thrice to make sure it was secure. 

Norbert meows out, hopping onto the bed before scratching into Mingyu’s back. 

“What the fuck! Ow!” He yelps, Norbert’s claws continuing to paw at him. 

Defeated, Mingyu moves away from you. The pout on his lips accentuates as he’s forced to sleep beside your demon cat. Norbert’s scratching ceases at his surrender, moving into his rightful spot between you and Mingyu. 

Purring with satisfaction, the pleased cat purrs against you, nose nuzzling into your side. 

“Goodnight baby,” you murmur. 

The blanket is pulled up to your chest, your body facing the small cat perched at your left side. His eyes were round yet also filled with knowing. As if he did have the capability to somehow unlock the door to your bedroom from the outside. Knowing Mingyu’s forgetfulness, you decide that it’s simply not possible. 

“Goodnight,” Mingyu replies wistfully, but you send him a pointed look. 

“I’m talking to Norbert, Gyu.” 

“Whatever.” he huffs at your unamused expression, before attempting to inch closer to you. 

Norbert hisses at Mingyu’s sudden movements before snuggling closer to you. 

“Goodnight Norbert,” Mingyu sneers but pets the feline with affection despite his attitude. 

Norbert meows in return, tapping Mingyu’s cheek with his paw before settling into a deep sleep. 

Kim Mingyu - 0 

Norbert - 1

𖥔. ˖ ࣪ 𓂃 a/n: thank you for reading! please leave a reblog or comment if u enjoyed this little bonus scene! if you'd like to be notified when i post the next one send me an ask or fill out the taglist form located in the winter event masterpost! talk to u soon! - anna ♡

[ourdawnishotterthanourday]

Off Limits — Lee Seokmin

✧ She’s mine, and mine only ✧

Plot: Picture this… your boyfriend reminds you just who you belong to.

🎥 Starring: fem!reader x boyfriend!Lee Seokmin 🎥 Genre: dark romance; suggestive [+18], established relationship 🎥 Word count: 0.9k+ 🎥 Warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, extremely possessive seok (don’t mess with him ooof), light choking, one instance of violence (breaking an arm), many red flags 🚩 🎥 Notes: we are back again with yet another scene slightly inspired by the Legacy of Gods series by Rina Kent! had to do it because who doesn’t love a possessive seok??? 🤭 🎥 Shout out: 100x thanks again my love @nothoughtsjustfic for beta reading this for me 💜

♡ REBLOGGING AND/OR FEEDBACK WOULD BE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED — DON'T BE A STRANGER PLS ♡

Set The Scene Masterlist —  Masterlist

“I can’t believe this girls’ night is finally happening!” your friend Hana exclaimed as the three of you entered the fancy-looking club.

“Right? I can’t believe Y/N actually made it out here with us for once. I was almost starting to believe she completely forgot about us,” Areum, your other friend, sighed dramatically.

“Oh, come on! You know I’d never forget about you. Besides, we still do stuff. Clubbing has just not been on my mind lately,” you defended, knowing damn well that the reason for your absence was no one other than your boyfriend. 

Hana snorted. “Yeah, like once every few months. I mean, your boyfriend is hot and all, but it’s like the dude is freaking obsessed with you, always glued to your side and shit. He literally stares anyone down who even dares to look at you. It’s fucking intense.”

Oh didn’t you know it.

Seokmin was as intense as they come. It was something you both loved and hated about the man. It was great at times, because it meant endless passionate making out sessions that often led to kinky hardcore fucking at literally any place or time. But it was not so great when you were trying to have a night out with friends like now. 

Although Seokmin was very caring and probably the only man you’d ever truly loved, the man was the definition of possessive. 

You still vividly remember that one time he held a waiter at knifepoint for simply smiling at you, or when he broke the arm of one of your male co-workers for standing just a little too close. And let’s definitely not forget about that time you went grocery shopping, and he actually sent a guy to the hospital because he dared to ask for your number while Seokmin had temporarily disappeared into a different aisle. 

It was safe to say you were forced to change grocery stores after that. 

Maybe you were crazy for loving a man who would literally kill for you. Maybe your friends were right and he did in fact have an abnormal infatuation with you. But you honestly couldn’t imagine your life without Seokmin in it.

You had no purpose before he'd entered your life, working a 9 to 5, coming home to an empty house and watching cheesy shows every single night. Now, with Seokmin filling up your days, you felt alive, thrilled at having someone in your life who loved you as much as he did, even though it was a little extreme at times. 

Tonight, however, you really didn’t want to think about your boyfriend, especially since you hadn’t told him you were going out clubbing with your friends.

“Can we not talk about Seokmin?” you begged just when you’d gotten your first drinks. “I just wanna enjoy tonight, just us girls.” You raised your drink. 

The other two clinked their glasses with yours.

You grinned widely. “Let’s partaay!”

—

Everything was great until it wasn’t.

You were drinking and dancing on the dancefloor with your friends for a good two hours before you suddenly felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up straight, as if you were being watched — which could only mean one thing. 

Your hand immediately reached the phone that was in your clutch, unlocking it to check if you’d missed any calls or messages. There were none, strangely enough. But then how could you explain this feeling you were currently experiencing? Were you just imagining things?

Nobody is watching you. Just enjoy the moment. There is no way Seok—

A sudden hand on your ass and a loud scream had you spinning on your heels in no time. 

And there he was, Lee Seokmin, your boyfriend, with a murderous look on his face while he twisted some random dude’s arm behind his back, followed by a sickening crunch that had the guy squirming in his hold. 

“Yo what the hell man? Are you fucking crazy?!”

“Me? Ha! You’re the fucking crazy one for thinking you can touch what’s mine. You’re lucky I didn’t rip your fucking arm off.” You watched in horror as Seokmin tightened his grip on the poor dude’s arm. “Now fuck off and don’t let me catch you again or I’ll fucking kill you.”

The guy couldn’t get away fast enough when Seokmin finally released him, and you took that moment to mouth a quick “I’m sorry” to your two horrified friends before preparing yourself for what would come next. 

“Forgot something, Princess?” Your boyfriend asked as a familiar black piece of leather with the words Off Limits engraved into it dangled from his hand. 

“S-seok,” you gasped, feeling your whole body tense up in an instant, “What are you doing here?”

He frowned. “I should be asking you exactly that. I don’t recall you mentioning clubbing.” 

“I can explain, o-okay? Let’s just go somewhere else first, yeah?” you suggested, hoping to deescalate the situation a little bit. 

“No. I think everyone here needs to know who you belong to first. And after that, I’m going to show you just why you don’t ever want to lie to me, Princess.” 

Fuck, that really shouldn’t have made you as wet as it did. 

“Turn around.”

“Seok, please,” you pleaded, even though your body seemed more than okay with his demand. 

“Now.”

You quickly turned around when you realized there was no way out of this and gasped at the hand that immediately wrapped tightly around your throat, forcing your head back, your eyes connecting with Seokmin’s wild ones. 

A needy whimper escaped from your lips as he fastened a leather collar around your neck, his fingers briefly tracing over the words before he captured your mouth into a hot, toe-curling kiss that no doubt everyone on the dance floor had a front row seat to.

“You’re fucking mine, don’t forget that,” Seokmin rasped after retreating from your lips. Then he lightly tugged at the collar. “Now, about that punishment...”

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[shinysobi]

pretty u

summary: when joshua, your best friend gets engaged, you can't help but feel as though you're missing out on something important. jihoon, your other best friend, kindly offers to set you up with one of his many friends. chaos ensues, seungkwan is an observer who knows everything, and unfortunately, mingyu is a hapless victim.

pairing: woozi x fem! reader

genre: crack, fluff, angst

word count: 10k~ish

warnings: alcohol consumption, general warnings apply

a/n: yes so this is a reupload, bc guess who wanted to edit and instead ended up deleting the whole post? me, that's who. anyway, this is still my favorite chapter lol hehe

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three

back to masterlist

Chapter 4

Its funny, how easy it is, to slip into habits. Old habits, ones that have seeped into your routine over time. I wake up, check my phone for emails. I make coffee, check my phone for emails. I get dressed for work, check my phone for emails. On weekends, I do chores leftover from the week, read books I have to write reviews of.

I would most certainly not be taking a nap in the middle of a Saturday with Lee Jihoon. I would not be lying down in my bed, lying next to, nay, cuddled up with, Lee Jihoon. If anyone had told me, even a few hours ago, that I would be snuggled up with Lee Jihoon, my best friend since university. Wait. Can we even call ourselves friends?

“Jihoon.” I whisper, elbowing him in the ribs. “Jihoon.”

“Mm, five more minutes,” he mutters, “I’ll get up then.”

“Hey, wasn’t your meeting with the producers this afternoon?” I ask, “you’ll be getting in a world of trouble because you didn’t show up.”

“I won’t be getting in any trouble.” Jihoon replies, voice thick with sleep, “I’m the terrible child of the company. They’ll keep me around as long as I make good songs for them, they’ll change meeting times when I ask them to. They’ll do anything as long as I’m happy.”

“You’re taking advantage of your position,” I smile, shifting closer to him, “anyone would think you have a horrible work ethic.”

“It’s all okay when it’s regarding my—wait, what are we?” Jihoon sits up in the bed, still half-dressed, “are we still friends?”

“Depends. Do you kiss your friends?” I sit up, facing him, “then we’re friends. Otherwise, we’re not.”

Jihoon pulls a face, “I just imagined kissing one of the boys. Ew, no, never.”

“Then I suppose we aren’t friends anymore.” I smile, leaning in, “we’re something else, then.”

“Can I call you my girlfriend yet, or no?”

I laugh. From this angle, his face is soft, so soft it feels as though he’ll evaporate if I try to touch him, “depends. Do you kiss your girlfriends?”

Jihoon grins, pressing his lips to mine, “all the time.”

“M-hmm,” I smile, touching his cheeks, soft and pliable underneath my fingers, “Woozi, aren’t you being a little presumptuous? All the time? What do you mean all the time?”

He pulls a face, “I swear to god, if you start some bullshit again, I’m going to break up with you.”

“And we’ve been together for what, three hours? That has got to be a new record, even for you, Jihoon.” I say, laughing as Jihoon tackles me to the pillows, “not to mention you’ve been pining over me for the past what—six, years, since you went for your military service. Imagine liking someone for that long, and not telling anyone about it.”

“At least I had the decency to keep it to myself like a normal adult,” Jihoon replies, “you on the other hand, you were a wreck after a week. Imagine being that down bad over a man. You should be repulsed by yourself. What would Andrea Dworkin say?”

“And that’s it, we’ve had a good run, bye,” I begin, trying to get out of bed, but Jihoon stops me, “let me go. You said yourself that I should be repulsed because I like you.”

“Three hours and five minutes,” Jihoon replies, “not bad at all, given that two of them were spent sleeping.”

“Really, who the fuck sleeps after getting together with someone? It’s like, violating the first ethics of relationships,” I grumble, “imagine kissing your best friend, who’s now your boyfriend, who then proceeds to take a nap in your bed? Who would do that?”

“Were you disappointed?” Jihoon asks, his expression changing to sly, “were you expecting something else?”

I roll my eyes, struggling to get out of his grip, but unfortunately, all the hours Jihoon has put in the gym has now created a reality where I can no longer get out of his grip, “no, I wasn’t, I was just expecting you to not snore on me after kissing me in my living room.”

His face falls, and he is about to say something, when my phone rings loudly, making me jump, “what the hell? Why is your ringtone so loud?”

“It’s not!” I reply, “I just forgot to switch it back to silent after coming back home today. I had it set on full volume last night. And give that to me.” I swipe to accept the call,  and soon enough, Jeonghan’s voice floats through the speakers.

“How are you two doing?” Jeonghan asks, and I stare at Jihoon, who seems to be equally confused as me.

“Jihoon said he was going to meet you, I figured that you two might have finally gotten your shits together,” he clarifies, “I’m not that old, nor do I have enough sense to stay out of your affairs.”

“Yes, yes, hyung, you’re the nosiest of us all,” Jihoon grumbles from next to me, “yes, we’re doing fine, thank you very much.”

“Great!” I can hear the barely-concealed glee in his voice, “Chan, tell the rest of the guys to pay up. I’m the only one who guessed correctly that they were going to get together by today.”

“Pay up—wait, hyung, you were betting on my love life?” Jihoon screeches, “why the hell would you do that?”

“I’ve seen and heard you pine over her for the past eight years, you nitwit, of course, I’m going to host a betting pool for when you finally get together. Not to mention, you’ve just made me an entirely obscene amount of money, which I’m going to spend happily.”

“Wait, if you knew Jihoon was going to come to see me, why did you take so long to call us?”

“I was being polite.”

“For what?”

“Well, if you two were having sex, I would not like to be calling in the middle of it now, would I?” he giggles even as Jihoon and I both let out twin gasps of surprise, “What? Did you not put years of sexual tension into use?”

“That’s inappropriate, hyung.”

“So, you haven’t.”

“Oppa!”

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop.” Jeonghan lets out one final demonic cackle (still cannot believe I called him my angel once), “I’ll let you two lovebirds be together. Oh, and Soonyoung told me to tell you, Jihoon, that he’ll take care of the meeting today. You can take a day off once in a while.”

“Thanks, hyung, I’ll go back to sleeping,” Jihoon mutters, handing the phone over to me and immediately burrowing himself in the sheets to get some more sleep.

“I’ll make myself scarce then, shall I?”

“Wait, oppa,” I say, thinking very hard, “you did this on purpose didn’t you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I mean the whole situation. You were the one who kept telling me about how long Jihoon has liked me for, and you were the one who I called before Jihoon took the phone away from you and talked to me.” My voice takes on an accusatory note, “Yoon Jeonghan, did you manipulate me and Jihoon into confessing so that you could win a bet?”

“I will neither confirm nor deny that accusation.”

“So, you did.” I stand up from the bed, ignoring Jihoon, who’s already snoring softly, “Yoon Jeonghan, you better give us a share of the pool.”

Jeonghan laughs on the other end of the phone, “fine, fine, I will. I’ll take you and Jihoon out for samgyeopsal this week. Cool?”

“Just so you know, while we both will be there, I still don’t appreciate this.”

“Come on, writer,” Jeonghan wheedles, “anyone could see that you were both circling each other for half a decade. It was exhausting to watch, you know.”

“Fuck you.”

“Love you too!” he hangs up, and I go back to bed, sidling up to Jihoon, who hugs me in his sleep. Its nice, being this way. I can pretend that the world is just the two of us, in my bed, sleeping in the afternoon.

Jihoon doesn’t look lonely anymore. In fact, he looks happy, smiling even in his sleep. When was the last time I saw him like that? A memory floats up to my mind, of another afternoon, spent in Jihoon’s  flat, after we’d all finished giving the final exams. Jihoon had a job lined up with a production company, and I was about to start working with an online fashion magazine. Joshua was in graduate school, and everything was fine. We spent that one afternoon watching trashy soap operas on Netflix, drank too much booze and smoked too many cigarettes, and finally, just before we went to sleep, I could swear I saw a ghost of a smile on Jihoon’s face.

Until a week later, when his enlistment notice came, and I never saw that smile again. But now it is there, and I can reach out and touch him, and I can see his face relax even more under my touch, as if Jihoon had been craving it, even in his denial. I probably have, even after so long. Years of wondering ‘what if’ and now, finally, it’s here.

“Jihoon,” I whisper, “Jihoon.”

“What?” he burrows further into the blankets, “I’m cold now.”

“Jeonghan kind of manipulated us both into getting together.”

“He did?” Jihoon mumbles, “good for him, I now have a girlfriend.”

—

Jihoon wakes up in the middle of the evening, and shakes me awake too, because he’s hungry and I have to cook for him.

“I’m the one who told you about this apartment, so you kind of owe me,” he says, perched on a stool, “and no ramen, please. I’ve been living on that for so long I know all flavours that are there, and the convenience store guy looks at me strangely whenever I go inside.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” I mutter, chopping up vegetables to put in a stew, “I don’t have anything in the house, so you’re going to have to be happy with a random stew of things I found lying in the fridge.”

“That’s fine.” He replies, “at least I don’t have to starve.”

“Yes, Mr Woozi, I appreciate the concern, now wash the rice.”

Lunch (dinner? Linner?) is kimchi stew, with old vegetables and things that were almost going bad, but he eats it like it’s a Michelin-starred restaurant meal. Jihoon is not really picky: I’ve seen him eat everything from day-old scraps to a croissant that was growing mould on it (the less said about that the better) but us eating in my kitchen, this feels strangely domestic to me, in a way that’s almost scary.

“Are you scared?” Jihoon asks, spooning up rice into his mouth, “don’t worry, I’m scared too.”

I stare at him, “have you become psychic, by any chance? Do you want to change your profession to shaman?”

“I’d be a shitty shaman either way,” he replies, “the only person I know how to read well is you. You have that look on your face, so I asked.”

“What look?”

“The look that you get when you’re terrified of something, but you also want to do it.”

“I don’t have a look.”

Jihoon stares at me, “You totally do, I know it; it’s the same look you got when you attempted to take that class on Psychoanalysis in second year.”

“I sucked at it.”

“That’s not the point. The point is, you were terrified, but you also wanted to do it, I know that look. You might think you’re fooling people, and you can, but the last person you can fool is me; Joshua, to an extent, but I doubt he’s made a hobby of reading your every expression over a period of eight years.”

I make a face. Jihoon notices, because of course he does, “that’s the face you make when you don’t like what the other person is saying, but you know that they’re right.”

“That’s unfair, Jihoon.”

“Is it? I’ve known you for so long, of course I should know about your expressions.” He smiles, before leaning over to kiss me on the cheek, “that’s the expression you make when your surprised.”

“Then don’t fucking surprise me!” I press a hand to my cheek, “what was the reason for that?”

“Nothing, just making sure I didn’t dream up the last few hours, and that I can really kiss you whenever I feel like it.”

“I have to want it too, you know. Also, when did you get so keen on physical affection? I’ve literally never seen you be this way with anyone before.’

He shrugs, “I wasn’t pining over those people for years, so that’s there, too.”

I don’t know what to say to this, so I just laugh at his words, “Jihoon, aren’t you being a bit hard on them?”

“On who?”

“The women you’ve dated. The people I’ve dated. Like it or not, they are a part of us. They’ve made us into the kind of people we are today.” I take a sip of the soup, “would you have asked me out if we were in university? Or after you came back from the military?”

He pauses to think about it, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of kimchi, “probably not.”

“And even if you did, we would have hated each other, and broken up in a week. So, let’s not talk about the people who have given a part of their lives to us.”

Jihoon nods, “understood. Does this mean you’re going to invite your exes to your wedding?”

I laugh, “not to that extent, no, but I will respect them for their time and affection that they gave to me because for better or for worse, they were a part of who I was, before I fell in love with you.”

“Fell in love?” Jihoon gasps, “are you saying you’re in love with me?”

“As if this was even part of the question. Of course I’m in love with you.” I take a deep breath, standing up to clear out the remnants of dinner, “I don’t know how to say this properly but, I’ve loved you all throughout the time I’ve known you. As a friend, as a lover, as my family here in Seoul. I’ve loved you all the time. At the risk of sounding cringe, there has not been a time when I haven’t been full of love for you. Even if it didn’t seem that way, I’ve loved you for years.”

Jihoon doesn’t say anything, instead wraps me into a hug, “have you been taking lessons on how to deliver a speech?”

“Why, yes, I have.”

He giggles, which is a rare sound coming from him, “I’ve always loved you too. Even if I didn’t show it, even if I didn’t express it well, I have loved you.”

I kiss him, “sorry for taking all this time to realise my feelings.”

He shakes his head, “no, don’t be sorry for that. The way you are, the way you will be, I’ll always love you.”

—

I text Eunseo in the evening, asking her to meet me for coffee. Joshua and Jihoon are both too busy for brunch, so I have some time to burn. Eunseo texts me back within minutes, eagerly agreeing to meet me. I text her the name of the same café the three of us go to for brunch.

“You look great,” Eunseo says as soon as I walk in, “did something great happen?”

I stare at her. She’s dressed to go out this morning, wearing a light green dress under a heavy brown coat. In comparison, I’m wearing my office pants and a white shirt. We’re dressed miles apart. Saying that I look good is almost an insult.

But Eunseo doesn’t insult anyone, even knowingly, so I take my seat and say, “you’re joking.”

“No, not at all,” she replies, “you’ve got this glow that I cannot really put my finger on. It seems as though something great happened in the past few days.”

“Well, I did begin seeing Jihoon, so,” I shrug, but Eunseo is already clapping her hands in joy, “what? What’s going on?”

“Wait, I have to tell Joshua to come meet us,” she chirps, “I’m not saying anything until he comes back, but I’m so happy for you, you have no idea.”

Joshua, who was looking at suits in the morning, comes to the café within minutes, by which we already have ordered a bunch of things. He comes in looking harried, and the first thing he says, “I thought this was an emergency! You texted me she was dying!”

Eunseo laughs, “that was the only way to get your attention, josh, I’m so sorry.” Her expression shows that she isn’t sorry at all.

“No, you’re not,” Joshua sits down on the chairs, “you’re not sorry at all, Eunseo.”

They share a sweet moment, and normally, I’d pull a face and call them cringe, but today, I just don’t feel like it. maybe it’s the hormones of being in a relationship, or maybe I’m finally growing soft around the edges, but I think, what would happen if I text Jihoon to come see us right now? He’d probably scowl and refuse, but I can’t help but imagine the two of us in place of Joshua and Eunseo, sharing a nice moment. This is it; I think to myself, this is the moment you realise you’ve gone entirely crazy because of a man.

“Anyway,” I say loudly, interrupting the two of them, “Eunseo called you here because I have an announcement.”

Joshua stares at the two of us, “is she dying?”

“No! What the fuck, Joshua, I’m not dying!” I say, irritated by this line of conversation, “as I was telling Eunseo, I’m not dying, I just began seeing Jihoon.”

“But you can see him all the time,” Joshua says, still clueless as ever.

“Romantically. Joshua, romantically. We’re dating.” I say, rolling my eyes.

Joshua stares at me, speechless for a whole ten seconds, before he starts laughing, “finally. Cannot believe I had to endure all those years of Jihoon pining over you and you dancing around him because you wanted to avoid your own feelings.” He turns to Eunseo, who looks equal parts disgusted and horrified, “they are probably two of the most obvious people in existence.”

I narrow my eyes, “you both knew about this? And no one told me?”

To her credit, Eunseo looks apologetic, “I just didn’t want to burden you with the knowledge that we all were aware of the dynamics between you and Jihoon; you seemed like you were still figuring it out, and Jihoon didn’t seem like he wanted anyone else to know. But he’s right, you know. You two were seriously the most obvious people in the world.”

I want the earth to split up and swallow me whole, right at this moment. What do you mean we were the most obvious people in the whole world? “What do you mean we were the most obvious people in the whole world?” I wasn’t even aware that Jihoon had feelings for me until a few months ago! “I wasn’t even aware of my own feelings until very recently.”

Before Eunseo can reply to my statement, her phone rings, and she makes a face before picking it up, saying, “it’s the realtor. He is supposed to meet us later in the week.”

Joshua pulls an identical face, and not for the first time since they started dating, I wonder why it is that all couples start to look alike after a few years of being together. However, for the first time, I also wonder how Jihoon and I would look like after a few years together. Would we be annoying, like Joshua and Eunseo? Or would we be one of those couples who always fought and broke up and patched up, all within the span of a week, like those people in university? But that would mean I’d have to spend enough time with Jihoon, becoming one of those couples.

“You’re putting on your thinking face,” Joshua says, bringing me out of my reverie, “it’s the expression you make whenever you’re imagining something.”

“I don’t do that,” I defend reflexively, but I know he’s true, simply because this is not the first time someone has told me about my ‘thinking face’. It is, however, the first time that someone has called me out when I was thinking about Jihoon. “What were you saying?”

“Eunseo just left to take the call from the realtor,” Joshua smiles, “I must say, I saw this coming from a mile away.”

I scowl, “what do you mean you saw this coming from a mile away? I’m not someone who’s that predictable, am I?”

“Well, it is true. You are kind of predictable,” Joshua shrugs, “you’ve been wearing the same clothes since university, you eat the same ten dishes all the time, and you even like the same kind of side dishes. You’re very predictable.”

I sigh, “yes, fine, I’m predictable. Still doesn’t mean you saw this coming from a mile away.”

“Have you seen the way you and Jihoon behave around each other? No matter how much you say that you can’t stand the sight of the other person, Jihoon cares about you the most. He drops everything at a moment’s notice to come to your aid. You do the same thing too, it’s just that you aren’t as forthcoming about it as him.”

“Was that why you were behaving weirdly on that night?”

“What night?” Joshua seems to have entirely forgotten that one Sunday, except it is ingrained into my mind like its just yesterday, “I don’t remember anything.”

“The night that you proposed to Eunseo,” I say, trying my best to not sound frustrated, “when Jihoon told you he was helping me hook up with people, you reacted really strangely.”

“Oh, yes, I did,” Joshua looks sheepish, “I shouldn’t have overreacted like that, but it was very confusing for me.”

“Confusing?”

“Imagine one of your closest friends, who has been pining over another one of your closest friends, telling you that he is helping the girl he has had a crush on for the past six years, in getting her a boyfriend. How would you feel about that?”

“Um, well,” I pause on it, “I’d think my friend was stupid.”

“That’s it!” Joshua yells, “see how it was confusing for me? all throughout university I thought Jihoon had a crush on you, but all of a sudden, after years as your friend,  he’s trying to set you up with other men? I thought he was being an idiot.”

“Well, I told him he shouldn’t be doing that,” I grumble, “he didn’t even listen to me and went and blabbed to you about how he was going to set me up with one of the boys.”

“You were the one who made that comment about Mingyu,” Joshua accuses, “I’d better not see you make any excuses for yourself. And what does ‘platonically motorboat’  even mean?”

“It means you would like to motorboat someone, but platonically, not romantically,” Eunseo says, walking into the café, “babe, the realtor wants to see us today, if we can.”

“Really? He wants to meet us today? After changing the date so many times?” Joshua groans, “never mind. We should be glad he’s meeting us poor people, who just want to buy a newlywed home.”

“You should be glad he’s meeting you at all,” I say, gesturing for the check, “if I ever saw a credit score as bad as yours’, I’d refuse to give you any credit, let alone show you houses.”

Both of them pull identical scowls, “yes, yes, showing off your excellent credit, go on,” Joshua says, “I just know you bragged all about it to Jihoon already.”

“You’re not wrong,” I reply, grinning, “but Jihoon said I should brag to others too, so I’m bragging to you.”

“Never mind her babe,” Eunseo puts her hands over Joshua’s ears, “she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

The three of us walk out into the early winter morning, shivering in the cold. Joshua and Eunseo promptly set off in a taxi to go meet their realtor, while I make my way to my apartment, suppressing my urge to text Jihoon about his work. I’ve been endlessly curious about his process ever since university, but the only times he’s allowed me into the studio I’ve either fallen asleep within ten minutes of being there, or we had conversations about things that were not related to his music production. On the other hand, if I text him right now, badgering him about his work, I will seem like either a. an insane, clingy girlfriend, or b. a stupid, clingy girlfriend. In both cases, Jihoon is going to get sick of me so fast, he’s going to break a record with how fast he’s going to dump me.

In university, I was part of the journalism club, and on the first group outing, one of the seniors, drunk off of one too many soju cocktails, had taken the first-years aside and talked about how one should behave when in a relationship. “Now listen,” she had said, “never, I repeat, never, let him know that you’re into him, especially in the first few months of dating. The less he knows about your real feelings, the better.”

“But sunbae,” one of my freshman year-mates had raised her hand, “what happens if your boyfriend gets to know how much you like him in the first few months of the relationship?”

The senior had sighed, before saying, “you’ve got to understand why men like women. They don’t like the person we actually are; they like the chase. They like the person we pretend to be when we start dating them for the first time. Therefore, unless you’re absolutely sure that this is a man you want to keep around for a long time, you must not let your real self show around him.”

We had all nodded, as if we understood what she was talking about, and I had spent the last few years   of my life earnestly following this rule. Never allowing my real self to be shown around the people I have dated. But now I’m dating Jihoon, who has been around for all of the embarrassing chapters of my life. How do I navigate this new change in dynamic?

My phone pings, and I look down, expecting a text from Joshua or Eunseo, talking about their wedding, but instead of the two of them, its Jihoon.

hoon: did you tell joshuji?

hoon: he just texted me btw

hoon: he also says that we have both been huge idiots

I pause in the middle of the road in my surprise, and narrowly miss hitting a pedestrian. I always knew Joshua was a snitch, but telling Jihoon not even ten minutes after I’ve left? That’s just low.

big dick (canon): cannot believe Joshua snitched

big dick (canon): actually no, I do believe it

big dick (canon): he and Eunseo ditched me after brunch so I’m now being forced to go back to my home

big dick (canon): my home that I love and adore

big dick (canon): but still, I don’t really want to hang out in my apartment all by myself

big dick (canon): it’s so boring

big dick (canon): I’m going to kms

hoon: you know, one of the many, many perks of having me as your boyfriend is

hoon: that you can come hang out in the studio with me all the time

hoon: and I won’t even get angry with you, unlike how I get with others

hoon: because I love you, and this is a perk I provide to my loved ones ONLY

big dick (canon): you have canonically told all twelve of your friends to fuck off from the studio, at least once in your lifetime

big dick (canon): and I’m not even including all the times you have told me no for an interview

big dick (canon): if I count all those times, its going to go to a hundred, EASILY

big dick (canon): and you’re telling me to come hang out with you

big dick (canon): this is HIGHLY sus

hoon: just come to the studio my god you’re so dramatic

hoon: don’t take this as a sign to stop being dramatic, I actually like it when you do that

hoon: if you tell this to anyone else, I’m going to deny it and kill you

big dick (canon): you won’t do that you like me too much

big dick (canon): anyway, should I bring something for you to eat

hoon: have I ever told you that I love u

big dick (canon): yes, u have

big dick (canon): multiple times, in fact

hoon: ugh so dramatic

big dick (canon): I won’t get you anything, then

hoon: get me some fried chicken

big dick (canon): I’m having it delivered to your studio. I’m coming in ten

By the time I enter Jihoon’s studio, the chicken has been delivered, and I open the door to see Jihoon munching on a drumstick. Unlike other days, the studio is messy, and he looks like he’s been through hell. Which, if you take Jihoon’s word for it, is not much, just three meetings.

“Shouldn’t you leave one drumstick for me?” I ask, shrugging my winter coat off, “fuck, its cold as hell outside.”

“Needed brain food,” Jihoon replies through a mouthful of chicken, “had a meeting in the morning, the sound engineers needed some changes to be done to Hoshi’s title track.”

“Sounds like shit,” I mutter, picking up a piece, “you’ve been working on that since the morning?”

“Not just that, but the girl group song too,” he replies, “they liked the first song so much that they want another song from me. I’ve been looking through the scratch files on my computer to find out what songs I can give to them that aren’t emo ballads I made after one too many drinks.”

“You know, some of us just vomit after getting wasted. Are you trying to brag to me that you become more creative when drunk?”

“I’m not bragging, some of these are actually atrocious,” he says, pointing to the icons on the screen, “this one is just called ‘I’m never going to be alive’. What does that mean? Why was I thinking about this at three in the morning?”

“Entertaining suicidal thoughts at three in the morning is something we’ve all done, actually.”

“This is just called ‘Love hurts’, and this one, I named it ‘Park PD is a bitch’.”

“I’ll go tell him you said that.” I laugh when Jihoon’s face darkens, “okay, okay, fine, I won’t, but why do you hate him so much?”

“I don’t hate him at all. he was probably getting on my nerves at that moment, and instead of talking it out like real adults, I chose to instead make a song draft calling him a bitch.”

I look closely at the computer screen, “Wait, Jihoon. All of these songs are love songs. To an extent. How many love songs have you written over the years?”

He takes a minute to answer that, “since university, I’ve either created existential songs or love songs, so, I’d say, about a hundred? Give or take, but I won’t put a number on it, since I’m not really sure.”

“You wrote about a hundred love songs?”

“Yes, I did, and they’re all in here,” Jihoon pats the external hard drive hooked up to the computer, “this holds pretty much all of my work.”

“Makes sense as to why you would guard it with your life.” I reply.

I go to sit back down, putting my feet up on the sofa, and Jihoon gives me a dirty look. I just smile in reply. He’s always a stickler for these kind of rules, but it’s funny to see him be so rattled. I’m not going to lie and say that seeing him be irritated is funny, because it is. An angry Jihoon is a cute Jihoon, I’ve learnt that back in university. Especially when he pouts like that.

“You still wear minion socks?” Jihoon says, stuffing his mouth with chicken, “I gave you that as a gag gift last year, you should have thrown them out as soon as you got them.”

“I like the socks. They’re comfortable.” I reply, shrugging, “who gave you the idea to give me socks as a gag gift?”

“Soonyoung. He thought it would be funny to give you cartoon socks.”

“Joke’s on him, I like having my feet warm.”

After Jihoon and I finish the chicken and clean up in record time, he goes back to his workstation, and I’m free to observe him as much as I want to. Seeing Jihoon in his element is always an experience. Even in university, I used to observe him when he worked. He has a singular focus on whatever he does, from eating to producing music. I’m also not going to lie to myself and say that he isn’t attractive when he works, because somehow his attractiveness gets turned up a hundred notches when he’s working. Or maybe, I like him too much and I find everything about him attractive. His eyes are laser-focused on his work, and the lines of his neck, disappearing into his shirt, is at odds with the Jihoon in my bed yesterday, peacefully sleeping as he held me for warmth. Before last night, I never knew that Lee Jihoon was someone who got cold even underneath a comforter, and liked holding someone else for warmth.

“You’re staring,” Jihoon says, breaking my line of thought, “I’ve been talking to you for the past ten seconds and you’ve been staring into space.”

“I was just looking at my handsome boyfriend as he works. Is that not allowed?”

“Stop saying that.” He mutters, going back to his work, but I can see him turning red. Jackpot.

“Jihoon.”

“Hm?”

“Are you blushing right now?”

He turns around to give me an impressive glare, “no, I’m not.”

“The back of your neck is red.” I grin, “were you getting shy?”

“No, I wasn’t.” he lies, his ears going red. At this rate, he might burst into fumes.

“Your ears say otherwise, Jihoon,” I stand up, walking over to his chair, “your ears and your neck is red. You’re getting shy, aren’t you?”

“What! No, I’m not—” he pauses for a moment, turning away from me, before grabbing me by the waist, “stop teasing.”

“I won’t,” I giggle, taking the opportunity to climb into his lap, “see! You’re going all red.”

His face is still turned away from me, but I can see the blush on his cheeks, “are you going to continue to lie to me, Jihoon?”

He pauses, before huffing, “you’re gonna regret teasing me, you know.”

“Pretty sure I won’t—aah!”

Unfortunately, my plan had but one singular flaw in it. I had underestimated how much he worked out on a weekly basis. Jihoon just glares at me, before picking me up and walks over to the sofa, my legs dangling around his waist. Seriously, how much does this guy work out?

“Really? I was working, and in the zone, and you had to tease me like that?” he grumbles, before unceremoniously dumping me on the sofa, “I shouldn’t have invited you over. Let me go back to work.”

“But you did,” I grin, my hands around his neck, “you invited me over. Lured me in, I’ should say. You lured me in, and now you should pay the price.”

Jihoon groans, before smiling, “is this how it’s going to be all the time?”

“Mm, I’m afraid so.”

Lying down on the sofa, I can see the lights on the ceiling, bright white, ones that Jihoon claimed helped him with his workflow. I hated them in the beginning, claimed that they hurt my eyes, but over time, I grew used to them, to the point where I can’t imagine there being anything else. Bright white lights. A comfortable sofa. Jihoon’s face obscuring my vision, so close that I can make out every individual eyelash. His mouth, full and open, insistent against mine. Jihoon kisses like he wants to do nothing else, I’ve realised. As though this was what he wanted to do all along. Anything is okay. I’m not afraid of falling, if it’s Jihoon. which is why  I find myself doing strange things. Like allowing him to touch me, even if it’s in the middle of day, in a room where anyone might come in; like allowing him to undress me, even if I’m underneath harsh white lights. Because its him, because its Jihoon. I can touch him in return, slip my hands underneath the shirt he’s wearing, because I can press my mouth just as insistently against him as him.

“So, this is how it’s going to be, is it?” he says, unbuttoning my shirt, “wait. You’re not wearing a bra?”

I roll my eyes. Of all the things he can talk about, this is what he chooses to focus on? “No, Jihoon, its winter. I’m wearing three layers over this. Of course I don’t want to wear a bra. It’s too much work.”

“I wish it was winter forever,” he replies, continuing to unbutton my shirt, “good god, if this is the outcome, I wish it was winter all throughout the year.”

“The economy is gonna hate you.” I mumble against his mouth, “imagine a whole year of winter. The economy is gonna go haywire. And all because you’re horny.”

“It’s a proof of how much I’m attracted to you, that I’m still working on  your shirt after you just started talking about the economy,” Jihoon finally manages to slip off the shirt I’m wearing, “total buzzkill.”

I scowl, yanking his shirt over his head in one go, “sorry I’m such a buzzkill, then.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” Jihoon kisses my cheek, “you’re so beautiful. Have I told you that?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Remind me to tell you this every day, then.” His hands are soft on my hair, stroking, “you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.”

“Even compared to Jeonghan?”

“Even compared to Jeonghan.” He repeats, “why do you have to bring him up now?”

“Just like that.” I smile, kissing him softly, “so, you like this?’

“Is this how it’s going to be now? For the foreseeable future?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Thank god,” Jihoon murmurs, his hands on the button closure of my trousers, “I can’t wait for the future, then.”

—

Being in this industry means you have to meet with a lot of people. When I say a lot of people, I do mean a lot of people. I’ve managed to keep my connections alive, but it has not been easy getting to this place. Not the least for someone like me, who had no one in the industry to rely on. In the beginning, when I was working at the fashion magazine, everywhere I went I would be marked as an outsider, and it was surprising how easily doors could get closed. I’ve always been resentful of those times, but now, now it feels like a moment in time that never called its name out for me, and I cannot bring myself to care.

These are the thoughts that I usually have in the mornings. But now, things have changed.

For one, Jihoon is sleeping next to me, his hands holding me close. Its strange, looking at him like this, peaceful instead of a permanent frown etched into his brow, a small smile on his face instead of the scowl that seems to have carved out its own position on his face.

Nowadays, I wake up before Jihoon does, and on most days, I spend some time looking at his face. He was always beautiful, but now, now he looks ethereal. It takes all my self-control to not run from this, because how can someone like me be happy? What right do I have to happiness?

“You’re thinking too much again,” Jihoon says, shaking my train of thought loose, “I can practically hear your gears turning.”

“Morning,” I reply, hoping it sounds smooth and easy and not like I’ve been consumed with depressing thoughts.

Jihoon hums, pulling me in closer, “you always think too much. Its time you stopped thinking so fast.”

“Hm? Do you have a way of doing that?”

That gets his attention, and he opens his eyes. Still sleepy, but fully awake. “You want me to do something about your overthinking?”

“Yes.”

“Hm, I have a thought on how you can change that.”

“And what is that?”

He says nothing, merely pulls me closer.  

“Have I told you how much I love you?” Jihoon asks, after we’re both finished, lying in a haze of our own happiness, oblivious to the world around us, “if I haven’t, consider it an oversight I wish to rectify. As much time as it takes.”

“Are you—proposing to me right now?” I ask.

“Well, it’s not really a proposal yet, but I am going to. And it’s going to be with flowers and a grand gesture that you really can’t turn down.”

“Never took you for a romanticist, Lee Jihoon.”

“Well, that’s the beauty of dating me.”

—

Mr Hong is an impressive writer, which is perhaps why I have always been a little jealous of him and his work. It’s also not at all strange as to why he only agrees to interviews with me, given his prickly demeanour, which has not really improved in the years that I have managed to work with him.

But even with all my misgivings, work is work, and I make my way to the office to pick up my files for the interview, and Seungkwan offers me a warm latte, insisting that I should carry it into the interview. The drink is still warm in my hands, and I stare at him. he just shrugs, “what, you should take it to him, it’ll look nice if we bring him something to drink in an interview.”

“Seungkwan,” I say, trying my best not to laugh, “have you read all of Mr Hong’s interviews with me?”

“Yes, I have, why?”

“Then you should also know that he only drinks tea from a specific tea garden in India, right?”

Seungkwan stares back. “He’s that much of a tea snob?”

“He earns ten billion per year in book sales, he can afford to be a tea snob. He imports the tea himself. He doesn’t drink coffee, and he would also hate it if I offered him a drink. It makes him feel like he’s not being a good host to me.”

“She’s like a criminal profiler when it comes to him,” the Editor hands Seungkwan a file, “managed to get all this information from the one single television segment filmed at his house.”

“Kind of forced to, since there was no prior information on him,” I mutter, but Seungkwan’s eyes widen, and he grabs my hands, eyes shining, “what the hell are you doing? You’re scaring the shit out of me.”

“You’re so cool, sunbae,” Seungkwan says, almost giggling from his excitement, “can’t believe you exist.”

“Seems like her boyfriend cannot believe she exists either,” The Assistant Editor sets down a cup of coffee at my desk, “cute guy. Handed me the coffee and said I should give it to the Associate Editor.”

“Jihoon said that?” I ask, picking up the warm cup. It’s an iced café mocha, sugary enough for Seungkwan to cringe when he takes a taste of it. “Jihoon doesn’t really refer to me by my title.”

“He always does with us, though,” Seungkwan says, “in fact, he’s been quite besotted with you since your university days.”

“University? It took them that long?” Haewon tuts, “really, sunbae, you should have just gotten together by now.”

“He should be doing that more, if you ask me,” the Assistant Editor smiles, “how does it feel to be the author of one of the most popular columns in the newspaper? There are a couple thousand hits on it every day, and that’s me being conservative with the estimate.”

“They love that column,” the Editor pipes up, “we sure are a depressed country.”

“Yes, yes, I’ve just been giving a voice to the most depraved of our society,” I mutter, slinging my bag over my shoulder in what feels like a fourth time this morning, “Seungkwan, are you coming along?”

“Yes!”

Writer Hong’s house is in the same neighbourhood as Jeonghan’s, but he has been living in it since the 90’s and to my knowledge, there has not been a violent murder to reduce the price of the house. Not that he would complain about it, given his obsession with true crime and the lurid crime novels he had written in the 80’s under a pseudonym that I had dug out for him to agree for an interview; because while the television segment did help, it was nothing compared to the immovable force of Writer Hong’s refusal to be in the spotlight. Which is why I had to yell out one of the names of his books (written in the 80’s) before he could disconnect the call. It was the first month I had been working at the news desk, and I was different. Hungrier. For recognition, or for someone to tell me that leaving my comparatively cushy, but dead-end job at a fashion magazine to pursue a career in journalism (good journalism), but journalism that does not pay the bills, was a bad idea. It was my first scoop, and I still remember being congratulated around the office like I had conquered a country. It was supposed to be a one-off thing, something a young writer had accomplished against the better judgement of all the adults involved.

But then Writer Hong had gone and taken a shine to me. I like the way you conduct interviews, he had said, very short. Not like those other blithering idiots who only go on and on about how great my work is.

Which brings me and Seungkwan to this morning, standing outside his mansion—it’s a mansion, a house the two of us can only dream of buying one day—in the cold winter air, Seungkwan nervously clutching the file he’s kept holding on to ever since we left the office building.

I ring the doorbell, and Seungkwan whimpers. Whimpers. I give him a sharp look, and he manages to compose himself just in time for Writer Hong to open the door, grumpy and ruffled, but he opens the door and lets us in, and soon enough, we are sitting in the middle of a tastefully done room, waiting for him to serve us with expensive Darjeeling tea. Seungkwan’s foot vibrates at an almost supersonic speed.

“So,” he says without much of a preamble, entering the room holding a teakwood tray, “I should call you Writer now, instead of Associate Editor.”

Its difficult to stop the blush that spreads across my cheeks, and even Seungkwan lightens up at that statement. Writer Hong had always been someone who valued propriety and how to address someone properly above all else, a relic of the old age, even if he had hated it in his youth.

“I’m still Associate Editor to you, sir,” I reply, holding the porcelain teacup carefully, “the writing is just a column.”

“And one of the better columns I’ve read in the last few years,” he grumbles, “my wife made me read it, you know. And I thought it was nice. Better than what that hack Kim Hong-Sik has been getting up to in these past few days.”

“Did not think a column on unachieved dreams would be exciting to you, sir,” I say, with a small smile, and he guffaws.

“You should start writing properly, then,” he says, “if you think your column is not deserving  of praise, going against the word of me, arguably the best writer Korea has seen in the past few decades.”

“That’s going a bit overboard, don’t you think, sir?” I say, and Seungkwan gasps, but Writer Hong just laughs ad laughs, “I mean, Han Kang exists.”

“Best Male author, then.”

The rest of the interview goes smoothly, and he even warms up to Seungkwan considerably, although he calls his way of peeling oranges ‘disgraceful to the flavour of an orange’. Its good, and it makes me feel accomplished, at noon, and before we leave, he even relents to take a picture with me, amidst his impressive collection of Korean art.  

“That went very well,” Seungkwan says, as we flag down a taxi, “didn’t know he could be like that. He’s usually so—reserved. And grumpy. In all the award shows.”

“He’s big on privacy, but fame really got to that.”

“Privacy?”

“There was once a story about his daughter, who passed away before she turned a year old. He and his wife hated that article so much he stopped giving interviews.”

“Really?”

“Really,” I say, closing my eyes, and Seungkwan falls silent. He was probably too young to have read that article—hell, I was too young to have read that article, but its easy, to wield this destructive power if you have it, especially without any regard for how the other party might feel about it; most people in my line of work get drunk on it, ruining lives just for the sake of ruining them.

We pick up lunch at a corner store, and walk into the office building in silence. Seungkwan has been looking up old articles, and he’s upset, clearly, given how his mouth settles into a frown, one that doesn’t go away even after Haewon presents us with doughnuts from the cafeteria, a present, she says, from the Editor-in-Chief.

“They’re waiting for you in the Metting room,” she tells me, and I frown, because why the hell would they be there?

“Ah, there’s the Associate Editor!” the Editor booms, his head poking out of the meeting room door, “come have a chat with us.”

Its normal, jovial even, but I approach the room cautiously, only to be greeted with wide smiles from the two men.

“There’s a book deal for you.” The Editor-in-Chief,  a man of blessedly few words, says, as soon as I enter, “they like the column, and they want to publish it.”

“Of course, the legal team is going to establish your fees and how much of it should be going to the company—” they drone on, but all the words and thoughts have flow out of my head because holy shit I have a book deal now. Writer Hong’s words from this morning come to mind, and I smile and nod through the entire meeting, assuring them that while the company’s lawyers are sufficient, I should like to talk to my own lawyers about this, and that everything is okay, I would really like to go over the terms and conditions of the contract before signing it, and yes, I was reviewing it positively. While they hate that a column is possibly going out of circulation, they can’t help but think about all the extra money this is going to be bringing in, the extra money and the popularity, being known as the company that fostered a young author’s work. It’s a win-win deal, one that I would be stupid to turn down.

I leave the meeting room and call Jihoon, my hands shaking, and he picks up within three rings, his voice soothing and calm like it always is, “hello?”

“I’m going to be a writer,” I say, no other explanation or long-winded preamble, and Jihoon understands, “can you come pick me up from work?”

“I’ll be there in half an hour.”

I stand up, straighten my pants, and leave the bathroom, marching straight up to the editor’s desk, “I’m taking the rest of the day off.”

“The rest of the day?” he sputters, “wait, what about the interview?”

Seungkwan pops up his head, “I can write that. It’s just compiling all that was said.”

“I’ll check it, and Seungkwan needs to take point on a project,” I say, “besides, if you want me to focus on the column full-time, then someone needs to interview Writer Hong instead of me, right?”

“Still, you shouldn’t be leaving in the middle of the day,” he protests weakly, and the Assistant Editor smacks him with a pamphlet, “what was that for?”

“Clearly, she has someone waiting to pick her up, you buffoon,” she groans, “when will you understand? Just because your love life is barren, doesn’t mean everyone else is the same as you.”

Seungkwan winces, “wait, are you going home with Jihoon-hyung right now?”

I roll my eyes, “would you prefer to have the sordid details?”

“No, thank you.”

A peal of laughter follows me as I walk out of the office, and then the elevator and then Jihoon is standing in the lobby, flushed and wonderful, his nose red in the snow and biting wind. Because I’m a sane woman who is not given to theatrics, I merely walk up to him and tuck my arm into his, moving past the sliding doors onto the street. He’s wearing slippers, I notice, he must have come here straight from the studio.

“Very different from the feral woman who attacked me last night, I see,” Jihoon murmurs, strapping me into the seat of his car and kissing me for a tad bit (okay, thirty seconds) longer than what can be termed as an appropriate hello kiss.

“I was not that feral.”

“I have to wear a turtleneck for a week!” he exclaims, pulling down his shirt to show the extent of the damage, and I look away, embarrassed, “no! you don’t get to look away from me!”

“I like you in turtlenecks.”

That pleases him, and he smiles , “then I’ll wear them throughout the year.”

“Jihoon, you’ll suffocate.”

“I’ll have you.” He grins, “so, celebration?”

“I want to laze away today. Take a nap. Order shitty food.”

“I’m assuming there’s coitus involved. And not to mention, you dragged me out of work today.”

I wrinkle my nose, “do not say that word ever again, or else I’m kicking you out of my bed. And besides, what’s the point in being a famous producer if they don’t let you get home to your fiancée now and then?”

“What, coitus?”

“You’re no longer allowed into my bed,” I mutter darkly, and he just laughs.

The apartment building is mostly quiet this time of the day, but we pass a fair few old people who give us strange looks for coming back so early from work. Given that there have been multiple witnesses to me coming back at one in the morning, tired from overtime, and Jihoon walking into the elevator when the old ladies have finished their morning stroll, dark shadows under his eyes so pronounced he had to sleep for a week to get rid of them.

Jihoon presses the code to his home, and the two of us walk into the hallway, closing the door behind us to avoid the cold draught from chilling us to the bone.

“What should we get/” Jihoon toes off his slippers, scrolling absent-minded through his phone, “there’s a shop that delivers samgyetang, and I thought we could get some delivered, since you’ve been coming down with that cold for the past few days.”

“I’d like that,” I shake off my own shoes, sensible boots compared to Jihoon’s slippers, and kiss him again, for no other reason that I can and I will. He smiles against my mouth, “order me a whole chicken, Jihoon-ssi.”

“Two whole chickens,” he amends, “we can have the soup throughout the week. Shower?”

It is an innocuous enough question, but the way Jihoon’s eyes flash makes something shift inside of me, and I find myself returning his little smirk, peeling off the heavy coat, “you know there’s a water shortage.”

“Hmm. Its very bad. We should be conserving all the water we can.”

Jihoon pulls me close to kiss me again, and I laugh, leading him towards the shower.

—

My hometown is a quiet town. Sleepy, with neighbours that know everything about everyone. I used to hate them when I was younger, hated the way they always compared me to my sister, told me I had to be better in order for me to meet my parents’ expectations, as if nothing I did was good enough when compared to her. Nowadays, it’s a welcome distraction; reminding me of the fact that nothing in my town really changes, or will ever change. Not for the better, nor for the worse.

“Oh, are you here for the wedding?” the old man at the fruit shop says, as Jihoon and I walk out of the car, Jihoon yawning behind a closed fist, having slept half the way while I drove, “wait, you’re Yong-Hwa’s sister-in-law!”

“Yes, we’re here for the wedding,” I reply, as Jihoon shakes the falling cherry blossoms out of his hair, “just wanted to pick some fruits to take back to the house.”

That get’s his attention, and he spends an entire half-hour detailing to us every fruit he had at the store, and how good they would taste in season. In the end, we buy a box of strawberries, ones that he assures me are going to ‘taste like heaven’, and Jihoon is taking the driver’s seat for once, and we are speeding towards the house where I have spent my childhood and adolescence.

“Hasn’t been that long since I visited this place.” Jihoon says, turning a corner so that my home is visible, “this feels different somehow.”

“Yes, well, we weren’t together when you visited my mom. And its only a reminder of how much she wants me to visit, and I keep avoiding her requests.”

“But you’re here for the wedding.” He says, and I turn to look at him. Jihoon looks resolute, his mouth set in a line I haven’t seen for a long time, the light casting deep shadows on his face. My eyes move to the smooth gold band on his ring finger, its identical twin gleaming on my hand. He’s nervous, navigating this journey from being my friend to being my intended, meeting the family all over again, essentially.

There are flowers all over the house, bursting into bloom for my sister’s wedding, and I think to myself, this is how it usually is, huh. It’s a surprise that the usual dread that settles into me at the thought of getting married has been replaced with a pleasant anticipation, looking forward to navigating a lifetime with Jihoon.

“You’re here!” my mother shouts as we get down from the car, “they’re here!” she yells to someone inside the house, and soon enough, my father ambles out, looking every bit the disgruntles, emotionless father I had grown up with, looking at his youngest daughter and her partner. My mother envelops me into a crushing hug, but its my father’s gaze that I cannot return, because to this day I cannot live up to the ideal that he had had constructed for me.

My mother doesn’t notice the rings on our fingers, or even if she does, she doesn’t say anything, and we just haul the suitcases up into the house, where Jihoon has the guest bedroom, and I have my old childhood one. Settled in, I leave Jihoon to his devices, answering calls from the company about the new album, and walk down to the kitchen to help my mother with dinner.

“Is everything all right with Jihoon?” she asks, cutting carrots into tiny little pieces, “are you two finally together?”

I say nothing, just pour myself a glass of tea, “didn’t think you’d noticed.”

“Oh, the couple rings were too nice to not notice, actually,” she laughs, “its good. You two suit each other very much.”

“Now you’re saying that to take the piss,” I grumble, “you’ve never once approved of the people I’ve dated, whether I dated them or not.”

“That’s because you dated them to stop your mind from crashing and burning,” my mother says, gentle as ever, putting the ingredients for soup into a big pot, “you’ve always been headstrong that way.”

“As opposed to my sister?”

My mother sighs,  a sign of a battle she’s already lost against herself, “I’m sorry about that.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” I wave my hand. It matters so much. “I was the problem child, I guess. Every family needs one.”

“You were not a problem child,” my mother says, “you were just out of our reach, at times. and when we finally thought we understood you, you ran away and concealed yourself from us.”

“That’s what I was taught.”

“And I should have taught you differently.”

“Never mind, mother,” I give her a quick smile, “you’ll be watching your daughter get married, and in a few years, you’ll be a grandmother, and that will give you enough happiness to tide you over for the next ten years.”

“I think about you too, you know.”

“Congratulations on that, mother.” I reply, walking out of the kitchen.

Jihoon is sitting on the bed when I open the door, hands clutched around a  cup, “I wish we hadn’t come back.”

He raises an eyebrow, “this is your home.”

“I know, its just—there’s no one here that knows me, and even if they do, its only by association, as the sister, and my parents are all on eggshells around me, because I blew up in their faces about my childhood, and how much I hated being here, and its never going to stop, is it, I’m going to be this way, this festering, annoying, difficult, person, and I’ll never really be normal ever again—”

Jihoon wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a hug that’s at once reassuring and scandalous, “you’ll be fine. Your family are, well, they’re sorry, and they’re on eggshells because they don’t know how to approach you anymore. It happens. You can leave to Seoul and have your career, but they’re going to stay on in this town, and be reminded of the fact that maybe they didn’t do enough. Let them hover. It’ll put them at ease.”

“Fine.” I grumble, “I just came back because I love my sister. And Yong-Hwa. He needs to have a chance to run away before he hitches himself to her.”

Jihoon laughs, “would you say the same thing for me?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “What?”

He unwraps his arms from around me, fishing in his pocket, “wait, I forgot the ring at home.”

I gape, “you were going to propose to me?”

“Yes, but now that I forgot the ring, there’s going to be no proposal.” Jihoon grumbles, “stupid.”

“That’s fine, it would have been inappropriate for us to take away my sister’s spotlight,” I grin, pulling him back into a hug, “I accept, nonetheless.”

“Really?”

“I do expect a proper proposal back  in Seoul.”

“As you wish, always.”

—

Jihoon proposes with a car full of balloons, and he enlists the help of the other guys to make the proposal truly memorable, a phrase that I’m rapidly beginning to attribute to him. its gorgeous, and everything I had never imagined when it came to a proposal. The wedding, however, is much my style, the two of us traipsing down to the courthouse to submit a form and being declared married by the clerk, who tells us darkly that there’s a divorce counter just in the next room. Jihoon laughs, and I laugh, before walking out of the courthouse to meet our friends (and family) for dinner.

It’s a new life.

—

To LJH,

For being my friend.

[sanaxo-o]

Rainy Days (Jeon Wonwoo)

|| Inspired by Taehyungs song Rainy Days ||

Warnings: angst, fluff, a happy ending folks, kind of like ex 2 lovers (THEY WERE ON A BREAK), mentions of kissing

Sana: So my first ever Wonwoo fic (I just rewrote it). It was originally written for Jacob from TBZ (link is here). I was originally very proud of this but idk anymore lol.

Word count: 1,628

Tagging: @kstrucknet @kflixnet

🎵Rainy Days, I’m thinking ‘bout you

What to say, wish I knew how to🎵

Tossing and turning on his lone bed the young man continued to stare out of his bedroom window in wonder while he watched the rain drops pour on the glass. 

Slow music playing in the background the lone boy continued to be in his own bubble of loneliness. In thought he constantly checked his phone to see if he at least got a small text from her. But nothing. He got nothing in return. 

He could not clearly remember the reason for a break you night had in your relationship. He wondered back to the time when he had that conversation with you. It was pouring at that time just like now. But that was the only sad moment he had with you when it was raining. 

—x— 

Flashback 

“Wonwoo..maybe we should take a break,” you said slowly as you stared down at the table. Too afraid to look in the eyes of your lover who you still loved dearly. You knew you would feel bad if you would look at him. 

“Wh..what?” You closed your eyes in guilt when you heard his voice break “Why? Everything’s fine. Then..why?” You could see a lone tear drop fall on the table. Slowly looking up you managed to stay calm somehow. 

“It’s just…there’s too much going on. My work has been piling up. I am not able to give any time to you. I think…it’s best if we take a break for now and pay more attention to our life’s. I love you Wonwoo but right now…I want my job to be steady before anything else. I am sorry..” staring up in his eyes you could feel your eyes well with tears. You leaned back a little in your seat and took a deep breath in. 

“I am sorry. I feel like…I just need a break from our relationship..” you could feel your voice shake while saying that. Standing up you storm out of the place afraid that you will cave and feel guilty when you hear Wonwoo speak. 

End of flashback 

—x—

Sighing Wonwoo abruptly stood up from his bed and walked towards the fridge. Opening it he sighed in disbelief when he saw that there was nothing in there. 

Lazily walking back to his bed he sat down. Grabbing his phone he opened his message 

💬 Love 🫶

Hey…

Contemplating on whether to send the text or not, Wonwoo threw his phone beside him and grabbed his head in frustration. 

He knew that he should not be afraid to text her. I mean you can still talk to her even if you’re on a break, right? There’s nothing wrong with that. There should not be anything wrong in that. 

He could remember all the hurtful words you said to him that day. It was still clear to him how hurt he was, how he barely slept for the first few weeks while reminiscing about your past, how he was the one who made you laugh in the hard time but still you left him hanging like that. But no matter what, Wonwoo still found himself only thinking about the good memories. The memories in which you both were laughing, while being in each other’s embrace.

He still remembers that one rainy day where you had caught cold because of the sudden weather change, but he was the only one who was there with you by your side, to take care of you.

🎵On rainy days, I’m thinking ‘bout you 

What to say, wish I knew how to🎵

It was rainy days like these he thought the most about you. Walking towards the windows Wonwoo stood there and looked outside. The sky was dark. The rain still pouring on the ground. The sound of thunder coming from time to time. There were still people who were going on with their lives despite the rain. Why couldn’t he do the same?? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about you? 

—x—

Flashback 

“Is this how you make the batter?” You heard Wonwoo ask you from a distance. Looking up from the recipe you were reading you walked towards him and stared at the batter which he was mixing. 

“I..I don’t know. Is the batter supposed to look like dough?” You ask him another question as you stare up at him. 

“I have never made this before. How would I know?” Wonwoo stared at you back.Shrugging you told Wonwoo to continue mixing it. 

“If it tastes good then that’s all that matters,” you say as your gaze goes to the window. Gasping in delight you shook Wonwoo’s shoulder as you dragged him towards the window. 

“Look! It’s raining! Doesn’t it look so pretty?” You say with delight. A huge smile spread across your face. “Your apartment gives such a great view when it rains.” You say with excitement agreeing with you Wonwoo dragged you in the kitchen again. 

“Help me figure this out. Why is the batter so runny?” Wonwoo asked “Should I add more flour?” He said in a questioning tone as he grabbed the bag of flour and started pouring it into the batter without any thought. 

“Wonwoo no-” you stopped talking when you realised that you had knocked the bag out of his hand in panic. By the the flour was everywhere. Looking up at Wonwoo you widen your eyes when you saw his face having flour on it. 

“I am so sorry. I did not mean to..” you mumble as you grab more of the flour which was on the counter and pour it on his head. Laughing, you noticed how Wonwoo just stood there as he tried to process the whole situation. Looking around the kitchen Wonwoo finally spoke up again. 

“The kitchen’s a mess, love,” Wonwoo said softly. Laughing, you looked at the kitchen in wonder. From your peripheral vision you noticed Wonwoo grabbing some of the flour. 

Before you could react he had already smeared all the flour on your face. Laughing Wonwoo pulled you closer to him and stared you in the eye. 

“How do you still manage to look so beautiful with all that flour on your face?” Wonwoo said softly as he grabbed your chin and kissed your lips gently. Giggling in the kiss you looked at him lovingly when he pulled away. 

“I could ask you the same question. How do you manage to look so handsome but look like a dork at the same time?” You said with a smile as you ruffled his hair which made the flour fall off. 

End of flashback 

—x— 

Wiping the lone tear he grabbed his phone

🎵Remember how I used to 

Make you laugh the most?🎵

💬 Love 🫶

Let me make up for all the time we lost. Please don’t tell me it’s over. Can we start over? 

Sending the text Wonwoo threw his phone beside him as he started biting his nails in nervousness. 

Taking his phone back in his grasp Wonwoo contemplated on whether to delete the message or not when he heard his phone ting. 

💬 Love 🫶 

Can I come over? 

It felt like his world stopped for a second when he saw your reply. With shaky hands he typed out a sure as he started pacing back and forth in the apartment. 

Stopping in his tracks Wonwoo took a deep breath in before he went to open the door. Seeing you stand there, beautiful as always he could feel how he stopped breathing. 

Letting you in Wonwoo closed the door gently. 

“How..how are you doing?” You asked softly as you sat down on his bed, which was quite messy but you did not seem to pay any mind to that which Wonwoo was glad for. 

“Okay..I guess? I don’t know. It’s just..it does not feel the same without you around.” Wonwoo admitted softly as he stared everywhere but at you. 

“Wonwoo..I also missed you. A lot to be fair. You don’t know how much I regretted saying that we should take a break. It was a stupid decision I made. Maybe it was the workload but I won’t blame it on that when I know that I gave that a lot of thought.” Wonwoo looked up when he heard you say that. He could feel his heart beat again. 

“You don’t know how much I missed you, your touch, your kisses, your smile, I missed everything..” Wonwoo said as he walked towards you and picked you up in his arms. 

“You don’t have to anymore. I am here now in your arms again.” You said as you kissed his cheek softly with a smile on your face. 

“I am glad we found our way back to each other on a rainy day like this.” Wonwoo whispered in your ear as he walked towards the kitchen with you still in his arms. 

“I am glad. I should have known better that no matter what you would always be there for me. I am sorry for being so stupid in the past.” You told him in a quiet voice. 

“It’s okay. I understand, work must have been hard and stressful. You don’t have to apologize for love. And stupid or not, I would love you no matter what, love” Wonwoo replied as he leaned down and kissed your forehead, coming down he kissed both of your cheeks. Smiling in the middle, Wonwoo kissed your chin. 

Pulling away Wonwoo grinned at you, leaning back and he finally attached his lips on yours. Grabbing the small of your waist he pulled you closer to his body. Your body heat keeping you warm on a chilly rainy day. 

[goldenhourology]

SLACKING OFF.

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f!reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff, coworkers to lovers, friends to lovers

summary: being technologically averse, yet a complete control freak to your core, you tend to annoy senior IT specialist, jeon wonwoo, to no end. but after an apology brings you two closer together, wonwoo finds himself reaching out to you more often than not. on and off slack. despite what you two had originally perceived, you find yourself thrown into feelings that neither of you could've ever prepared for.

warnings: handjobs, fingering, oral (f!recieving), unprotected sex, missionary position, belly bulge, grinding, praise, wonwoo is a service top!!, multiple sex scenes, jerking it in an corporate office bathroom lol, drunk horniness, miscommunication, reader is learning how to open up<3, mutual pining. nsfw (minors / ageless blogs dni).

word count: 19.2k

note: hello new ppl, welcome to the first goldenhourology one shot ✨ I've written things in the past, but this is my first really long one shot. the longer it got, the more I stressed out lol. but I've seen a lot of people do this 20k word one shots, so I thought I'd try my hand at it! also idk much about tech, so if I got anything wrong in this, pls ignore it. thank you to anyone who gives this a read!!

in rotation: picture you, chappell roan / dress, taylor swift / valentine, laufey / diamond boy, sza

Some said your late 20s were the last few years of fun before you fully allowed yourself to be an adult, so why were you always drowning in work?

It didn’t help that you were an executive assistant in one of the biggest software companies in the U.S. When you took the job, surely, you should’ve known that you’d be signing up for an exorbitant amount of work, ranging from invoice management, planning travel for your boss, to even research for senior managers. Despite the constant stress you were under, you liked this job. You liked the trust that your boss had in you. You liked that they let you be independent and figure things out on your own.

And when you couldn’t … you simply contacted IT.

It helped that a senior IT specialist sat right across from your cubicle.

Jeon Wonwoo wasn’t the most talkative cubicle buddy, nor was he the most pleasant. He did his best to give you a smile every once in a while, but he had to fight the urge to throw his head in his hands whenever you send him a message on Slack. You didn’t typically need help with anything, except in the area of tech. You were so organized and incredibly smart – it didn’t take an idiot to see that – but god forbid, sometimes … you could be so technologically averse.

Maybe he just had too many years of schooling under his belt – he was 28 now with both a Bachelors and Masters in Software Engineering – but you surprised him with some of your requests. Sometimes, you’d delete files by accident, need to renew your subscription to important apps, even locked yourself out of your own computer once. He had interns underneath him that could be available to help you, but you had consistently messaged him. And he sat directly across from you. No matter what, it was always going to be Wonwoo that had to help you. Fate had made sure of that.

There were times that you realized you were bothering him. Either you heard him curse from behind his extremely large monitor or he adjusted his glasses so much that you thought he might break them in half. And to be honest, you liked being in control of your own work, so you’d try to find a solution. Typically, solving your own tech problems left your computer in more disarray.

And there was Wonwoo to save the day yet again.

You [10:58 AM]: Morning, Wonwoo!

You [10:58 AM]: I screwed up

You [10:59 AM]: Boss sent me some documents that were password protected, but he’s away for the next two days and not answering his phone

You [10:59 AM]: So I might’ve downloaded some software to help me unlock it and I think it’s attempting to hack my email as we speak

You [11:01 AM]: I’m so so sorry! I didn’t want to bother you

Jeon Wonwoo [11:01 AM]: I’ll be right over.

Luckily for you, Wonwoo was able to fix the problem and stop your email from getting hacked. Whoever was the owner of that virus-filled program you tried to download didn’t gain access to those password-protected documents before Wonwoo secured your computer. But it was close. Too close.

Not only that, but he had a multitude of other projects today. He had to train two new interns … have one of those annual performance reviews with the head of IT … change over a dozen new passwords for people … and then he found out that they’re changing servers. Which meant everything backed up on their former server had to be transferred over to the new one. Fucking great.

He wasn’t sure how many times he sighed today, but it had to be over a hundred. When he couldn’t stand to be sitting anymore, he stood up and paced around the third floor of the building. Today felt like the longest day of his life. And there was a mustard stain on his green sweater vest. And he got a shitty haircut a few days ago. And he probably needed new glasses because he was getting headaches. 

It was time for a coffee. As well as a day off.

Coincidentally, you were also headed to the break room that afternoon in need of a green tea. You were about to walk in when you heard your cubicle mate letting out a frustrated breath while talking to another IT specialist. He was clearly fed up about something, or maybe just tired of this day. You hid next to the doorframe, and just when you thought it was safe to step out, you heard your name fall from his lips.

“I don’t understand how she does it,” Wonwoo complained, hands smacking against his sides. “Seriously, it’s mind boggling. I’m pretty sure she has her Masters in Business Administration, but she does this shit that just makes me … Oh my god, she literally tried to download some faulty software off the internet today, instead of just asking me or someone else for help.” 

“Oh, yeah, everyone wants to turn to you when you got that attitude, man,” someone – Lee Seokmin, maybe? – joked.

“You get what a mean.” Wonwoo watched the first couple drips of shitty office coffee fill his cup. “I was able to save her computer, yeah, but it would be nice to avoid an emergency for a day.”

Seokmin slapped him on the back. “The joys of working in IT.”

You huffed, stalking away from the break room and back to your desk. There was only so much office gossip you could take, especially when it involved you. As soon as you sat down, you finished typing up an email at the loudest volume possible, your fingers basically punching themselves into the keys. You heard Wonwoo slide back into his desk chair, the fresh smell of burnt coffee wafting across to you, and he didn’t say a thing. Not that he would ever know you had eavesdropped. But not a “hello” or “how has computer been after this morning?” He went back to work, burning his tongue on the overly hot liquid.

Maybe Wonwoo was right; maybe you did need to just stop overthinking and ask for help instead of figuring stuff out on your own. Or maybe this asshole needed an attitude check.

You decided to not bother him for the rest of the week, complaining to your friends that Friday night about your shithead of a coworker. They said he might be looking out for you in his own fucked up way. You said he might just be an asshole.

Come Monday morning, you had realized your ignoring hadn’t effected him at all. He still sent you the same small smile as he walked in and sat down across from you. Could he really not see how pissed you are, or had the facade you’d crafted for so long as the perfect corporate employee work too well?

You should just be upfront with him, take control of the situation. Like always. 

You [9:44 AM]: I heard you in the break room a few days ago.

You [9:44 AM]: I just didn’t want to bother you. That’s why I had tried to figure out the issue on my own. Didn’t realize that was a crime

Jeon Wonwoo [9:46 AM]: Crap.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:46 AM]: You weren’t supposed to hear that.

You [9:47 AM]: Well, I did

Jeon Wonwoo [9:50 AM]: Listen.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:50 AM]: Not that it excuses anything, but there’s so much going on at work. It wasn’t all about you. I was complaining just to complain and I didn’t mean any of it.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:50 AM]: I’m sorry.

You [9:51 AM]: Wow

Jeon Wonwoo [9:51 AM]: What?

You [9:51 AM]: You’ve never come across as someone who can apologize well

Jeon Wonwoo [9:52 AM]: Are you sure you aren’t projecting right now? We sit across from each other. I’ve seen how stubborn you are.

You [9:53 AM]: I thought you were apologizing to me????

Jeon Wonwoo [9:56 AM]: I’m sorry. Again.

You [10:01 AM]: Okay, you’re forgiven

Jeon Wonwoo [10:09 AM]: Can I make it up to you with a coffee?

You didn’t go out on dates. The last one you went on was … years ago, probably in undergrad. Once you go for your Masters, all energy to date goes out the window.

Not that this was a date. This certainly was not a date.

This was an apology coffee after work, since the two of you seemed to have an affinity for caffeine at late hours.

Even if, per chance, he thought this was a date … you’d eventually have to let him down easy. It probably wasn’t in your best interest to date someone like Jeon Wonwoo, but you’d also closed yourself off from love for far too long. It wasn’t that you didn’t get lonely – you did, very much, especially on late nights where it was just you and your favorite vibrator – but it was just … scary. Opening yourself up. Losing just a small semblance of control. You weren’t even sure you could physically allow yourself to do that after being alone for so long. 

Your heart had been tucked away so many years ago, locked inside a box, and then in another box, and so on. With the final lock being so complicated that only someone who knew the last four of your social security number could answer. No one was opening up that box. Your heart was safe from the outside world.

You were independent, reliant on only yourself, and you liked it that way.

Once he had gotten both your coffees, he sat down next to you at a hightop table, folding his winter coat over the back of his chair. He had managed to remember your latte order and it tasted perfect. Your eyes flitted up, ogling him for a moment. When you’re not under the fluorescent lights of the office, Wonwoo was … attractive. To say the least. Maybe he always had been and you were too blind to see it. Maybe his face was perpetually hidden by his monitor.

His hair was tousled in the way that it looked effortless, even if he hadn’t brushed it after rolling out of bed. He had a tendency to wear sweater vests with white t-shirts underneath, or button-downs with jeans. But it was only when he showed off his forearms that you realized he was surprisingly built underneath his oversized clothes. He was tall and his shoulders were broad. You liked his glasses too; they always sat on the edge of his nose. A thin line was etched into both lenses, suggesting age, but they framed his face well.

Yeah, you thought to yourself, he is handsome.

“Why are you staring at me?” He asked, knocking you out of your stupor.

You blinked and looked down at your coffee, removing the lid. “Oh, I … uh … good question.”

“Listen,” he started, eyes flickering to his hands, “I’m really sorry about what I said –”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“– And I understand if you want to go to HR about this –”

You shook your head. “Wait, what? Why would I do that?”

He glanced around, until finally, his eyes were on you again. And suddenly, you were wondering if his eyes were dark brown or the color of cinnamon. “Isn’t that what any rational person would do?”

He had you stumped there. If this were a different situation … you probably would do that. “I’m not going to tell HR about this, Wonwoo. You apologized and said you didn’t mean it. I have to trust that.” And you didn’t trust lightly – hardly at all – but something about Wonwoo made you feel like it could be easy with him.

“We all have shit days,” you added, taking a sip of the scalding hot latte. “You have a ton of stuff on your plate. Doesn’t give you an excuse for what you did, but we all say things in the heat of the moment that we don’t mean. I have so many things to organize throughout the day, and sometimes it gets the better of me. Remember when I had book that last minute trip for our CEO and I was on the phone for hours with Delta and Suzanne in finance had the nerve to start bothering me about some invoice? I lost it on her for a straight minute.”

“Oh, my god, yeah,” he chuckled, pinching the bridge of his nose as the memory resurfaced. “Her eyes almost came out of her skull at your reaction. To be fair … Suzanne needs to be knocked down a peg sometimes. She always blames IT when she can’t get into her email, but it’s because she’s constantly typing her password with one letter off.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. Your hand hit the tabletop a few times as you let your workplace personality fade in front of your coworker. “Those new IT interns don’t know what’s coming once Suzanne comes for them,” you joked.

“The IT interns don’t know anything. Period.” He jabbed his finger onto the table. “I mean, they’re interns, but it takes so much time to train them. If I have to teach them JavaScript one more time …”

“Say it, Jeon Wonwoo,” you egged him on, a chuckle filtering at the end. “What will happen if you have to teach those good for nothing interns JavaScript?”

A slow smile made it’s way onto Wonwoo’s face, and … damn, you were actually a really cool person. “Well,” he cleared his throat, “I’ll tell you what will happen …”

Jeon Wonwoo [12:13 PM]: Did you bring lunch today?

Jeon Wonwoo [12:13 PM]: I just found this new cafe down the street and was thinking about grabbing something there in a few. Did you wanna come?

You [12:14 PM]: Do you think they have a chicken salad sandwich on the menu

Jeon Wonwoo [12:15 PM]: I can only assume so?

You [12:15 PM]: SOLD

You both go out for more coffees, before and after work. You found yourself excited to wake up early, to meet up with Wonwoo at the coffee shop located in the lobby of your work building. Always getting there before him, you typically ordered two coffees – remembering his order to a T – and when he walked in five minutes late, he promised to buy the next round. You never let him.

You began planning lunches over Slack, discussing what was on special at that cafe he found last month. In fact, you two talked most of the day on Slack. A message from you had once gotten on his nerves, and now … he was eager for it. Eager to hear your thoughts throughout the day, excited to talk about what new dumb question an intern asked him today or to see more pictures of your grandma’s cats.

And Wonwoo … Wonwoo was easier to get along with than you thought. You just had to peel back the layers before he finally got comfortable, and honestly, you could relate. To be fair, you had a few more layers than he did, but he was slowly learning that you were more than what he perceived. After that first coffee, he realized how funny you were, and then a couple lunches later, he learned you were an avid romance and thriller reader – and nothing in between. It wasn’t until last week that he finally cracked you open enough to learn about your love for Elder Scrolls Online. He was sure you were joking at first, but when you clarified how serious you were, he almost fell off his chair.

“I’m not shocked that you play it,” he said over coffee one morning. “What I’m shocked at is that you’d rather play Elder Scrolls Online and not Skyrim.”

“Of course, you would say that,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “I don’t really have an interest in the game universe. I started playing Elder Scrolls Online to relieve stress while applying to colleges, and then I just … didn’t stop.” You shrugged.

Much to his own surprise – even with your take on Skyrim – Wonwoo thoroughly enjoyed your company. It was insane that you both had spent almost two years sitting across from each other before realizing how much you liked each other. Words always left unsaid. Eyes staying glued to computers. It had been a routine for you both that you had never strayed from – until now. So many tech requests over Slack … and now he was actively looking forward to work everyday. To seeing you. To talking with you. 

You.

Jeon Wonwoo realized how much he liked stockings. Specifically, he liked the way you looked in them.

And that’s when things got dangerous.

He started to notice the days you would wear them, and then concluded which day you did laundry. You liked wearing blouses with a pencil skirt and stockings on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. Those were now his favorite days. 

Wednesdays you’d wear dress pants and maybe a sweater, whereas on “Casual Fridays,” you were clad in a t-shirt with a cardigan layered and jeans. You always looked nice at the office, but those stocking days … they were getting to him.

Sometimes, he’d watch the way you walked away from your desk – either to the Boss’ office or to the finance department – and he couldn’t help but let his eyes trail down your legs. You had these stockings that had a slight tear in the back, and he wondered if you realized, or was he just too much of a perverted loser to be the first person to notice? He wanted to purchase a new pair for you. He wanted to replace all your stockings and buy you enough that you could wear them with a skirt everyday, just so he could see you in them.

Maybe he was a loser.

You looked up at him, even in heels, and you had this way of smiling at him that left him questioning why you liked hanging out with him in the first place. His personality couldn’t be that charming to warrant your attention. But you were warm – even when your hands were perpetually cold – and kind, never straying once he was in front of you. And you had this lip gloss that stained your lips magenta and made them shine. Even in the dim fluorescent lights. When his chair turned just slightly and he let his eyes glaze over you, one finger rubbing at his top lip, he couldn’t help but be curious if the gloss had a flavor to it … and then, he’d get distracted by your legs again. And your blouse, and your hair. 

Don’t even get him started on the way you smelled.

Maybe he was a loser. No, he was most definitely a loser. 

It was a Thursday night. Almost 7 PM and you were still at the office. You had plans to go out tonight to celebrate your friend’s new job, but you ended up having to cancel when the Boss placed a stack of paperwork on your desk before leaving the building at promptly 6 o’clock. Why he couldn’t have given you all these invoices and memos hours ago was beyond you, but you weren’t even halfway through this stack and the janitor was now mopping beside you.

When a Slack notification appeared on the side of your monitor, you didn’t even read it before spinning around in your chair. There Wonwoo was, leaning back in his own chair while a progress window ticked on one of his dual monitors. You raised a brow. “I didn’t even hear you over there,” you commented. “Why are you still here?”

“A month or so ago, the IT head told me that we’d soon be transitioning servers, so all of our backups and data need to be transferred over to this new server.” He explained, adjusting his glasses and glancing over at the progress window. It changed from 23% to 24% finished. “Someone had to be the lucky person to stay after hours and make sure it all went smoothly.”

You twirled a pen in your two fingers and crossed your legs. “Oh, that sucks.” Your skirt hiked up a little, and just that small flash of exposed skin had Wonwoo averting his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m assuming you’re still here because of that.” He nodded towards the pile of paper.

“No, no, obviously I love being here after hours with you,” you replied, sarcasm dripping from your tone, but it still ignited a short spark of hope within him. (Wonwoo, can you chill the fuck out? He chastised.) “You know the Boss has a penchant for letting invoices pile up. He just so happened to let that pile end up on my desk before he left today. And some of these needed to be filled out …” Your eyes skimmed the first paper on your desk. “Oh, yesterday!”

Wonwoo offered to help you while also keeping watch of his computer – 28% finished – but you insisted you could handle it. “I already bother you enough during work hours,” you said before turning back to your desk. He knew by now that you were simply too stubborn to give up control of the project. Once you had started it yourself, you needed to see it through. He wasn’t sure if you two were close enough that he could be completely honest, that he could tell you that it was fine to let go this independence that you kept on a tight leash. He was willing to help. (God, was he willing.) 

But he chocked it up to telling you once that you were “so fucking stubborn.”

Your reply had come in the form of a swift kick to his knee.

Wonwoo glanced at his monitor. 67% finished.

It was 10 PM and you were just about finished with the paperwork, but you were running on fumes. Just a few memos left and you’d be done. To get you through the next hour, you needed something. So you headed to the break room, suddenly craving some burnt workplace coffee. (What was it about this coffee maker that gave it such a distinct burnt flavor? You’d never know.) After placing the pod of coffee grounds in the slot and filling the water, you pressed the start button, turning around with a huff to see Wonwoo striding into the break room. A crushed, styrofoam coffee cup was clutched in his large hand before he tossed it in the barrel beside you. 

“How’s your transfer going?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest. Coffee had started to pour from the machine and into your cup.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s at 88% now. Hopefully should be done in the next hour.”

“Me too, if all goes well.” A sigh escaped your lips. “I still have a few more papers to fill out. Shouldn’t take me more than an hour, but I haven’t looked through them all yet.”

Wonwoo stepped forward, reaching in the direction of the styrofoam cups. “If you had let me help you –”

You tried sidestepping out of the way to give him some room, but his hand brushed against your arm anyway. Your chin tilted up as your eyes met his, back pressing against the counter. “It wouldn’t have helped,” you finished for him.

His arm paused mid-air, and he looked down at you. Eyes narrowing, he replied, “You’re one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met. You have this desperate need to be in control of everything.”

“And why is that a bad thing?” Your tone took a hard edge. The last thing you wanted right now was to put effort into arguing, but you were tired and already on the edge of a breakdown. “I’ve relied on myself for as long as I can remember. I like being in control. I like being stubborn. If I didn’t do most things myself –”

“You ask me to fix something on your computer at least once a day.”

“That’s different.”

“You’re right,” he agreed, and you noticed then just how close he was. Your chests were practically touching. “Sometimes you do try to figure things out yourself and almost break your hard drive.”

His progress window was probably at 93% finished now. He should head back to his desk, but his feet stayed planted right where they were.

“Why does it matter?” You exhaled loud, your hands slapping against your hips. “Do you want an award or something? You have your way of doing things, and I have mine. I’m not perfect, but I … I like things the way they are.” Change is scary, you thought to yourself, but didn’t dare voice it out loud.

He was so close that he could smell your perfume. The scent of lavender mixed with orange blossoms and vanilla filled his nostrils, swirling around his brain. He could get addicted to this smell, to you. Maybe he already was. When his eyes roamed down to your legs and he saw his favorite pair of stockings on you, he damn near collapsed. In fact, he hadn’t even realized the soft groan had left his lips until your gaze found his, your pretty irises growing wide.

You were just so … captivating.

His hands were on both sides of you, pressing your back further into the counter. Your black coffee steaming and fully abandoned in the coffee machine. He was holding himself back, his knuckles going white with restraint. But he wasn’t like you. He could only keep himself in control for so long. And with you here right now, your perfume surrounding him, your stockings-clad thigh brushing against his leg, your a hand placed on his chest … he was a goner.

“Wonwoo,” you whispered, palm still resting on his shirt, “we …”

When your voice trailed off, Wonwoo’s instincts got the better of him. “Please, just …” One hand came up to smooth against your cheek, and he was almost out of breath as he pulled your face to his. “Let me do this.”

He gave you enough time to shove him back, to yell at him, to tell him you didn’t like him in that way. But your neck was craning towards his, and he took that as a sign to crash his lips onto yours. They were softer than he expected, and the taste … your gloss tasted like – well, like nothing. But if he pretended, he could’ve sworn there was a slight cherry aftertaste. His glasses bumped into your nose, but he’d been too overwhelmed to remember to take them off. Mouth moving against yours, his hips crammed you more against the counter, hard enough to leave a bruise on your spine. You didn’t care though. His shoulders were so wide that they shielded you, inviting your body into his, and your fingers fisted into his button-up. Tongues tangled, eager to taste more and more of each other. 

Wonwoo could kiss you forever. You didn’t want him to stop.

But all good things must end. Because when he instinctively placed his leg between yours, he knew this was going too far. Especially because you two were still at work. In the break room.

He instantly removed his leg, his lips breaking from yours. Your eyes connected, the room filled with only the sounds of heavy breathing, before you wiped a trail of spit from your chin.

Wonwoo’s head spun behind him. Thank god, there was no CCTV camera by the coffee maker.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:09 AM]: Good morning.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:09 AM]: I shouldn’t have done that last night.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:10 AM]: Still friends?

You [9:14 AM]: We probably shouldn’t be talking about this on Slack

You [9:15 AM]: Here’s my number: 855-777-0821

You [9:18 AM]: But yes friends :D

Wonwoo did not want to be just friends. But he was utterly terrified of what you would say if he voiced that. You had kissed him back, yes, but … hadn’t you agreed to be friends far too quickly? You had both hung out post-kiss – he liked to call this period of time A.T.K. (after the kiss) – and you didn’t seem to be ruminating on it like he was. Of course, he didn’t know what you were thinking, and you could be so hard to read sometimes when your layers weren’t stripped back enough. But …

Could it really have meant nothing to you?

If that were the case, he didn’t know how it was possible for you. He couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss even if he tried. When he saw you the next day – Friday, January 9, A.T.K. – the first thing he noticed was your lip gloss and all he wanted was to have it smeared over his mouth again. He noticed the way your hair fell over your shoulder, remembering how soft the strands felt when his fingers had slipped between them. He noticed that you were wearing those jeans that hugged your ass just right, and – god, now he was wishing that he had touched more than just your cheek. Wonwoo wanted to touch you everywhere. And vice versa. He didn’t care if your hands were constantly freezing or if they were dry during the winter. He wanted you to touch him however you pleased. He wanted to grab you and kiss you and hold those cold hands in his warm ones –

Oh, my god. He had a boner. At work. Just the mere memory of a kiss had him shifting himself in his pants underneath his desk, hoping no one noticed.

Eventually, he stood up, trying to keep a casual hand over the bulge in his pants as he fast walked to the bathroom. Nobody batted an eye, but you did steal a glance over at him once his back was turned. Your brow raised at the way he was practically sprinting for the elevator, not realizing that he was heading for the second floor restrooms. He must be excited for something. Probably a package, you thought before turning back to your computer.

Wonwoo felt like he could finally breathe once he was inside a stall. He rested his head against the cool tile wall, feeling the ache start to settle in his groin. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this way. What 28-year-old gets a boner from a kiss? You had him acting like a goddamn teenager.

What had you done to him? Just one kiss and he was completely under your spell.

(Or maybe he’d been this way all along.)

His fingers fumbled with the zipper on his jeans as he finally pulled himself out of his jeans, stroking from base to tip. Thankfully, no one was in the bathroom. He couldn’t believe his life had come to this. The last thing he ever wanted was to be that guy who jacked off in the bathroom. But you had to wear those goddamn jeans –

Wonwoo wasn’t good at hiding his feelings, but he was doing a pretty good job even as this was killing him inside. He wasn’t like you; he found it hard to restrain himself, to ignore everything that was bubbling up inside him. He could feel himself cracking. What would be the thing that finally broke him?

The answer was simple: alcohol.

Lee Seokmin [11:26 AM]: Dude lol. Why’d you run away from your desk like that

Lee Seokmin [11:26 AM]: I think you could win the Olympics with that kind of sprint!

Jeon Wonwoo [11:39 AM]: Don’t ask.

Lee Seokmin [11:40 AM]: Alrighty then ;)

Lee Seokmin [11:41 AM]: On another note … you free next Thursday? My buddy in the marketing department, Josh, finally has a night off from his kid so we were thinking of getting a group together for drinks after work. Interested?

The last thing you ever expected was to be invited to drinks with Seokmin and some of the managers in marketing, but Wonwoo said you should come. “In fact,” he had clarified, “you should come so I don’t have to deal with DK’s drunk antics all night.” Who were you to deprive him of your presence when he was that desperate? Plus, there was a nice girl in marketing that was also invited; maybe tonight was the night to befriend her.

But the marketing people knew how to party. You were only halfway through your second beer whereas the rest of your group was on their fourth. And three tequila shots deep. Wonwoo, seemingly, had an affinity for tequila, unlike yourself. He was able to throw them back like it was nothing; he didn’t even need a chaser. When Seokmin had requested they all get a fourth, he was met with a round of cheers, and even Wonwoo – quiet, introverted Wonwoo – threw his hands up with excitement. You placed a hand on his shoulder, whispering in his ear, “Are you sure about that?”

Wonwoo felt his whole body freeze when your hot breath reached his ear. A pale, pink flush appeared on his cheeks, but you chocked it up to how drunk he was. Eventually, he waved away your worry with his hand. “I’m fiiiiiiiiine. Hey, how about I get you another beer?”

“Are you even coherent enough to get me another –”

“HEY! Bartender! Can I get one more of these?!” He shouted, waving your empty glass in the air. “Oh, and more tequila!”

Seokmin slapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder, laughing along with him. As you made friends with the rest of the marketing department, you found yourself glancing at Wonwoo every so often. His cheeks were so rosy now, and his glasses kept slipping down his nose. To be fair though, everyone in this dive bar seemed to be in the same state of mind. Seokmin was singing along to the Sabrina Carpenter song blasting through the speakers. Josh was so drunk that he was crying about how much he loved his friends. They had even gotten Suzanne in finance to come out, and she was making friends with everyone for once. And Wonwoo … oh, god, Wonwoo’s head was now on the bar top and he was closing his eyes –

You abandoned your beer and walked over to your friend, shaking his shoulders. His eyes instantly opened, expecting to see Seokmin, but when his gaze met yours, he instantly felt all warm and fuzzy. “Okay,” you said, trying your best to hoist this 6 foot man off the barstool, “you’ve had enough. I’m taking you home.”

It was like pulling teeth to get him to tell you his address, but you guessed you shouldn’t be surprised when the man on your arm was blackout drunk. After flagging a taxi, you shoved him in the seat next to you and rubbed your hands together to get them warm. Wonwoo’s head was on your shoulder the second you sat down, his eyes fluttering closed as the taxi sped off into the night. You watched his fingers twitch on his thigh as he whispered sleepily, “I think my family would really like you.”

“Is that so?” You chuckled, squeezing his arm for reassurance, but little did you know just how much your touch effected him. “Why’s that?”

“Because you’re you,” he replied, and then yawned. “Only you and Mingyu would do this for me.”

Your brow furrowed. “Who’s Mingyu?”

The taxi pulled up to a brick apartment building then, and your cold fingers struggled to get cash out from your pocket while Wonwoo was practically laying on top of you. Finally, you did your best to haul him out of the seat, thanking the taxi driver before gathering an arm around Wonwoo’s shoulders. The building was definitely old with vines of ivy crawling up one side. There was a dead tree with snow covering it’s branches directly by the door, spilling snowflakes on your head as you struggled to input the code Wonwoo managed to remember. And then, you were pulling him up two flights of stairs, which took far longer than you estimated. You had basically ripped his keys from his hand once you reached his apartment and continued to drag him inside, laying him on the old couch that was conveniently right near the door.

Wonwoo grumbled as soon as his head hit the armrest, and he almost fell off the couch if it weren’t for you catching him and rolling him back onto the cushion. “I’m going to go get you a glass of water,” you said, quickly rushing off to his kitchen. “Please, for the love of god, don’t fall off the couch again.”

He whined for you to come back, but you pretended you didn’t hear it, because if you did, you’d have to reckon with the tingle that bloomed between your legs at the sound of his desperation.

The entrance of his kitchen was right in front of a small hallway that sectioned off two ways. There was a bedroom door on each side of the hall, and once you walked inside the kitchen, you found a tiny table from the 80s and the dishwasher currently running. You didn’t have time to contemplate that now, and instead pilfered through his cabinets until you found a glass and filled it with tap water. Rushing back to his side, Wonwoo was already laying halfway off the couch and you sighed.

You set the glass of water on his coffee table and lifted him back up. With a little bit of help from you, you both managed to shrug off his winter jacket and you tucked a throw blanket over him to prevent him from falling off again. A heavy exhale slipped past your lips as you knelt by his side, and you couldn’t help but reach out to pushed back his hair from his forehead. His eyes were closed, but you knew he wasn’t sleeping. You smiled to yourself.

Were coworkers supposed to show this much affection for each other?

“Wonwoo,” you said softly, and he cracked one eye open. “Do you want some water?”

He shut that eye again, grimacing at the thought of anything entering his body right now. “Ab…absolutely not.”

“It’ll make you feel better,” you persuaded, but he still shook his head. “Okay, so what do you want right now?”

His breath stilled for a moment. “Can I be honest?”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

“I …” No, he couldn’t be that honest. “I want you to … keep p–pushing back my hair. It’s … relaxing.”

You chuckled, “Okay, you got it.” Your fingers were at the crown of his head again, smoothing back the strands. You hadn’t noticed until now that he had a freckle on the left side of his forehead; maybe you’d just never been this close to notice. Well, actually, you had. There was this thing you two did called a kiss –

“If you’re going to fall asleep, I’m going to take off your glasses,” you informed him, slipping his glasses off and setting them by his glass of water. It was late, much later than you anticipated on staying out, and you both still had to go to work tomorrow. 

But then his hand was grabbing your wrist, his grip surprisingly firm for how intoxicated he was. “Can I b–be honest again?” He slurred, his eyes half open to meet yours.

You sighed, placing your hand on top of his, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Just know whatever you say will be used to make fun of you tomorrow –”

“I can’t … I haven’t …” He took a breath to formulate the words in his head. “… Stopped thinking about our kiss.”

You blinked down at him, watching the way his eyes began to close again as he relaxed into the old couch cushions. “You can’t just say shit like –”

He scoffed dramatically. “I’m noooot,” he defended, his hand slipping off your wrist to curl underneath the blanket.

“Wonwoo …” Your voice trailed off, the words dying on your tongue.

“Who the hell are you?”

You immediately got to your feet at the sound of another person’s voice behind you. Eyes growing wide, you took in the sight of the man in front of you wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, droplets of water trailing down his chiseled abdomen as he shook a smaller towel through his hair. He might’ve been taller than Wonwoo, only by a little bit, and his skin was a golden tan that reminded you of summertime even in this harsh winter. Why was Wonwoo hiding handsome men in his apartment? The man looked at you, waiting for an answer, his brows raised.

“Oh,” you cleared your throat. “Um …”

“Leave her alone, Mingyu,” Wonwoo groaned from the couch, turning away from them to lay on his side.

So this was Mingyu, you concluded. This slightly god-like dude that looked like he walked straight out of a porno was the only other person who’d help Wonwoo when he was blackout drunk. Interesting.

Mingyu raised his hand awkwardly for you to shake. “His roommate,” he clarified.

“Oh,” you replied, grasping his hand for a moment and telling him your name. 

Mingyu instantly grinned, laying the small towel over his neck, holding both ends. “So you’re her.”

You blinked, not knowing how to respond to that. Perhaps there was no way to respond; the silence was comfortable enough. You decided to keep that in mind for later though.

“He’s … well, he got very drunk,” you informed Mingyu, gesturing to a now-sleeping Wonwoo with both thumbs. “I wanted to make sure he got home okay.”

Mingyu nodded, and then sighed. “I’ll take care of him. Don’t worry,” he promised, opening up the door for you. “Get home safe, okay?”

Wonwoo: Sorry about that the other night. I won’t get drunk like that again. It doesn’t happen very often

You: it’s okay! I’m used to handling drunk people

You: don’t get me wrong, I like to have my fun but it’s easier for me to take care of other people than like … be incoherent and anxious lol

Wonwoo: By the end of the night I was starting to feel that way. Not fun

You: DRINK WATER

You: your roommate is hot btw. does he always walk around without a shirt?

Wonwoo: Of course, he didn’t have a shirt on when you met him

Wonwoo: Everyone likes Mingyu

You: well, I like you [UNSENT]

The bi-annual sales meeting was started to boost morale and talk with other departments that you didn’t see as often. It was typically held at a hotel in the downtown city, with the company flying in all the sales reps from across the country. There were even a few from overseas. In reality though, this was usually the week where coworkers made mistakes. At least one person was let go after these sales meetings, and HR had their eyes peeled for an entire week.

You never made a mistake at one of these. And you didn’t expect to any time soon.

This was a week of rubbing elbows with slimy sales reps and making sure some old man hadn’t spiked your drink. For most, this was a week to slack off, but a woman working in corporate couldn’t relax in these settings. You’d been making corrections to your boss’ presentation for the entire company for what felt like forever. (Realistically, it’d been almost two weeks.) You probably went through the 50 slides at least twice as much, checking for spelling mistakes and making sure it was in the right place on your desktop. Not on some random external hard drive. Not in the trash. 

But it was finally the day you’d been dreading. Presentation day, and everyone at the company was eager to hear the Boss reveal if they hit their goal for the year, amongst other things. You checked the slides another time, and then made sure no one would trip over the HDMI cord connected to the projector. The Boss gave you a reassuring smile, and then it was go time.

Your boss could be a shit bag – what CEO wasn’t? – but he had a way of speaking that made everyone so excited for the future. He was probably the reason why morale was always so high, and everyone looked forward to his presentation at these meetings. Your finger hovered over the right arrow button as he went through his speech, pointing out company statistics and what he wanted them all to accomplish this year, before finally getting to the goal reach. And his answer was nothing short of what the audience wanted to hear. He congratulated all of them, and everyone clapped together at the good news.

When you looked out at the crowd that had gathered, you realized almost every seat in the ballroom was filled. Some were even standing near the door and – wait, there was Wonwoo, leaning against the wall in the back. IT didn’t need to be here for this presentation. In fact, they were encouraged to be doing other things, like manning a table near HR and offering on-the-spot tech help. A smile made it’s way to your lips, watching the way Wonwoo was listening intently.

Once the presentation was over and the room erupted in small talk, your boss came over and thanked you for helping out yet again. “Of course,” you replied, as if there was anything else to say. He gave you a comforting squeeze of the hand before walking off to talk to some of his favorite sales reps.

As you shut your laptop and began to place your things in your backpack, Wonwoo slipped into the chair beside yours. Just the sight of his grin set you at ease, but also made you nervous at the same time. Why were you suddenly so nervous? This was just Wonwoo.

Just Wonwoo. Just Wonwoo. Just … your Wonwoo.

“Congratulations,” he beamed, giving you a high five. “I know you’ve been working on this all week, but you did it!”

You always stressed so much about this presentation, but at the end of the day … “All I did was press a button,” you shrugged.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah, but you didn’t accidentally delete your file like every other time you’ve messaged me on Slack.” He chuckled, and you scoffed at his teasing. “I’d call that a win.”

The second to last night of sales meeting week was the longest night of the year. It was a tradition for everyone to go out to a bar the company rented out, drinking whatever alcohol they could get their hands on while celebrating a job well done. You only saw half these people twice a year, and half of the time they’d have a beer in their hands. 

You did your best to ignore every sales rep that tried to speak with you without slurring their words, but that was damn near impossible when some were already on their second cocktail. However, no matter how embarrassing it was, you did allow them to compliment you and your hard work. Who were you to turn down the validation? And when the time came, even your boss came over to compliment you again, and you realized there was truly nothing like being good at your job. 

Just for a moment, everything felt okay. It was like the loneliness dissipated, the sting of years without pleasure or having someone by your side … it all faded when you were rewarded for your hard work.

Maybe tonight was the night you had fun for once.

When you finally found Wonwoo later that night, he was surrounded by a few younger members of the IT team, debating what computer language everyone should be obligated to learn. You waved to him from where you stood by the bar top, and that was all it took to have him walking away from his team and towards you. He wrapped one arm around your shoulders, insisting to buy you drinks for the rest of the night, and you didn’t hesitate to agree. If there was anyone here you trusted enough to hand you a drink, it was Wonwoo.

Just Wonwoo.

The hour was reaching midnight now, and you weren’t sure how many martinis you had, but you were hiccuping a storm. That was a telltale sign that you were totally, thoroughly drunk. Wonwoo was only drinking beer and pacing himself, unlike that night at the dive bar, but he was enjoying the sight of you finally letting loose. You hung on his arm, staring up at him with your big eyes, glazing over from all the alcohol coursing through your system. He didn’t like how this effected him; he shouldn’t be attracted to the way your gaze looked while you were intoxicated. But he couldn’t help but wonder if your eyes held the same shine while your lips were wrapped around his –

No, this was too much. He should take you back to the hotel.

The two of you glanced around the bar, realizing it was mostly cleared out. You definitely needed to leave now.

He tugged on your arm, wrapping one of his around your waist to support you. “C’mon now,” he grunted, helping you walk out. “Let’s get you back.”

“I didn’t f–finish my drink thoooooough,” you argued, despite letting him lead you out of the bar. “And I can walk … on my own. Swear!”

“Listen, you took care of me once,” he said as you two walked into the brisk cold air. The hotel was, thankfully, only a block away. “Let me take care of you.”

Even with the alcohol pumping in your veins, just the sound of those words falling from his mouth made you grip him tighter. You felt like your bones were made of jelly, and it wasn’t just from the vodka. It was him, and the way he made you feel, and how secretly warm he was, and the way he took care of you as you took care of him, and – oh, god, you wanted to cry because you liked Jeon Wonwoo so much.

So, so much.

It was much easier to get you back to your hotel room than his apartment, seeing as this hotel had a working elevator. You slumped beside him, tripping over your feet every so often, as he hauled you down the hallway to your room. You gave him your keycard easily, and once the door was open, he squeezed your hand to silently let you know it was time to move again. He helped you into the room, shutting the door behind him, before laying you down on your bed with the clumsiness only he could have. 

You were laughing now, hiccuping from the alcohol, but laughing nonetheless. And he was laughing at your hiccups. Or maybe he just liked the way you grinned at him.

He assisted with taking off your boots and jacket, too embarrassed to remove anything else. And it definitely wasn’t appropriate to either. Tearing back the covers, he nestled you underneath them, and said, “You got everything, right? I’m a call away if you need me.” He grabbed one of the small trash cans in the room and placed it at your bedside. “If you need to vomit and can’t make it to the bathroom, just use the trash can here –”

You hand came out to wrap around his forearm. “Stay, Wonwoo.”

Your sleepy eyes were killing him, making his inhibitions melt and his cock throb at the same time. He sighed, sitting on the side of the mattress, and before he could stop himself, he was tucking hair behind your ear. “You know I can’t do that,” he said, his voice like a caress. “You know how it would look if someone saw me leave this room tomorrow morning. HR is on all our asses this week.”

“I know,” you slurred, and then pressed your flushed cheek into his palm. “I j–just thought you … were taking care of me thoooooooough …”

His resolve crumbled into a million pieces. This was complete, utter torture. You had to know how you effected him, but of course you didn’t, because you were stretching under the covers and yawning like you didn’t just make his heart stop. 

That’s how he ended up in your bed, shutting off the lights and settling underneath the comforter. Until you came closer and rested your head on his chest. Despite how fast his heart was beating, he felt so at peace, and you both fell asleep in the clothes you wore out tonight.

Only a few hours later, you woke with a clear head and the beginning of a hangover. Your head was pounding like crazy, and it took everything in you to slip out from the comfort of your bed and pad your feet over to the bathroom. The bright light was burning your eyes, but you needed it to find the Tylenol you left by the sink. Filling a cup with water, you took the medication and prayed it worked sooner rather than later.

You squinted at yourself in the mirror, realizing you were still in the outfit you wore yesterday. With a sigh, you picked up the big t-shirt you left on the floor yesterday morning and stripped yourself until you were in nothing but your underwear. You pulled the t-shirt on and slumped against the wall, pressing your forehead against the cold tile. Now this felt like heaven for your headache.

It took a couple of minutes to get yourself to move again, feet slapping against the floor as you walked out of the bathroom. You noticed Wonwoo was awake too, in the midst of slinking back under the covers, and you saw his jeans abandoned by his bedside.You crawled back to your cocoon of blankets, and he instantly wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you against his chest. And you … you didn’t move away. In fact, you pressed yourself closer, finally hearing how his heart raced. Wonwoo didn’t care if it was probably 4 AM and he probably had to leave in a few hours – before anyone else woke – because he was holding you and smelling you hair. You smelled … god, you smelled so good that it made him hard almost instantly.

You felt his hand splay against your spine, as if trying to hold himself back, and it was then that your eyes opened. The room was dark, but you knew when his gaze was burning into yours only seconds later. You slipped one hand out from the covers, cupping his cheek as your thumb brushed over his lower lip. Under his breath, he muttered a soft, “Shit,” because you both knew where this was going.

You agreed you wouldn’t do this again. You agreed to be friends.

But now you’re kissing again.

Your hand moved from his face to his neck, and his hands are gripping your cheeks to make sure your mouth stayed on his. His fingers were shaking. He kissed you desperately, as if he needed this just to be able to breathe again, and maybe he did. You were like putty in his hands, molding yourself to his body as your tongue tangled with his. Whatever ache you felt in your temples drifted between your legs, causing you to moan into his mouth. And fuck, just the sound of you made his cock swell, precum soaking through his boxers.

The room felt so hot all of a sudden, but your cold hands came in handy as they rested on his neck. His left hand slid down to your ass, finally giving it a firm squeeze after kicking himself for not doing it when he first kissed you. That made you moan again, and he decided he’d never stop touching you like this, just so he could hear these sounds fall from your lips.

He slid his knee between your legs on instinct, and you didn’t hesitate to start grinding against his thigh. The friction felt delicious and soothing. You both kissed each other slower, a little messier, focusing on touching each other everywhere you dreamed about all these months. Your fingers traced down the column of his neck, down the thin cotton of the shirt he was still wearing from yesterday, while bucking against his thigh. His lips left yours, dragging across your cheek so he could nibble on your earlobe, feeling it grow warm and red from all the attention. “You have no idea how long I’ve needed you,” he whispered, and you damn near almost came from that confession.

You weren’t used to this; you couldn’t remember the last time you experienced pleasure like this with someone, but you couldn’t imagine stopping. Not when he angled his thigh just right, the muscle in his leg rubbing against your clit, your panties completely soaked. You cupped him over his boxers, feeling his bulge throb in your palm, and you cooed, “Can I …”

He groaned. You didn’t need to say more; Wonwoo was smart enough to know what you were insinuating. He felt disoriented, drunk off of you and your touch, smell, everything. “Are you … are you sure you don’t want to …” His voice was giving out, but from the way your fingers were slipping under the waistband of his boxers, you knew you wanted just this, and he’d give you whatever you wanted. “Yes. Yes, of course. That’s fine,” he finished.

You chuckled softly. He smiled against your neck. Pulling his cock out and wrapping your palm around it, you began to stroke him slowly. “Oh, god,” he was sighing into the crook of your neck, his brain in such a state of disarray when you resumed grinding against his leg while also pumping him from base to tip. This couldn’t be real; he had to be dreaming, but he could feel your wet panties sticking to his thigh. He could feel himself shake as he clung to you and pressed sloppy, wet kisses to your throat. It was all too much, but not enough at the same time. 

“Wonwoo,” you whimpered, and he dragged his lips back to yours just to feel how your mouth moved when you said his name. You bucked your hips faster, your arousal coating his thigh, and warmth bloomed between your legs. When your hand on his cock reached his head again, you rubbed the pad of your thumb over his slit, making more precum bead onto your knuckles. “Wanna cum with you,” you begged, stroking him faster and in time with your hips.

“I know you do, I know,” he breathed against your lips. “Just a little faster … yes, just like that. Fuck.”

Only a moment later were you trembling, hips stuttering as pleasure took over your body. You came hard, squeezing his thigh between your legs, and your cry was swallowed by Wonwoo’s lips. If he didn’t kiss you, he knew he’d moan so loud it would wake the entire hotel. Because – oh, god, he was cumming now, and he was sighing against your mouth as he erupted in your hand, ropes of cum staining your t-shirt. He could’ve swore he saw white. He’d never felt a release like this before; not with anyone else. Not even when he jerked off. But maybe it was because this was your hand and you were cumming on his leg, and fuck –

You were still shaking in each other’s arms, minds blank and reeling, bodies coming down from the high. It took the kind of strength that moved mountains to slip from his arms and clean yourself up. But by the time you came back from the bathroom and cuddled up next to him, Wonwoo was already fast asleep.

Jeon Wonwoo [6:08 AM]: I had to leave early this morning before anyone woke. But if you want, I’d like to see you at breakfast this morning :)

You [7:31 AM]: Jeon Wonwoo, I’m begging you to just text this to me

You [7:31 AM]: Also, was your phone hacked? Since when do you use emojis?

There wasn’t much to do on the last day of sales meeting week. The only things on your plate were to make niceties with some of the new reps, and probably attend a few presentations by HR. When you had finally woken up this morning to just you in the bed, you almost considered skipping the HR presentations, feeling too guilty and like they might see right through you. It was irrational, but you were sure that this was the only way to feel after realizing that you hooked up with your coworker and friend. 

Not that you hadn’t wanted to. Not that you hadn’t been thinking about it since your kiss. No, it wasn’t like that at all.

So why were suddenly terrified to see him at breakfast?

You got ready as quick as you could – but of course, making sure you wore that V-neck sweater that showed off your cleavage just right – and threw your hair up before leaving your hotel room. The line for the breakfast buffet was packed, but you waited patiently and decided to sit near the bar once you plate was full. The rest of the dining room was filled with people and you weren’t awake enough to make shitty small talk. Sitting here at the bar top was peaceful and quiet –

“Is this … seat taken?”

Your eyes met his instantly, and you noticed the way Wonwoo was cringing at the line he threw at you. You decided to forget it, for his sake, and gestured for him to sit down. Fuck, you were so goddamn nervous, even though you had agreed to meet him in the first place. You wore this low-cut sweater for him. You both sat in silence for a bit, crunching awkwardly on the burnt bacon, and shifting in your seats. 

“Did you …” You were surprised that your mouth was moving on it’s own volition, spilling any words that came to your head. “… Do anything this morning since you were up early?”

Wonwoo choked a bit on a strawberry, but recovered quickly. “Uh … yeah, yeah, sure. Once I came down here, one of the IT interns found me in a panic because he couldn’t set up one of the rep’s new work phones. Created a whole scene over nothing.”

You snorted and sipped your coffee. “Is that intern still breathing?”

His eyes flickered to yours, a slow smile growing on his face. “Yes, actually.”

You fell into sync then, letting the awkward silence melt away as you joked about Wonwoo’s interns. He wasn’t meant to teach college students, god help them. But as your plates became empty and a server came around to take them, you two were left with only the mugs in your hands, strangely reminiscent of that apology coffee he bought for you so long ago.

Wonwoo sighed. “Hey, so about last night – or I guess, this morning …”

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you interjected, setting your coffee down. “I have a hangover, but I am thriving.”

He blinked. “Well, that’s good. But I was referring to –”

You almost couldn’t look at him when you said, “The fact that we’re definitely not just friends anymore?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that part.”

“I …” You licked your lips as you gathered yourself. There was this … terrifying flutter in your chest. You’d never felt something like this before, but you weren’t keen on letting it go. Not yet. “I would like to see you again. Like that. Definitely not during work hours. If you catch my drift. This is awkward.”

Wonwoo had to turn his head so you wouldn’t see him trying to hold in his laughter, but it was clear as day. You sighed loud and hit his arm, making him look at you once again as he snickered to himself. “You know, you could just ask me if I want to hang out.”

You leveled a look at him and huffed. “Okay, Wonwoo, do you –”

“Yes,” he beamed. “Always, yes.”

You found yourself at Wonwoo’s side more often than not. What used to be work get togethers transitioned to meeting up at a bar, or checking a new restaurant on the weekends. Sometimes he’d ask you to come over so you could taste test a new recipe he found. (Unfortunately for both of you, Wonwoo wasn’t very good at cooking, but he was getting better. Somewhat.) Those recipe nights, however, always led to him lifting you up on his creaky kitchen counter and kissing you so hard that you almost forgot to breathe. Until Mingyu came into the kitchen, making a gagging sound, and you two instantly detached from each other.

Friday nights were known as Mingyu’s Movie Nights, and Wonwoo began inviting you to those. He had said that this would help knock a few movies off your Letterboxd Watchlist, but you knew that was just an excuse for wanting to see you. You probably saw him more than anyone now, but you couldn’t deny that you … wanted to see him too. Having him in your life made everything suddenly better. He was kind and smart and thoughtful. He made you laugh in ways you couldn’t explain, and obviously … he didn’t have to do much to make you want him. He’d simply have to look at you and you’d get on his lap. If Mingyu wasn’t there, of course.

Wonwoo seemed to blossomed with you. He was more excited to leave his apartment, more eager to become a better cook. He spoke up often, whether it be at work or out with you, rather than letting someone talk. He wanted to learn all the things that you liked, wanted to touch you exactly where you needed it, wanted to find new ways to leave you breathless. Because it was for you.

Even Mingyu noticed a difference in his friend. He’d known Wonwoo for so many years now, but he’d never made this much of a change for anyone. One night, when you and Mingyu were alone in the kitchen, he mentioned, “He’s different around you.” And then kept pouring wine in three glasses while Wonwoo picked a movie from the living room.

There were also times where Wonwoo was a booty call, of course, and neither of you had any problems with that. Some nights, Wonwoo would call you after Mingyu went to bed, begging you to come over, but ended up settling for phone sex. His attraction to you in stockings only went up, and it was difficult for him to contain his arousal at work when you strutted around just knowing how it affected him. There was days where all he wanted to do was pull you into a janitor closet and fuck the living daylights out of you. But it wasn’t like you’d let him anyway.

You had your fair share of desperate moments too. Especially tonight, as you were out drinking with your friends at a local spot you’d been coming to for years. The live band was loud and you’d had your fair share of shitty margaritas already. One of your friends was tugging on the arm of some rando she met on the dance floor, yelling over the music that she was leaving and she’d text you when she was home safe. That left you shit out of luck for a ride home, and suddenly very lonely. The last thing you wanted was to drink alone at a shitty bar on a Saturday night.

Wandering outside, your heeled boots crunched in the snow as you looked for the nearest Uber. The fastest one around would take over 20 minutes to get to you, and as you looked around the empty city streets … wait, didn’t Wonwoo live around here? Maybe all the tequila was just getting to you. But you called him anyway, and despite the time reaching 1 AM, he answered instantly. He heard the slight lisp in your voice, and once he got out of you exactly where you were, he realized you were right. It only took him about 10 minutes to get to where you were, parking on the side of the road. 

He sighed at the sight of you sitting on the curb, shivering and hugging your jacket around you. Various drunk people filtered in and out of the bar, but none of them checked on you – a freezing girl just sitting on the side of the road. “Why didn’t you wait inside for me?” He asked, his breath hot against your cheek when he pulled you up in his arms. Your dress rode up a little, and his hands were quick to yank it back down. “It’s the middle of winter.”

“I jusssst thought … the cold air would sssssober me up,” you slurred, letting him place you in his passenger seat before running back over to the driver’s side. His car was warm, making you bury yourself in your jacket, but his hand on your thigh was even warmer somehow. If your fingers weren’t so cold, you’d wrap your hand around his wrist, inching his palm up higher as he drove.

Once he was parked, he wasted no time getting you out and helping you up the stairs to his apartment. Mingyu was passed out on the couch, an old movie from the 80s playing on the TV, but you could hardly register it because your brain was spinning and Wonwoo was practically dragging you to his bedroom. He was grateful that all the lights were off so you couldn’t see how messy it was, but honestly, it was a miracle if you could see anything clearly right now.

He sat you down on the bed and you looked up at him with bleary eyes, which made you so fucking hard to resist. All the tequila you drank was pumping through your bloodstream, and you couldn’t help but fist your hands in his t-shirt and try to kiss him. He evaded your lips though – no matter how much he wanted to – and you whined, “Whyyyyyy won’t you kiss me?”

“Shhh …” He whispered, yanking off your boots. “Inside voice. Mingyu’s sleeping.”

You smacked your hands against his mattress. “He’s sleeping in the living room!”

Wonwoo got back to his feet, gesturing as he instructed, “Arms up.” You were too intoxicated to do anything but oblige, lifting your arms as he struggled to pull your dress over your head. Once it was off and thrown to the side with your boots, your hazy vision caught him looking through his drawers for clothes for you to wear. But didn’t he just take your clothes off? You could’ve sworn he did that because he wanted you too right now.

You protested when he tried putting you in one of his simple white tees, but your body felt too limp to fight. He slipped the shirt over your head before pulling back his comforter and wrapping you in it. With your eyes half open, you watched him come to the other side of the bed, yanking his pants down and crawling in bed beside you. He reached over you and set his glasses on the side table. You sighed dramatically. Now he was just torturing you. Wonwoo simply chuckled to himself, realizing what you were angry about.

His arms instantly wound around you, his lips pulled into a smile at your hairline. You looked up at him with a scowl and your voice slurred, “Whysss your eyes closed?”

Wonwoo snickered under his breath. “Because it’s late and I’m tired.” His hand on your lower back traced circles, attempting to coax you to sleep.

“I thought you wanted meeeee,” you complained. Your hand reached in between you two, smoothing your palm against his groin as he slowly started to harden under your touch. You heard his breath hitch slightly, so you kept going, a soft ache beginning between your own legs at just the thought of putting him in your mouth. 

“Sweetheart, I always want you.” He then grabbed your wrist, moving your hand away from him, and then lacing your fingers together. Pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead, he sighed sleepily, “But you’re much sexier when you’re sober.”

You started to realize why you didn’t usually do this, why it had been so long since you let someone see every part of you. What you looked like completely stripped down – both inside and out – completely vulnerable for your person. How your face contorted during pleasure, and how it relaxed when you were taken care of.

Catching feelings like this meant giving up control.

You didn’t work on the weekends unless you had to, and when the Boss sent you a high priority email on Saturday morning, you didn’t hesitate. He had transferred over a bunch of sensitive files that were needed for a board presentation first thing Monday morning. But of course, something just had to go wrong: the files were corrupted and you had no way of figuring out what to do. And it wasn’t like your boss was on call like you were on a Saturday.

This was how you ended up at Wonwoo’s apartment.

You had called him in a panic, explaining what had went wrong, but he didn’t seem too fazed. He was used to your tech emergencies by now. But by the time you got to his apartment, out of breath after running from the train station, he had realized just how serious you were taking this. You both sat down on his couch and you let him work his magic. His fingers moved across the keys as if he were a musician, and you couldn’t stop biting your nail nervously.

Mingyu came back to the apartment after grocery shopping, waving at you before putting all the food away. Seeing as you were here, maybe they could all go out and have fun tonight. He went into the living room, ready to mention a band that was playing at a local venue later, but upon seeing the stressed look on both your faces, he exhaled. “It’s a Saturday,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Why do you two look like that?”

“Corrupted documents,” Wonwoo answered quickly, not even looking up from the monitor. 

“I don’t even want to know more,” he said, grabbing his leather jacket from the coat rack and tugging his arms through the sleeves. “Just your faces are making me anxious. I’m heading out. Don’t wait up.”

You gave Mingyu a wave as he left, but Wonwoo was too focused to even say goodbye. It took about another hour and one cup of coffee, but Wonwoo eventually figured out how to uncorrupt the files. You let out a sigh of relief as he handed the laptop back to you and you were able to open each of them without issue. Thank god, you had managed to figure this out before Monday morning. And … having Wonwoo wasn’t too bad either.

“Thank you,” you beamed, not being able to resist pinching his cheek. “My hero.”

Silence engulfed the room as you both noticed how the sky was already getting dark. You cleared your throat, slipping your laptop back into your bag and muttering, “Thanks again. I know I kind of barged in and wasted your Saturday afternoon –”

Like the saint he was, Wonwoo simply smiled at you. “No time with you is a waste.”

Whatever words you were about to say clogged in your throat. You swallowed hard, attempting to hide your fluster, but you ended up choking out, “I … should go.”

“You don’t have to.” He stood from the couch, walking over to you and running his hands down your arms. His brow lifted. “Do you want to?”

You let the strap of your bag fall to the floor as your hands cupped his neck. “No, not particularly.”

Wonwoo chuckled, leaning in and letting his lips just lightly graze yours. “We have the place to ourselves,” he hummed, slowly dragging you backwards with him. “Mingyu’s gone … probably won’t be back until midnight.”

You bit your lip to suppress a giggle, letting him lead you to his room, as limp as a rag doll. Once he shut his bedroom door behind you, he flicked the light on. You pressed your back against the door and your eyes roamed around the space. This was the first time you saw his bedroom with the light on; every other time had been pitch black. You liked that his walls weren’t bare – they were filled with posters of his favorite musicians or photographs. On his desk was a large monitor and a gaming set up, but also a camera with stacks of film next to it. His furniture was old – probably from the 90s, probably passed down from his family – but the scratches within the wood told a story. And unlike most men, his sheets were gray.

Wonwoo realized you were scanning his room, and he became acutely aware of the clothes scattered amongst his floor. He muttered something to himself, beginning to pick up the clothes piles and chuck them into his hamper. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I wish I inherited the organized gene like Mingyu.”

You tilted your head, striding over and pulling him up, making him halt his actions. Your hands went to his face as you brought him closer. With a smile, you whispered, “I don’t want to talk about Mingyu,” before pressing your lips to his.

The kiss became deep far too quickly, or maybe time was passing faster than usual. Your lips crashed so hard against his that they’d bruise. He took off his glasses, setting them on his drawer, before his fingers hooked into the belt loops of your jeans. You stepped forward, making him step back, then another, and another – until you had him falling back on his bed. You straddled him, arching your back so you could lick into his mouth just how he liked. Hands sliding up his shirt, you felt his abdomen flex underneath you. His fingers in your belt loops jerked you closer, pressing your hips to his, and it wasn’t long before he was moaning into the kiss.

You smiled against his mouth, dragging your lips down his neck, and then even further, as you slinked down his body. Your eyes were trained on his, and he was trying his best not to look like a complete idiot in front of you. But it was difficult when you were looking at him with those eyes and – oh, now you were pulling down the waistband of his sweatpants, practically salivating when you noticed how hard he was already.

But … this was what you guys always did. Not that he had an issue with you giving him blow jobs, but none of this felt particularly intimate. You never really let him worship you; you took control of the entire situation. As if you were bringing your professional stubbornness to the bedroom.

“Wait,” he choked out as you palmed his growing bulge. “Can we … can we try something different?”

Your brows furrowed and you continued pressing sloppy kisses above his groin. “Why would we do that?”

Wonwoo let out a frustrated sound, and before you could prepare yourself, he was yanking his pants back up and pinning you underneath him. You blinked up at him in surprise, and he was gripping your wrists above your head now, his bodyweight pressing you into the mattress. He almost looked shocked that he had the strength to push you back, but his blown-out pupils gave away his true desire.

“What was that for?” You asked incredulously. Nerves clouded your thoughts, making you stutter. “I thought … I thought you liked …”

“No, trust me, I do,” he assured you, and then tipped his head as he gazed down at you. “I just … why won’t you let me take care of you?”

You scoffed then, trying to cover up how petrifying this conversation was becoming. Were you that transparent now, or did he simply know you far too well for your own good?

“I have no idea what you’re –”

Wonwoo gave you one of his infamous leveled looks, and you sighed. “You’re in constant need of seeking control when it’s always at your fingertips. It’s okay to let it go; it won’t slip away.” He let go of your wrists then, but kept his body hovering over yours, holding himself up by his elbows resting near your head. “Please, just … surrender it for once. Let me take the lead.”

You glanced down at your hands on your chest, twiddling your thumbs. Eventually, you murmured, “It’s hard. I’ve never done that before.”

“Can we try? I like …” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, then let his head fall as he chuckled to himself. “This is so awkward. I just – I like prioritizing your pleasure. It feels much better for me and I think it will for you too. And if you don’t like it –”

“I’m not good with change,” you blurted.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice taking on that husky tone that made warmth pool in your stomach. His eyes flickered to your lips now, noticing how swollen they still were. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. It was just a suggestion, and I probably ruined the mood.”

You shook your head immediately, allowing your fingers to tenderly sweep over his shirt. “No, I …” A voice in the back of your head told you this was a good thing, and you did want this, but the fear of change was overwhelming. You wanted to step out of your comfort zone, desperately, for once. You were allowed to do this; you were allowed to be happy. 

Your gaze met his again. “I want to try.”

His eyes softened with affection, but then he asked, “You’re not just agreeing for my sake, right?”

“Now when have I ever done that?” You laughed, making him smile along with you. 

But as soon as his mouth met yours, that awkward, giggling persona seemed to melt away. Jeon Wonwoo morphed into an entirely different person, someone that possessed your jaw in his large hand, pulling at your bottom lip before kissing you harder. It was enough to leave you gasping for air once he pulled away, spit connecting you two, and he continued to suck and nip his way down your throat. He made sure to leave marks in places that could be covered up for work, but he’d know exactly where they were. God, would he even be able to control himself at his desk, knowing where his bites were hiding under your clothes? 

Tugging your sweater over your head, he practically whined at the sight of your breasts, constricted in the bra that you told him was too old once, but you kept wearing it anyway because he said it was cute. He lifted you for a moment, expertly removing it with one hand, before licking the valley between your breasts. You arched into him, sighing into your arm when he swirled his tongue around your taut nipple. He glanced up and realized you were hiding your face, so he pushed your hand off. “I want you to look at me while I do this,” he cooed, but it sounded more like a demand.

Despite the embarrassment, you did as he asked, feeling completely bewitched as you watched him cup the swell of your breast, tugging on your nipple. This felt like a goddamn Pornhub video. You two have had sex before, yes, but not like this. Never like this. Wonwoo had always let you do what you were comfortable with, keeping his other side at bay while you rode him hard on the couch. But this … this felt like something else entirely. The way he was lavishing both your nipples, coating them with his spit, demanding you to watch … Expletives filtered softly from your mouth, wetness gathering between your thighs. It suddenly felt too hot and your jeans were still on.

Wonwoo was taking his time with you though, and it was very clear to you that this wouldn’t just be one of those nights where you had sex for 10 minutes before ordering pizza. When he lifted his mouth from your left nipple, he asked calmly, “Do you like this or do you want more?”

You sneered, “Well, of course, I like –”

His hand came up instantly to pinch your other nipple, and you couldn’t stop the whimper that came out of your mouth. “No teasing,” he said, lowering his head to flick that nipple with his tongue. “Just answer me.”

“More,” you choked out, your hips arching off the bed, seeking friction. “Please, more.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss between your breasts once again, before lowering himself down your body. His eyes never left yours as he dragged his lips down your stomach. Eventually, he had to stand from the bed so he could finally unzip your pants, tugging when they got stuck around your ankles. When the cold air hit between your legs, you realized how soaked you were already. Wonwoo smirked to himself, slowly rolling your panties down your legs.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you joked, kicking your panties off into a pile by his bed. 

He lifted your ankle, nipping playfully, and replied, “Told you that you’d like me taking the lead.”

You rolled your eyes as he settled between your thighs, bending your knees back so your feet rested beside his head. You bit your lip as he placed sloppy kisses on your inner thigh, biting hard enough to make a bruise. Wonwoo fought hard to maintain a sense of composure, but god, the sight of your pretty pussy oozing slick made him wonder if he could cum untouched. You had let him finger you before, but had never been in the mood for this. And this was something Wonwoo had been fantasizing about since the day he noticed that tear in your stockings. He could jump for joy if that didn’t make him look like an absolute fucking loser.

He pushed your folds apart with two fingers, running a hand down his face as he attempted to school his expression. It was just so fucking hard to act cool when you were this aroused. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. You reached out and brushed his hair back from his forehead, deciding to quip, “Wonwoo, can you even find the clit without your glasses on –”

Without warning, he spit on your pussy and buried his face between your thighs. The words died on your tongue immediately, and you let out the loudest whine he’d ever heard in his life. He smiled, but that didn’t deter him from circling his tongue around your clit. He wound one of his arms around your thigh, holding you in place as he pressed his face further.

Wrapping his lips around your clit, he sucked and drew out the prettiest sounds from you, using his free hand to slip two fingers inside you. You tasted exactly like he dreamed about, sweet and tangy and so unmistakably you. He looked up at you from between your legs, curling his fingers in the spot that made tears prick at your eyes, and when your gaze found his, it was like something in him snapped. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice muffled, feasting at you like he’d been starved for days. 

Your fingers were in his hair now, pressing his head more into you, which only made this more enjoyable for him. He nearly came in his pants when your hips began to buck against his face, but this was about you. And him experiencing you cumming on his face. But mostly you. His fingers pumped faster inside you and his tongue was now flicking your clit, allowing more of your arousal to invade his mouth. He’d never get tired of this taste; he was obsessed. Now that he finally got a taste of you … he never wanted to not be doing this. Never wanted his face too far from the apex of your legs. Not when you had the sweetest taste that could move heaven and earth between these thighs.

And when you finally came on his tongue, he noticed that your legs shook like an earthquake. Your essence flooded his mouth, and he moaned – god, did he moan – lapping at you, never missing a drop of what you gave him. His fingers kept curling inside of you, making your orgasm feel like forever. When he finally removed them with a wet pop, he didn’t miss the opportunity to have more of you, wrapping his mouth around those two fingers and licking off the last of your release. You watched him, completely mesmerized by the way he savored you, even darting his tongue out to capture the whatever seeped out of you. Your hips jolted, suddenly so sensitive, and he grinned up at you.

You hardly caught your breath before he crawling up your body, kissing you hard and letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Your hands fisted in his t-shirt, and when you ripped your lips away from his, you arched a brow. “You are still fully clothed,” you reminded, and then swiped at the spit lining his bottom lip.

Wonwoo simply smiled, ghosting his lips over yours before trailing them to your ear. “I’m getting to that part. Patience,” he whispered, nibbling on your earlobe. “You must really want me inside you.”

“I want to not be the only one naked.”

“Say it,” he prodded in a weirdly casual tone.

“What?”

“Say you want me inside you.”

“This is ridiculous –”

He lifted his head from your jawline. “I can easily leave this room and order a pizza,” he teased, and you blinked at him. He was actually being serious. He would completely ignore what looked like a throbbing erection in his pants, just to make a point. You knew he wasn’t trying to be mean; he wanted to get you out of your comfort zone. This was so stupid, because you did want him inside you. Embarrassingly so. He had just given you one of the best orgasms of your life, but you still had this … aching need to be filled. Your cheeks heated just at the thought of it.

“I …” Your eyes closed for a moment, trying not to make your whole face turn bright red. With a sigh, your eyes connected again, and you answered, “I want you inside me, Wonwoo.”

He rewarded you with a kiss, pulling away before it could get too heated again, and stood from the bed. “Well, when you ask nicely …” He smiled, that dominating demeanor slipping for a moment as he pulled his shirt off. You’d never get tired of the way Wonwoo looked without a shirt. He didn’t let anyone see it very often – he wasn’t like his roommate – but the moments he did, you felt eternally grateful. His torso was toned, with defined abs and pecks that made your mind boggle. You liked that his arms were long and muscled; his hands large and slightly calloused. 

You liked everything about him.

When he finally went to kick off his sweatpants, he noticed a large precum stain on the gray fabric from just eating you out. Which was probably the biggest jab to his calm and collected attitude right now, but he didn’t let it slip. He simply threw the sweatpants to the side, coming up close to the bed again, where your legs were now hanging off the edge. You gazed up at him as if he held the world in his palms, watching the way he reached into his boxers and pulled out his cock. Your eyes widened at the sight, never used to the size. He was slightly thicker than average, but long. Longer than you ever expected. With a pretty pink head leaking sticky precum.

It was killing you how long he was taking. Your legs shifted, ready to make a move to yank him underneath you, but he was faster than you. He pinned your wrists about your head with one hand this time, using his other to keep a firm grip on his cock. “You want to be in control that badly, huh?” He asked, tilting his head.

His hand was moving up and down his shaft now, letting precum dribble on your stomach. Your eyes flickered from his cock back to his eyes. “I just … I need you, Wonwoo,” you begged, your voice taking on a new tone. And somehow … wanting him so bad like this was ten times more arousing than riding him on the couch. “Please, please, Wonwoo. Please, fuck me.”

Your pleas had him falling apart, and he sighed, letting go of your wrists to discard his boxers too. His cock flopped against his stomach, hard and aching and – fuck, had he always been veiny? He got on top of you again, cooing against your lips, “I know, baby, I know.” His rubbed the underside of his length against your wet folds, moaning at the slightest bit of friction. “I’ll fuck you real good. I promise.”

Pressing the head of his cock at your entrance, his breath hitched at just the feeling of your arousal coating his shaft. You both had never taken your time with sex. But he was doing that tonight now that he was in control, letting himself slowly push inside you, feel you completely stretch open for him. You mewled, slinking your arms around his neck and carding your fingers at the nape. And when he finally buried himself to the hilt, his lips fell open and he groaned. You felt so good he could cum right now, but he needed to get a grip. The last thing he needed was to cum too fast.

Not that you would like him any less if he did.

“Wonwoo,” you cried, your hips arching up to meet his. “Please.”

Your voice snapped him out of whatever trance-like state he was in. He settled more on top of you, resting his elbows on both sides of your head, and pulled all the way out so only the tip remained. You whined at the emptiness, which soon changed to a gasp when he bullied his cock back in. Your fingers tugged at his hair; your legs crossed around his waist, drawing him deeper inside. “Fuck,” he muttered, still feeling how tight you were, how you molded yourself for him. “So fucking … god, so wet.”

His restraint could only last so long. He’d gotten his fill of feeling you adjust around him. He couldn’t take this anymore, or he was going to cum before you both had even started. With a deep breath, he set a brutal pace inside of you, his hips snapping forward. Tears rolled down your cheeks; how could something feel so good that you cried? Wonwoo seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he was burying his face in the crook of your neck and groaning, “God, so good … you feel so good … how can anyone feel this good?”

The only word you could choke out was, “Ditto,” which you’d regret for hours after this. But now was not the time.

He was fucking into you so hard that you were already sore, but you were holding onto him for dear life, clinging to him as that warmth burned in your gut. The way his cock curved and grazed your g-spot perfectly, making you tremble and whimper his name like a prayer. He placed a hand on your stomach, feeling how deep his cock nestled inside you, and you noticed him shiver in your arms. He was trying desperately to fight off his release. That coil in your gut began to tighten, and from the way Wonwoo was breathing, you knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. He wanted you to cum first though – like always – wanted to feel you clamp around him, squeeze him so tight that he saw white. 

So he did what he did best: reached in between your bodies, finding your swollen, sensitive clit so easily, and rubbed slow circles. He lifted his head from your neck, wanting to see that familiar look in your eyes when you saw stars. “Are you gonna cum for me?” His voice was so deep that it reverberated against your chest.

And finally, as he pressed his thumb down hard and pushed into you just right, you felt your orgasm crest. “Fuck, Wonwoo,” you sobbed, body shaking as you came undone. 

But Wonwoo wasn’t stopping. He kept fucking into you, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. And when your walls squeezed him so tight, he buried himself completely and came hard, a generous amount of fucks leaving his lips. His cheek pressed against yours; his groans muffled by the comforter. You held him close as he filled you to the brink with his release, and it almost felt like hours before he realized he finished. 

You exhaled together, allowing your heart rates to settle. He turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss to your cheek, and then to your nose, and now he was kissing all over your face. Your cheeks instantly tinged pink, but you let him do as he pleased. He didn’t even make a move off you, letting his cock soften inside your warmth. When your eyes opened, he was staring down at you like you were the sun. You searched his eyes, “What?”

His dark gaze flickered to your lips for a moment, and then he asked, “Did you really say, ‘Ditto,’ during sex?”

You and Wonwoo had gotten into a routine. Of course, you saw him 5 days out of the week at work, but you wanted more of him. You figured out Mingyu’s schedule, coming over most nights when he wasn’t home – besides Mingyu’s Movie Nights. You would let Wonwoo cook for you, and he promised he was getting better, before he led you to his room with kisses to your neck and a firm grip on your hand. 

He always went with whatever you were comfortable with, but you found yourself letting him take the lead more often than not. You liked letting him prioritize you; you liked being selfish with him. Giving up control felt … much better than anticipated. Everything about this felt too good to be true. But you couldn’t help yourself, and you didn’t want to spoil it by asking him the dreaded, “What are we?” For now, you’d exist in your safe little bubble, where he would smile at you at work and then fuck your brains out after hours. It felt perfect, simple.

You approached sex through a different lens now. Instead of simply riding him on that godforsaken old couch, you let him go at his own pace: placing you on his lap, having his way with you and making you cum at least 3 times before he sunk you down on his cock, bouncing you up and down as you clung to him, practically letting him use you as a flesh light. Even when he let you sit on his face, it was on his terms: his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave a mark, trying to suffocate himself with your pussy, not allowing you to cum until he said so, no matter how much you needed to. But it felt too good to stop. You didn’t want this to stop. You liked the lack of control, liked the way he took care of you. The way he bent your knees back as he slid into you, keeping eye contact, so you’d feel him that much deeper … the way he could feast on you for hours, never getting enough of your taste … there was something about it that made you feel more than beautiful. 

Especially when he looked at you as if you were his world.

Especially when he fucked into you and you realized you might be in love with him.

You tended to get lost in thought while laying in bed on an early morning. The birds chirped outside, your phone chimed along with each new notification. Curling underneath your comforter, you held your pounding head, reminiscing on last Sunday. You had gone over Wonwoo’s apartment and he had surprised you with a spaghetti dinner. Mingyu promised that it was “more edible than usual” before he left you two alone in the apartment.

You had noticed the shine in Wonwoo’s eyes, how excited he was to do this for you. He had never bothered to learn anything for anyone, but all he wanted to do was please you. To make you happy. And you could see that in the way he gazed at you, making your stomach do flip flops. Letting him have all this control over you, letting him see past the fortress you’d kept up for who knows how long … it was scary and exhilarating all at the same time.

He taught you how to play his favorite video game after dinner, placing you in between his legs on the couch and letting you lean back against his broad chest. His arms cocooned around you, nestling your body in his embrace. Sometimes he would nibble on your ear as you fought to maintain hand-eye coordination with the controller. Eventually, you had given up and asked to watch him, but that led to his hand dropping the controller as the enemy killed him off. And then his fingers were slowly slipping down the waistband of your leggings, rubbing your slit over your panties. You had arched into him, your ass pressing against his hardening erection as he pulled your panties to the side, already finding you wet and ready for his touch. He chuckled in your ear, “How long have you been thinking about this?” His index finger rubbed tight circles on your clit, and all that you could formulate for a response was a moan as he –

You cut yourself off from the memory before it could end you.

Your stomach churned. Despite your better judgement, you had completely fallen head-over-heels for senior IT specialist, Jeon Wonwoo, and that was terrifying. He had seen your personality unfold, seen the most vulnerable parts of you. But nothing was more scary than admitting to yourself how much you liked him, maybe even loved. You were frantic to the point of exhaustion, so stressed that you felt sick. Soon you were shivering, your head pounding as a fever came on, and you stayed home from work for a few days. Your phone notifications be damned – you stayed in your bedroom with the blinds closed, sleeping the days away.

Every so often, you would hear your phone chime. Your phone screen would light up with another text message. But … you couldn’t bring yourself to answer him. This behavior was illogical and stupid; you just simply couldn’t help yourself. You were an avoidant. The only thing you knew how to do was slowly push him away before he saw all the layers underneath your carefully crafted facade.

What if he finally saw how anxious you were all the time?

What if he knew how you secretly craved to be loved your entire life, but you looked for it elsewhere, in places like workplace praise or crowded bars where you couldn’t see another person’s face?

What if he knew you weren’t as organized up in your head as you were at your desk?

Or worse … what if he didn’t like you back?

TUESDAY, APRIL 22

Wonwoo: What’s going on?

Wonwoo: I managed to find out that you’re sick. I can make you soup, if you want? I know my cooking is terrible. But what if this time it’s good and it cures you?

Wonwoo: If I threaten to message you on Slack, will that make you reply?

Wonwoo: I promise I won’t. Unless … lol

Wonwoo: You’re not dead, right?

Wonwoo: Please, answer me.

FRIDAY, APRIL 25

UNKNOWN: hey, it’s Mingyu. I found your number in Wonwoo’s phone. he’s really messed up right now and worrying about you.

UNKNOWN: idk what’s going on between you two, but I don’t like seeing him like this.

UNKNOWN: just … call him. or text him. or something.

Jeon Wonwoo [10:13 AM]: Did your computer die and you need a new charger?

Jeon Wonwoo [3:21 PM]: I miss you.

When you finally returned to work, it’s on a day that your cubicle mate had decided to work from home. You couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or curse until the next day, when you wished that he decided to work from home forever. It was on a Tuesday morning that you finally faced him again, locking eyes with him from across the boardroom table in an all-hands meeting. You weren’t sure what to say, weren’t sure what you could say, but … he didn’t speak to you any way. In fact, even when you both got back to your desks, he kept quiet, throwing on his headphones and focusing on whatever task was at hand. His attitude change wasn’t exactly surprising, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak to him either.

All your other coworkers looked bewildered. The silence between you two made just about everyone feel awkward. They all saw how close you and Wonwoo had become, and now everything just felt … flat. Silent. Empty. It was like you two were strangers. Maybe you had never really known each other in the first place, if you could both discard each other so easily. 

But that just seemed too good to be true. You thought about him everyday, despite yourself, and he had to think of you too. You caught his eyes on you every once in a while, and you couldn’t help but yearn for him in silence. It was probably time for you to take charge again and make the first move, but you found yourself hesitating. Again. You were overwhelmed with thoughts of rejection. 

This was why you never gave up control with someone before. It left you suddenly so, so doubtful.

You [1:34 PM]: I can’t get into my Outlook. I think I’ve locked myself out 

Jeon Wonwoo is now offline.

You [1:36 PM]: I miss you too

It was a busy Sunday, the first notes of Spring evident in the air. You needed to go to the post office today, the supermarket, probably check in on your parents … but that was all discarded when you made the sudden decision to take a taxi to Wonwoo’s apartment. Your hands were shaking more than his when he first touched you. Your leg was bouncing with anxiety, and when the taxi finally pulled up to his building, you considered never getting out. 

But you couldn’t continue being a coward. Besides, this driver had places to be, with the way he was arguing for you to pay in cash.

You were lucky enough to slide in through the building’s entrance while someone was walking out. The less you had to embarrass yourself by calling Mingyu to let you in, the better. The walk up those two flights of stairs was long and tiring, and it wasn’t because you always hated them. You physically couldn’t make yourself go faster, too frightened of what he was going to say when he saw you. Maybe he wouldn’t say anything; maybe he’d slam the door in your face. And you couldn’t blame him, because now you were at his door and – oh, god, you wanted to hurl.

The door was opening before you could even catch your breath. When you caught that first glimpse of Mingyu, you realized how much of a mistake this was. You could always turn back, run down the stairs before anyone could say a word.

But as soon as you both locked eyes, Mingyu raised his brow, but not in a mocking sense. It was as if … he expected you to be here. He sighed, leaning against the door, and without looking back, he called out, “Wonwoo! You got a visitor.”

Your eyes went wide, and then Mingyu was pushing past you, leaving the door open and muttering, “Good luck.” He was rushing down the stairs two at a time before you could even say a word back. But then you were seeing him, and you wondered if it had always been this hard to breathe around him.

Your fingers played absentmindedly as you both stared at each other. His glasses were slipping down his nose, but he made no move to fix them. His own hand was too busy dropping the controller that had been in his grip, now clattering to the floor. His hair was messed up and he was wearing his favorite comfy sweatsuit, and you … you were put together, as always. Your hair unwashed, but pulled up in a ponytail, and wearing that cardigan he liked so much on you. If he wasn’t so hurt, just the sight of you would have him on his knees right now, begging to have you.

He had to turn around and walk away. If he didn’t right now, he’d just –

“Wait,” you said, walking in and closing the door when he spun away. “Please, don’t. I –”

“What could you possibly say?” He snapped, facing you once again. You had never heard his voice at this octave before, never seen so much distress on his face. “I thought we knew each other well enough that you wouldn’t cut me off out of nowhere. As if I’m just some guy you met at a bar last weekend.”

Your mouth opened, and then closed. 

“Do you … do you even understand how worried I was about you?” He ran a hand through his hair, voice cracking for the first time in forever. You took a step closer to him. “You weren’t answering me and I just … my head went to the worst. I thought Mingyu was gonna kill me the next time I mentioned your name. And then, to see you at work and realizing that you were actually just ghosting me was a fucking punch to the gut. I didn’t get it. I still don’t get it. But I’m so pissed at you for hurting my feelings that I’m not even sure if I wanna know.”

“Wonwoo –” You started.

“Please, don’t say my name like that,” he sighed and pinched his nose. “I realize that you came all this way to finally break the news to me, but I’m good. It’s very obvious to me now that you don’t like me as much as I like you, and to save us the pity party, let me get you home –” He reached for his wallet to grab some cash for your next taxi.

But you interrupted before he could finish.

“I love you.”

He paused, looking up and making sure he heard you right. “What?”

“I’m in love with you,” you said it again, and it felt so freeing to have this weight lifted off your shoulders. You moved closer, now standing a foot away, but refusing to touch him for your own good. “And I’m not just telling you that as an excuse. Ignoring you was cruel and I can never forgive myself for hurting you. I just … when I realized how deep my feelings for you were …” Your throat closed up, as if your body was acting on instinct, preventing you from being vulnerable with him.

Wonwoo closed the distance. “Hey,” he whispered, tucking a hair behind your ear. “I’m right here with you.”

His voice was so reassuring – as always – opening you up like a blooming flower. And suddenly, your mouth didn’t feel so dry anymore and your nails stopped making crescent-shaped indents in your palm.

“I got scared,” you confessed, your gaze locked on his. “And I ran away, because that was the easiest thing to do. I thought ignoring you would be best for both of us, and I stubbornly didn’t want to hear your opinion on any of this. What I did was wrong and I … I hate myself when I do stuff like this to people I care about.”

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, but he wiped them with his thumb before they could fall. You sniffled, noticing the hurt in his eyes had faded, replaced only by adoration. Your lips pursed as you searched his gaze.

“I’ve just … never allowed anyone to open me up like this. I’ve never given my feelings to someone and let them care for me.” You blinked, your eyes rimmed red. “I’ve hardly been able to comprehend my own feelings because I’ve been scared shitless of them in the first place. But I can’t … I can’t justify pushing you away anymore. Because I love you. I don’t like being alone anymore and all I ever want to do is see you. Sometimes I’m afraid if I stop holding you, you’ll disappear. You do so much for me; you literally fix something on my computer everyday. I think if I let you go right now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life, and I –”

Wonwoo cut you off by pressing his lips to yours. You couldn’t remember the last time he kissed you like this: so gently with his palm cupping your jaw. You felt yourself relax when he slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His tongue licked into your mouth, sighing with relief when the familiar taste of you entered his orbit again. The taste of coffee and peppermint gum and the peanut butter and jelly you definitely had for lunch today. It was everything he loved about you, and he smiled into the kiss.

When he finally pulled away, he said, “Sorry, I interrupted your monologue.”

“It’s okay. Someone needed to before I got into the Hamlet soliloquy I prepared.”

He chuckled, grinning from ear to ear, and just that had a blush creeping to your cheeks. “I forgive you,” he whispered, leaning back in to ghost his lips all over your face. Your warm breath fanned his mouth. “Just don’t do that again. I know I don’t show it very often, but I’m secretly very …” He smiled softer this time, pecking just slightly on the corner of your mouth. “Sensitive.”

Your fingers hooked into the waistband of his sweatpants, wanting him all the more closer. “I know. I promise.” You brushed your nose over his. “If I ever ignore you for even a couple hours, you have full permission to annoy me on Slack.”

Wonwoo had to cover his mouth from letting out the loudest laugh possible, but it made you feel all the better to see him happy. You could spend forever seeing him this happy. You got up on your tiptoes just to stare at him more, to press yourself closer and feel his grin against your cheek.

But he was holding your face now, sighing down at you with a smile that almost made you swoon. “For the record,” he replied, “I love you too.” 

[thewormofyourdreams]

oh fuck me already

Mingyu (SVT) | Bath bombs fluff | 0.7k | gn!reader

You believe in humor. 

He believes in cuteness.

So that’s how you ended up facing a dilemma that you’d never think you’d have - whose bath bomb will get used first?

His, naturally, is honestly too pretty to be allowed to just fizz out into nothing. A little beige fluffy looking puppy. Adorable, beautiful, perfect. You’d feel like a monster pulling it under water.

And yours is a toaster.

It’s funny, okay? And cute too, just in a different way. Maybe you should’ve just gone bath bomb shopping to the store together instead of shopping online where the options were limitless.

Mingyu chuckles when he sees you pout looking at the two options. He hugs you from behind, leaning his head against yours. You know he finds it funny - and honestly it is. Every second standing in front of the two options you commit into your memory because you’re happy and life is good, and you get to have little breakdowns because of something as silly as a bath bomb.

“Let’s use yours when we’re having a bad day, hm?” he suggests and you laugh out loud, finally releasing the tension in your body, and nod.

“So you mean right after we finish this bath, right? Because my day’s about to get significantly worse if we’re sacrificing this beauty,” you sigh as you run a finger over the puppy’s snout. It fits so perfectly into your palm - how are you supposed to kill it?!

“It’s his fate, baby,” Mingyu reminds you, a smile in his voice, because he loves how deeply you appreciate the little details of everything. He hugs you tighter.

“He doesn’t deserve it. He’s a masterpiece,” you insist. 

“No, you are,” he coos into your ear and chuckles when you roll your eyes and call him cringy. You sigh softly. If only you could stop time right now. With your boyfriend pressed against you, squeezing you like he can hold you together, come what may, little puppy in your palm, and the prospect of a long, hot bath in front of you.

“The water will get cold,” he nudges his nose into your cheek, “Let’s get in.”

You give Mingyu a stern look when you hand him the puppy to safely join him in the tub. He just watches with his dumb smile and lip between his teeth, his eyes basically heart shaped and never leaving your body. He does hold the bath bomb above the water though, so you let him get away with being cheesy despite the heat rising to your cheeks that has nothing to do with the hot water.

You stifle a moan when you let your shoulders dip below the surface and the warmth that envelops your tense muscles begins working its magic. All thoughts evacuate your mind. There’s just the feeling of your bones turning into jelly and your legs brushing against Mingyu’s. The only thing that could elevate this experience to perfection would be some nice, relaxing scent…

“Love? It’s time,” he says gently, chuckling at the frown tugging at your face upon your moment of peace being disrupted, “We need to let him go.”

You reluctantly straighten up and look at the puppy still resting in your boyfriend’s palm. Giving the bath bomb one last pat, you guide his hand down and watch as the puppy starts floating and slowly dissipating. It feels strangely like a funeral full of colors and bubbles, and the bathroom fills with a fresh scent. Are you a monster when you melt back into the warm bath again after sparing one last thought for the puppy?

“Better?” Mingyu asks, leaning back himself. You just give him a nod.

“I promise I’ll be less dramatic with the toaster one,” you hum. He gives you a sceptical look. “I’ll just throw it in. You’ll be dramatic and act like you’re getting electrocuted.”

“Hey!” he pouts, kicking you lightly under the water, “Why am I the one dying?”

“To make me laugh?” you flutter your eyelashes at him with the sweetest smile. He opens his mouth and closes it just as fast, the pout remains on his lips but his eyes soften. Victory.

You laugh and lean forward, easily catching his lips in a kiss. He sighs against your mouth, but as always he’s already thinking about the best way to execute the scene. Because he’s wrapped around your finger like that.