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hannieween · 3 months ago

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moonlight | lights out series

Joshua had not only fallen in love with you, but with the life he had by your side. He just had to learn to find the balance between the life he was so in love with and the life he had worked so hard to achieve.

✮pairings: yoon jeonghan x female reader x joshua hong ✮ genre: angst, fluff, smut [18+] ✮ aus: theatre director jeonghan, rockstar joshua, polyamorous relationship ✮ word count: 25.3k

✮ warnings: sleep paralysis, smut with plot, dom jeonghan, switch joshua, switch reader, alcohol consumption, slight mlm themes, slight dubcon: reader takes care of drunk hannie. reader is on birth control, smoking, corruption kink, dirty talk, unprotected p in v sex, blowjob, handjob, deepthroating, dacryphilia, fingering, creampies, tongue fucking, pussy drunk hannie, squirting, hair pulling, doggy style, rough sex, consensual recordings of sexual intercourse, a bit of cockwarming, vanilla sex, lazy love-making, nipple teasing, couch sex, dirty talk. brat taming: pussy slaps, spanking, edging, praise/degradation kink, light impact play, 1 slap on the cheek. pet names: bunny, beautiful, baby, princess, bad girl, filthy girl (hers), handsome, big baby, (jeonghan) babe, baby, handsome (joshua) ✮ author's note: this is incredibly self indulgent. also, these chapters are getting longer... having to write about two boyfriends at the same time is not for the text-limited posts on tumblr. i'm going to start posting my fics on ao3 too soon... so be on the lookout for that? hehe ✮ author's note 2: there are some instances where the word Bunny and/or Princess are with capital letters and that is to signify Y/N, ok? ok i'm terrible at explaining this .. i just don't like using the Y/N nomenclature. i feel like it pulls me out of the reading ✮ author's note 3: also thanks to @onlymingyus who helped me figure out some scenes! thank you baby 🩵 ✮ disclaimer: minors dni this post is intended for 18+ readers. please have your age stated in your description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂.

part iv

The candles were half-burnt, still lit, and sitting on the table with a forgotten charcuterie board and two empty cups of red wine. You had not finished cleaning the table when you got sidetracked by a serious conversation with your boyfriend on the couch.

A conversation that, predictably, ended with a heavy make-out session.

Joshua had to finish packing his suitcase, a thought that he pushed far back into the list of things he needed to get ready before he left for his first tour the following day. The number one priority to him though, was you. Despite the heavy topic of conversation that you both just had, he could match the passion of your kisses quite effortlessly.

It was his last night with you for what would be weeks. He was not sure when he was coming back exactly, since this tour was going to Midnight Haze’s first big tour.

This was a huge achievement. It was something he dreamed about when his band was just a local indie one. Now they were signed. They had their first studio album. And they were going on tour to visit different countries. A dream come true.

However, there was one thing holding him back.

Joshua never thought of himself as a romantic person. Not even remotely. He used to think he was content with being on his own. He never looked for love and made it very explicit with every partner he had. No relationships, no attachments. Only one goal, and he achieved that goal.

But in his journey, he never thought he would fall in laove. He was not expecting you. When he met you and accepted your proposal to have an entirely sexual relationship, he never noticed the warnings in his brain. Joshua blindly gave himself to you.

It shook his world to find you.

He wanted to stay in the coziness of the home you had given him. And to think that you were neighbors for years before you saw and talked to each other… he wondered sometimes what would have happened if you crossed paths differently, would he be here with you?

Involuntarily, his hands gripped your waist tighter, pulling you closer on his lap. You stifled a moan in his mouth, one hand cupping his chin, while the other had slid down his chest, clinging onto to his plaid shirt.

“Babe,” you paused, but he protested with a groan, his hand sliding up to the middle of your back to keep you from pulling away from him. “Josh,” you mumbled in between desperate kisses. “You have to pack your things, don’t you?” you asked, a giggle fleeing between your lips.

You knew already that he had to finish packing, but that did not stop you from starting the make-out session. And he knew you were just trying to tease him because there he was, all riled up, becoming more and more addicted to your lips.

“I have till five in the morning,” he responded with a hoarse voice, his hand left your back to meet your cheek. “Come here.”

The hand clinging onto his shirt flattened between his pecs. “I mean, but you also have to sleep, right?”

“I can sleep on the plane.”

Joshua heard an airy chuckle leave your mouth as his hand cupping your cheek motioned you in for another deep, heated kiss. It was his turn to smile into the kiss then your hand on his chest found the first button of his shirt, slowly and almost meekly undoing it with one hand.

But you broke away, a playful grin curving your lips. “Are you sure though? I can help you pack, and then we continue where we left off?”

He shook his head slightly, getting lost in the features of your face. It was going to be a while before he saw you again like this. Even if you were planning to visit him soon, he could not last a day without holding you. He had to make the most of the time he had left with you.

“I want to be close to you tonight,” he mumbled, holding your gaze. “I can pack later.”

“I just don’t want you to be late,” you replied dismissively, because you wanted the same thing as him just as badly.

Joshua smiled in full endearment of your worry. It was not unusual for you to worry about the smallest of things. “Don’t worry, I’ll just throw a few things in there and that’s it,” he shrugged, a knowing look appearing on his face.

You hated that at once, you shook your head. “Joshua, you need to do it right,” you said in a more serious tone, chastising him a little. But when his smile widened, scrunching his nose, you just pushed his shoulder.

“I will, baby,” he reassured, nodding with his head. “But only if you keep kissing me,” he challenged.

You returned the smile. “And if I don’t?”

He shrugged. “I’ll just finish packing and go to sleep,” he said nonchalantly.

You tried holding his gaze, but then your facial features broke into a pout.

“I’m just teasing you, baby,” he giggled, his eyes turning into half moons as he tipped his head back slightly.

You loved the sound of his giggles, sweet and merry. You could not resist yourself, grabbing his face with your hands to plant a kiss on his scrunched nose, catching him off guard. But he recovered quickly, grabbing your waist again to capture your lips with his own, to continue where you left off.

Your hand returned searching for the buttons of his plaid shirt, feeling the curve of his pecs in the process as you undid each button hurriedly, his shirt parting, leaving his chest in sight. Your heartbeat fluttered at the sound of his breathing hitching, and your hands slid beneath the plaid shirt, caressing the bare skin of his chest freely.

His pectorals bulged, and it was hard not to notice them lately. You knew he had been working out consistently as of late, so when your hands cupped his pecs, he bristled.

“Sorry,” you whispered sheepishly.

“It’s okay,” he reassured with a soft smile. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

“Okay,” you breathed out.

Having the green light, your hands explored his chest beneath his shirt, the pads of your thumbs teasing his nipples lightly. You felt his thighs tensing beneath you when you rubbed his nipples gently, cupping and massaging the soft muscle of his pectorals.

Joshua sat up straight, his hands securing you firmly, so you did not lose balance. In a wordless exchange, your hands slid from his chest to his shoulders and down his arms, thus pushing the sleeves of his shirt off him.

Once he was freed from the first piece of clothing on his body, his hands were on you again. Your fingertips grazed his veiny biceps, tracing a line to his collarbones and then cupped his neck, all the while kissing him heatedly, humming slightly on his mouth every time he outlined your lower lip with the tip of his tongue.

“Can I mark you?” you asked with a breathy tone, your fingers trailing down the soft skin of his neck.

Joshua knew why you asked. As his band gained more traction and recognition, their agency had to hire a PR management company, which instructed the Haze boys to be careful with their image.

“No, baby. You can’t,” he replied with a saddened tone. He hated to say no to you. He also hated to have this pristine poster boy front that he did not care for about at all.

“Mn, okay,” you breathed, not giving him the opportunity to see your full reaction, you leaned to kiss him again.

You broke away from the kiss, but rested your forehead on his, slowly littering him with pecks. One hand left the side of his neck, and Joshua tilted his head back to pay attention to the detour your hand was taking. You tucked your hand behind your back, grabbing the lace tying the back of your dress, and unravelling it with one movement.

In a silent sequence, Joshua gathered the long fabric of your dress that you had worn for the occasion by grabbing the skirt in bundles and pulling it up your body. Your hair got ruffled in the process, and you laughed meekly as your fingers removed the strands from your face and tucked them behind your ears.

But Joshua was caught up in the fact that you had been wearing absolutely nothing beneath the dress he had just discarded on the side of the sofa. He took one look at your naked body sitting on top of him, and then his eyes met yours. “Were you wearing nothing beneath that the whole time?”

You nodded with your head meekly, biting your lower lip to hide your smile. “I thought you’d appreciate it,” you shrugged.

Even though you had been together for months now, a blush still painted your cheeks red in utter shyness. From the night he met you, he has seen you naked, due to the nature of your relationship. It was natural for him to see your shyness then, but now, after all these months, he found it endearing.

“You know I do,” he admitted as you leaned over to latch your lips with his. “You know everything you do drives me crazy,” he purred in between kisses.

His hands explored your back, circling over to clutch at the curve of your waist, knowing that would bring your body alight. You pushed your chest to him, muffling a moan in his mouth, something he returned at once when he felt your pebbled nipples on his skin. A hand pressed on your back, squeezing you to his hard body.

Your fingers found his nape, sliding to tangle on the locks of his beautiful dark hair. He dyed it recently with a dark chocolate tone, bringing back the shadow of the man you met when he used to live right next to your apartment. Your fingernails grazed his scalp, bringing out a salacious moan from him.

The sound reverberated against your chest, sending a chill that ran thick through your body. It only egged you on, your fingers trailed down from his nape to his neck, caressing his skin ever so gently.

The delicate touches left tingling sensations in their wake, slowly driving Joshua crazy. His hands clenched the curve of your waist one more time before finding your ass, cupping it with a raspy groan from his part.

You pulled away from his lips with a rich smacking noise. “Not so fast,” you mumbled with a tilt of your head. A confused look shot through the features of his face, making you clarify: “Not until I get your clothes off.”

Joshua understood where you were going right away. His dark, glinting eyes marvelled at the sight of you, face still flushed, naked and on top of him. He nodded, letting you take his wrists and driving his large hands from your ass to your thighs, where they rested instead.

You grabbed his chin with your fingers daintily, leaning over to place a small peck on his lips. “Good boy,” you whispered. “Now let me get you out of those jeans.”

Completely enamored, he just nodded, heart fluttering uneasily in his chest when you flashed him a cute smile. You placed another kiss on the corner of his lips, fingers pinching his chin softly before you carried on with your task.

You raked his torso with the tips of your fingers, making him draw in a breath sharply at the sensation. “I like you so much,” you mumbled with an airy tone, looking at his figure, the curve of his strong shoulders and biceps.

In your admiring his body, you were not aware of his eyes doing the same thing, outlining every inch, every curve of your body on top of his. “You’re so hot,” you added almost aloofly.

“Ditto,” he mumbled, recalling the times you have exchanged a similar expression. He squeezed your thighs gently, bringing your gaze to meet his. There, in his eyes, you saw the love and adoration he felt for you.

You did not resist the urge to kiss him, so you did exactly that by closing the space between your lips.

“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he mumbled sweetly, the statement bringing a light chuckle out of you, so he emphasized: “The hottest. I fell for you instantly.”

“Did you?” you smiled.

“Absolutely,” he whispered. “All grumpy at me in your bunny pjs,” he enjoyed the meek smile appearing on your face. “The prettiest… and the hottest.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile did not disappear. “Shut up,” you mouthed, the aloofness persisted as you ran your hands on his chest, feeling his pecs up. Then he understood that you were entranced, your eyes lost on his nakedness.

“Make me,” he whispered, a knowing smirk spreading on his beautiful lips.

Your smile turned playful, giving him a chaste kiss. “Bad boy,” you whispered, propping yourself on your knees to scoot back a little and then he felt the tips of your fingers on his lower abdomen, making him draw in another breath.

He looked at your fingers tracing a line over the soft hairs of his happy trail, meeting the band of his boxers peeking beneath his jeans. Then he darted a look at your face, finding out that you were biting your lower lip in excitement and anticipation. Your eyes locked with his briefly, the corners of your lips lifting a little right before you tugged at the button of his jeans free.

Joshua smiled slightly when you gave him a rushed, feathery kiss. “Help me?” you whispered, climbing off him and the couch while hooking your fingers on the band of his boxers. He lifted his hips from his seat, as you pulled both his jeans and boxers down his thighs and got rid of them completely.

But instead of climbing back on top of him, you eased down on your knees between his legs. Joshua noticed your eyes widen slightly as you outlined his body, your hands caressing his meaty thighs. He leaned back on the couch, so his head was resting back as he watched you explore his body with your eyes, with your hands.

Joshua was a beautiful man. As you took in the sheer beauty of his body, bathed by the soft orange glow of the lights, you felt lucky of being his partner.

You caressed his thighs with your hands, as he cupped one of your cheeks, making your eyes fall on his bulging biceps and his well toned pecs, the curve that formed beneath them. A half smile tugged his lips when you licked yours.

You held his gaze for a moment, a fluttering sensation invading you in your tummy. Joshua was ready for you, the features of his face relaxing slightly when your hand circled his shaft. You touched him at first, his soft and veiny skin, pumping him gently from the base of his cock to the head slick with precum.

You spread the precum with the palm of your hand all over his cockhead before moving your fist up and down, enjoying the way his gaze darkened, his mouth parted slightly. His lust-filled eyes were trained on you as you leaned down, pressing your lips on the tip of his cock, kissing him playfully.

Joshua smiled lightly at the sight of you, using his fingers to push your hair away from your face. But the smile faded, just as you took his cockhead inside your mouth, licking his precum, humming slightly in delightfulness at the taste of him.

He released a small grunt through his parted rosy lips, you took him deeper inside your mouth, your hand moving to his base to pump him with gentle strokes at first. You bobbed your head slowly, eyes locked on his face to see him responding to you just how you expected.

Joshua closed his eyes, closing his mouth to breathe in slowly. His hand slid from your cheek to the side of your head to thread his fingers through your hair, following the movements of your head on his cock. “Faster… please, baby,” he mumbled faintly.

You followed suit, picking up the pace. You hollowed out your cheeks as you pulled your mouth up to his cockhead, swirling your tongue on his tip. His body tensed on the couch, his nose scrunching as he groaned, gritting his teeth. “Fuck… yes,” he sighed. “Just like that.”

A fluttering sensation invaded you, chest swelling with pride when you heard his raspy, deep grunts escaping him. His fingers coiled around your hair, and his other hand joined on the other side of your head, helping you move on him as you took him in deeper.

Silence had flooded the room, only interrupted by soft, smacking noises and the deep grunts from Joshua. Occasionally, he would cuss under his breath, but his face remained relaxed, lost in the sight of you taking his cock in your mouth expertly.

Joshua loved watching you like this, he loved that you knew every step to drive him absolutely crazy. It was taking everything in him to stop his hips to thrust forward. However, you read his movements, pausing before attempting to take him ever deeper into your mouth, gagging around him as his cockhead reached your throat.

“Careful, baby,” he cautioned, retaking the control. You followed, pausing for breath before you tried to deepthroat him again. He saw your eyes start to water, and his thumb reached to scoop a tear rolling down your cheek.

It was your eagerness to take him whole what made him tip his head back, his throat bobbing as he swallowed a deep moan. “Fuck,” he breathed, feeling the muscles of your mouth relax and contract around his cock. “You’re taking me so well, baby.”

Your movements slowed down slightly and became smaller now that his cockhead reached your throat, you retreated your head slightly and pushed again, drool dripping down his shaft and onto your fist. You kept pumping him, though languidly, all your focus was on your mouth on his cock.

“Oh god,” he moaned, opening his eyes to the sight of you deepthroating him, sucking him whole. “Fuck, I’m coming,” he rasped.

But then you stopped, carefully pulling your head back. But the change made your eyes water, you coughed a little, breathing through your nose.

His mouth hung open, frowning in confusion. “Why did you stop?” he asked, watching you wipe the drool from your lips with the back of your hand.

You grinned, climbing back on top of him to place a chaste kiss on his lips. “You’re coming when I want you to,” you mumbled sweetly, booping the tip of his nose with your finger.

“Baby,” he rasped chidingly, elongating the final vowel of his protest. But his large hands welcomed you, grabbing your hips as you straddled him.

You giggled, kissing his protruding lower lip as he pouted at you. “You’re cute,” you teased.

His studded eyebrow jumped slightly; you should have known better than playing with him like this. “You think so?”

You nodded with your head, a satisfying look glinting in your eyes. “The cutest baby boy,” you purred, bringing a hand on his nape before kissing him. Your other hand searched for his throbbing cock, blindly guiding it to your sopping wet pussy.

A deep moan vibrated in your mouth when you sank down on him, pausing yet again but now to savor the slight painful but delicious stretch of his cock in your walls. Joshua groaned, dropping his head on the headrest of the couch, his hands kneading on your thighs as if that helped him resist his orgasm.

“Look at you,” you cooed softly. “You look so good like this,” you added, toeing between mocking him and appreciating the sweet features of his face riddled by pleasure.

Joshua gulped hard. His gaze, darkened by lust outlined the features of your face as you rolled your hips on his cock. He could not lie, he loved when you took control, he loved to see you grow confident on top of him.

But with one, sudden movement, he thrusted you onto the cushions of the couch. The non-existent heed for your body made you yelp in surprise. He propped himself on his knees, grabbing the back of yours to press your thighs onto your chest.

“Joshua–,” you tried protesting, your face broken in utter confusion when in seconds, he had torn through your dominance like ripping through a piece of paper.

You braced yourself before it happened. Joshua brought down his hand on your exposed cunt, slapping it firmly. Both excitement and pain shot through your body, making you cry out a loud moan that sounded lewder than anything.

Joshua heard the rawness in your moan and understood right away that you had liked it. He tilted his head to one side, smirking as he asked: “Want more?”

You nodded, a glazed look in your eyes before you closed them briefly. Joshua brought his hand down again, right on your sensitive clit, noticing your arousal smeared on the pads of his fingers. He pushed his fingers between your wet folds, to rub circles on your swollen nub.

You flinched when his hand slapped your cunt, but the sound coming out of your mouth did not convey pain. Your face scrunched up in pleasure, your eyebrows knitted, and glossy lips puckered. “More.”

Joshua stopped rubbing your clit with his fingers, raising his hand once more to bring it down with a harsher slap, enjoying the whiny sound tearing through you. He continued to rub your cunt, getting unbearably harder when he noticed the arousal pooling in your entrance. “Filthy girl,” he whispered, a smirk playing in his lips.

“More,” you demanded, your tone dropping to a question.

But Joshua had removed his hand from your throbbing pussy, his fingers encircling around his shaft, pumping it to smear your wetness all over himself. “You’ll take what I give you.”

He then placed a hand on the arm rest above your head, lowering himself on your body as his hand grabbing his hard cock drove it to your entrance, easing himself inside you in one go, filling you up to the point of bringing you to tears.

An airy moan escaped you, and it was not only because his weight was on top of your legs, crushing your chest almost. It was also feeling his girthy cock stretching your pussy, reaching a spot inside you that had your walls clenching around him.

“F-fuck,” you gritted, pushing your head back onto the cushions of the couch. “Joshua,” you whimpered, grabbing his shoulder with one hand. “S-so deep.”

Tears spilled when you blinked, bringing out a wolfish grin from him. “Who’s cute now,” he purred, starting to slam his hips against you with a fast, near animalistic pace. As much as he loved seeing you try your hand at domming him, he loved even more to be the one in charge.

The depth of his hard thrusts became addictive, like fire consuming you rapidly. You writhed beneath him; the tip of his cock reaching a glorious spot inside you every time he slammed his hips against yours.

“Oh god, Josh…” you said between deep breaths. “I’m coming.”

Joshua smiled like this was a game that he just won. But he nodded, kissing the inner side of your knee. He revelled at the sight of you like this: you were crying, stirring, and whining loudly as your orgasm washed over you, making your walls clamp erratically around his cock.

But he kept thrusting inside you, loving the wet sounds that came from your pussy, the way your moans turned airy and raspy. Your eyes had rolled back, your mouth fell open, and he committed to memorize that image of you.

“Joshua… Joshua…” you whimpered, over and over until you were completely breathless.

He eased one of your legs from your chest, wordlessly commanding you to wrap it around his waist, lowering his hips on you, burying his cock deep inside you again. You moaned languidly; eyes closed as you savored the gentle aftershocks of your orgasm.

Joshua was lost in you. In the midst of it all, the faint reminder that this was your last night together in some weeks made his heart clench. He leaned his head down to press his lips on your forehead, the tip of your nose and your lips.

“I love you,” he whispered, unable to bring his voice any louder.

You hummed in response, opening your eyes to see his face. “I love you, Joshua,” you responded, cupping his cheek with one hand to kiss him deeply.

Joshua rested his forehead on yours, sliding a hand under your nape, his fingers tangling in your hair. He retook the brutal pace of his thrusts, feeling your mouth fall open and he blindly mimicked you. Now you were breathing on each other’s mouths, moaning in unison.

Your hands circled his back, holding onto him for dear life as his thrusts knocked the air out of your lungs. “Baby, don’t,” Joshua rasped when your fingernails started digging on the soft skin of his back, bringing out a raw moan from him. “Oh, you fucking brat,” he groaned in both pain and pleasure as you dragged your fingernails down his back, piercing his skin.

You giggled impishly, and he responded with a grin. You removed a hand from his back, cupping his cheek to pull him into a hot, sloppy kiss. He groaned in your mouth, egging you to kiss the underside of his jaw, the curve of his neck, his throat.

“Fuck,” he whispered when you suckled the sensitive spot on his neck you liked so much. But he did not protest or stop your rebellious marking of his neck and back.

You brought his lips back to yours, kissing him chastely. “A little reminder,” you whispered. “So that everyone knows you’re mine,” you traced a circle with the tip of your finger around the marked spot on his neck.

Joshua moaned, pushing his hips desperately against you. “Leave more,” he gasped. “Mark me,” he whispered out his plea to you, turning his head so you could have an easy access to his neck.

The thought of you being possessive over him drove him crazy, pushing him to lose control on top of you. He rolled his hips against you, moaning salaciously as you marked him up from his collarbone to his throat.

“Fuck, baby. Ah. God, fuck,” he squeezed his eyes, scrunching his nose as his thrusts became sloppy. “I’m coming,” he whispered, dropping his head on your shoulder. He moaned repeatedly, fucking his cum deep into your walls.

He pressed his body on yours gently. You wrapped your legs around him as you both regained energies, enjoying each other’s warmth.

You brought a hand to caress his nape, your fingers threading gently his hair. His face was still nuzzled in the curve of your neck, breathing raggedly on your skin. Then he moved his head and rested it on your chest, humming tiredly but relishing in the gentleness of your touch.

Your hand slid from his nape, now caressing gently over the scratch marks you left. A lazy smile drew on your face when you ran your fingertips over the bumpy lines along the line of his back.

Joshua heard you smile, lifting his head to press your lips with his own in a tender way. “Bad girl,” he whispered playfully. “You’re gonna get me in trouble.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? I didn’t see a lot of resistance from your part,” you teased.

“How could I resist? You have a very effective method of persuasion,” he smirked, nose wrinkling when you chuckled.

“Do I now? Since when?”

“Since forever,” he rolled his eyes, laughing at the way your voice raised higher. “And you’ve known it since day one.”

“Mm, I don’t think I did,” you mumbled with a sing-song tone. You did that whenever you flirted with him.

Joshua gave you a sweet smile, one of those that melted your heart. “No? Well, you’ve had me wrapped around your finger ever since.”

Your face took on a more serious look, your gaze fell on his lips. You wished to make this moment longer, to postpone his departure. A dark part inside you, one dominated by greed, wanted to ask him to stay with you.

“I love you,” you whispered, searching his eyes again. You tried to convey with those simple words that you were going to miss him, that you wanted to stay with him in this moment forever.

Joshua read your face, noticing that your mood had dropped a little. “I love you,” he replied, thinking of what to say.

And then, a loud knock came to the door.

You jerked in alarm beneath him, drawing in a sharp breath. “Oh god,” you whispered, stretching your neck to look at the door.

But Joshua did not move.

“Josh, someone’s at the door,” you whispered, your body recoiling again when the knock became louder.

“Pretend we’re not in,” he mumbled, nestling his head on your shoulder again.

You turned to look at him in utter disbelief. “Babe,” you tried to move him with one hand. “Move so that I can see who is knocking.”

“But we’re not in,” he did not move an inch.

But whoever was at the other side of the door was not quitting either, knocking once more with urgency.

Joshua groaned in complete annoyance, pushing his body up with his hands, peeling himself off you. “Wait here,” he commanded, a hand reaching for the blanket on the arm rest and draping it over your body.

You watched him curiously as he put on his boxers and walked up to the door, yanking it open and peering out to the hall. Holding the blanket to your chest, you propped your elbow on the cushions of the couch, trying to get what was happening on the exchange.

Joshua appeared to nod his head, stepping closer to the doorframe as if to cover the interior to the apartment to the eyes of whoever was standing in front of him. He nodded once more, lifting a hand to receive something and closed the door with a sharp move.

He rolled his eyes, exhaling softly as he discarded a piece of paper on the table, walking back to you.

“Who was that?” you asked upon seeing his face scrunched up in annoyance.

“We just got a noise complaint,” he announced. “Another one.”

Your heart dropped. “Why?” you demanded, trying to sit up on the couch but you stopped yourself with a horrified expression: “We can’t have more than two, we’ll get an eviction notice.”

“I know, I know,” he muttered softly, sitting next to you on the edge of the couch. “Relax, baby. We could look for another apartment somewhere else,” he shrugged with ease, but you could tell he was still annoyed.

You gaped at him. “What?” you uttered.

“By the looks of it, they want us out of here,” he explained solemnly.

“Why do you say that?”

“They had a noise complaint printed and ready to deliver it,” he exhaled, pushing his hair back with one hand. “Seems like they were waiting for the perfect moment to do it.”

You eased back, sighing with him. “God,” you frowned. “Well, I don’t like that. We weren’t being loud!”

Joshua arched one eyebrow at your protest.

“Not like other times,” you mumbled sheepishly, but your eyes wandered into the nothingness. Your mind had started to fly through all the possible routes of action.

“Hey,” he mumbled, yanking you away from your thoughts. “It’s okay. We could start looking for an even nicer place, with bigger rooms…” he said, his tone fading off.

“Mmn, yeah,” you replied, not noticing that he had thought of something else.

But he recovered swiftly, patting your tummy gently. “Let’s not think about it right now, yeah?” he suggested, giving you a soft smile. “Let me take care of you.”

He rose to his feet, pushing the blanket off and with great ease, he scooped you from the couch, carrying you in his arms bridal style. You squealed in surprise, but you welcomed the nice act, smiling at him softly.

In the shower, he noticed your dreamy eyes on him. “I wonder,” you asked, bringing a finger to connect the marked spots on his neck and collarbones.

“What?” he asked, finishing to rinse the shampoo from his deep brown hair.

“What your fans might will say about these,” you mumbled, finishing the trail of connected lovebites, the last one sitting bellow his collarbone.

“There’s already a lot of speculation,” he said, grabbing your finger from his chest to kiss the pad.

“Oh? What is it about?”

Joshua shrugged with ease. “It’s mostly a debate between people that think that I have a partner and people that think that I’m a serial fuckboy.”

You snorted at the last bit of the sentence.

“Is that funny?” his studded eyebrow twitched slightly.

“A little,” you mumbled, slipping your arms around his neck. “Serial fuckboy,” you teased with a grin. “If they only knew.”

He rolled his eyes at your teasing. He closed the water tap, being so that you both had finished cleaning up. His hands circled your waist, keeping a hand flatly pressed on your lower back. “They’ll go crazy with their speculations when they see these,” he pointed with his nose to his chest.

“That just comes with the job, right?” you mused, looking at him almost dazedly.

He leaned his face to yours, water dripping down his forehead and the tip of his nose. “I just don’t want them to snoop on what we have together,” he shrugged lightly.

“What if that happens?” you asked on a more serious tone.

His beautiful dark eyes read your face intently, but he just shook his head lightly, placing a kiss on your forehead. “It won’t happen,” he said, his tone lace with promise.

Then he removed his arms from your body, reaching behind you to grab your bathrobe, offering it to you. “You’re pretty sure of that,” you observed as he helped you put the robe on.

“What are you thinking? Do you want to plan?” he offered, darting a look to your face.

You could tell that the topic of conversation made him uncomfortable. He didn't like the idea of the world knowing about you and, quite possibly, ruining your writing career, in which anonymity was a major part.

“I just think that I want to be ready if they find out about our relationship,” you said nonchalantly, exiting the shower and went ahead to towel dry your hair. “If it comes to it, we can handle it. Who knows, maybe it won’t be that bad,” you suggested offhandedly, walking out of the bathroom.

Joshua followed you to the bedroom after wiping himself with his towel. “Wait, you’re not worried about your anonymity?”

“I don’t know, Josh,” you sighed, sitting down on the foot of the bed. You clasped your hands on your towel, pausing pensively. “I think that it’s best if we’re prepared.”

Joshua walked up to you slowly, making your eyes swivel from the wall of the room to meet his gaze. “Why don’t we leave the plans for another night, mn?” he suggested, bringing a hand to your cheek, cupping it briefly.

You nodded, taking in a deep breath. “Alright,” you said.

He pulled a pair of clean boxers up to his waist and turn around to continue packing his bags. You noticed he did this in a near mechanical way, by grabbing the clothes that were already folded from the closet. You drew your legs in and hugged them as you continued to see him finish packing the first of his suitcases.

As Joshua turned to continue with his task, it was then when you noticed his back, red with the marks you left with your fingernails, some of the scratches looked thicker than others. “Oh my god, I marked you up so bad,” you giggled shamefully, bringing a hand to cover your face.

Joshua gave you a confused look, but then he understood. “Is it that bad?” he walked over to the full body mirror you had on one corner of the bedroom, turning to peek to his marked up back.

His eyes fell on you, sitting cross-legged on the bed, one hand covering your face in complete shame. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

“It’s not bad, baby,” he decided, turning around to take a few steps toward the foot of the bed where you still sat.

He planted a knee on the edge of the bed, followed by his hands at the same time you laid back, moving your legs for him to slot his body between them.

“I kind of like it,” he said, pressing his lips on the tip of your nose. “I like it when you act all possessive over me,” he smirked. “And I remembered that you have a thing for pain during sex.”

You let out a muffled sigh. “Josh! I don’t think I do,” you countered, but your tone sounded so insecure that it had you smiling shamefully.

“Mn, you bratty little thing, did you like to inflict pain on me?” he purred, enjoying the flustered look on your face. He did not wait for your answer, because he already knew it. “If it makes you feel better, I liked it too.”

“Why don’t we do it more often?” you pried, sneaking a look at his eyes that had your tummy clenching in nervousness.

Joshua had to pause for a second to gather his thoughts. “It’s not the thing that I’m more inclined to do,” he said pensively, his eyelids hooded to look at your face. “And also, I still don’t know how far I can take you.”

“Well then we should try it one day and see,” you offered him a meek smile.

“If you want to, baby,” he whispered, planting a light kiss on the tip of your nose. “Let’s add it to the list.”

Okay, you breathed, noticing the heavy-lidded eyes starting to look drowsy, even his speech had started to become slow and slurry. “Let’s go to bed?” you offered.

Joshua nodded his head slowly. “Let’s go to bed,” he accepted.

You moved on the bed until you reached the fluffy pillows. Scurrying beneath the covers you patiently waited for your boyfriend to occupy his space in your bed. You watched him get beneath the bed sheets beside you, a soft smile drawing on his face when you scooted to him at once.

You had four hours until he had to go to the airport. You saw his phone screen lit up, showing the picture he had of you as his wallpaper. He made no note of your eyes shifting from his phone to his face, he was deep in thought.

“Nervous?” you whispered.

He nodded again, much as if it were sinking within him that these were his last hours of normalcy before he was launched back into the wild-paced life that is being a rockstar.

“You’re going to do great, baby,” you said with a reassuring tone. “I’ll be here cheering you on, watching you.”

A warm feeling poured over his heart. “Once I learn when I have a break, I’ll come see you,” he promised, the feeling in his heart making his tone quiver. “Or I’ll fly you in wherever I’m at.”

Joshua hated how repetitive he sounded. He said this right before he left for his first tour. And you wondered, inevitably, if this time would be different.

“Take things easy,” you mumbled, your speech had started to sound languid too, dragging the words. “I don’t want you to stress yourself over things you can’t control, Joshua. And those you can, take them one at a time.”

Your boyfriend had to pause and let your words take form inside his mind. When he knew what you meant, he nodded. “I’m trying,” he said faintly. He knew you meant well. He did. But he could not help but feel a deep wave of shame wash over him. “I’m trying to get better at this.”

Your eyes dropped. “I know, babe, that’s not what I meant,” you tried to justify, but it was too late. “I–I just mean–I don’t want you to stress yourself too much.”

He pushed the feeling deep down and nodded. “I won’t, baby. Don’t worry,” he breathed out the words. He shifted under the covers and onto his back. “Come over here,” he motioned you to his chest, and you lied your head on his heart.

You felt his hand searched for yours, and you instinctively held his fingers. He brought your hand to his lips, kissing the tips of your fingers one by one to then kiss your knuckles.

You raised your head a little, planting a kiss on his cheek. “I love you,” you mumbled, drawing his gaze from the darkness to yours.

“I love you,” he mumbled back, pressing your lips with a featherlight kiss. “So much,” he emphasized.

It broke your heart to hold back your true feelings about him leaving. Joshua already looked sad. As though he were mere minutes to leave, not hours. You lied back on his chest, his heartbeat strumming under your ear, bringing you to a quick sleep without you even knowing.

Joshua did not want to leave either. And that thought he carried onto his dreams.

His sleep was interrupted abruptly. A tight feeling trying to choke him was what drove him to snap his eyes open. As his mind gained some lucidity, the bits and pieces of his dream stung his eyes, the tight feeling coiling in his chest giving way to a broken sob.

“Joshua?” you raised your head right away, bringing a hand to touch his cheek. “What’s wrong? Babe?”

It took him some time to realize that he could not move, fear set in instantly, but he held onto the touch of your hands, and the sound of your voice calling his name. First, he blinked the tears away, letting them go unwillingly but his eyes found you, then his hands.

“Joshua, answer me,” he heard you plead, the worry in your tone palpable.

“I’m okay,” he rasped, gulping hard before reassuring, more to himself than to you: “I’m okay.”

“Tell me what’s going on,” you said, not buying his words.

Joshua frowned before he could even understand what you were demanding. He closed his eyes briefly, his eyelids trembled over the tears that threatened to brim in. Fragments of what he saw last flooded his mind and he shook his head, remembering nothing.

“I think it was just a bad dream, baby,” he reassured. But the broken feeling in his chest persisted.

Your thumb caressed his cheek. “You can talk to me,” you mumbled, and when his eyes found your face again, he saw the worry he had heard in your tone.

“I don’t remember anything,” he swore, and he saw your eyes dim. “Let’s go back to sleep.”

You nodded, placing your head back on his chest. Your hand lowered from his cheek, caressing his bare chest.

Joshua heard you release a sigh, and then your body eased back on top of him. The caress of your hand ceased slowly, and then he knew that you had fallen asleep again.

It would not be long before he came back. He would go away from some weeks, then he would come back and leave again; he would have opportunities to come back home to you. To sleeping next to you. Being with you.

But the prospect of not having this frightened him. Joshua had not only fallen in love with you, but with the tiny, quiet life he had by your side. He just had to learn to find the balance between this life he was so in love with and the life he had worked so hard to achieve.

Joshua woke up again to the sound of his alarm, jolting at the frantic stammering of his heart, his fist instinct was to reach for his phone and shut the beeping alarm off.

His arms encircled you again, it seemed as though you had not changed positions, your head was still lying on his chest. You inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of his skin, humming sweetly as his hand found a way beneath your t-shirt, caressing your back.

Not a word was spoken. But there was an unmistakable feeling lingering in the air that you both tried to push away. Joshua met your cheek with his hand, at the same time that you craned your neck to find his lips with your own.

You brushed his hair back with your hand, a low moan coiling in the back of your throat when he wrapped you with one arm, effortlessly pulling your body on top so your front was fully flushed with his.

His hand moved from your cheek to meet the curve of your waist, sliding down to grip your hips from both sides while you moved your knees on each of his sides, straddling him. Your hands cupped his beautiful face, deepening the slow and sloppy kiss.

Both of you hummed at the same time, Joshua’s low, raspy tone only caused you to sit harder on his lower tummy. His hands helped you move down on him, now pressing your crotch to his, swallowing a moan as your tongue outlined his lower lip.

“Josh, we don’t have time for this,” you whispered, a tiny giggle making your words quiver. “We’ll be late.”

“I don’t care,” he responded gruffly, his hand was already searching for your panties, pushing them aside with one finger as you lifted your hips.

Your hand pushed his boxers down, grabbing his cock by the thick shaft. You rolled your hand once, pumping him a couple of times before easing yourself down on him. A strangled moan came out of you once you bottomed out on him.

“Alright?” he whispered, hearing your groan, and recognizing that it was not entirely from pleasure.

“It’s okay,” you replied, bending over to rest your forehead on his. “I’m just a bit sore from last night, that’s all.”

“We can stop,” he offered, his hands tightening their grip on your hips.

You shook your head. “Just give me a minute,” you mumbled shakily.

Joshua nodded slightly. “Kiss me,” he whispered, moving his hand from your hip to your cheek, bringing your lips to his own.

He moaned as your walls tensed and loosened around his cock, your warmth covering him down to his hilt as your arousal started to drip down. Just to feel him hard and buried deep inside you turned you on so badly you kissed him harder, making him moan.

“You don’t have to move,” he rasped when he felt your hips swaying up and down. “We can stay like this.”

“I want to feel you,” you responded quietly, rolling your hips with a fuller motion. You joined your lips with his, slowly deepening the kiss.

Joshua moaned, letting himself be swallowed by your warmth and love, trying to memorize to heart what it feels like being yours. To be loved by you. He closed his eyes tightly, breathing out the euphoric feeling gripping him wholly.

You pulled back for air, your lips making a soft smacking noise when you broke the kiss. “I love you, Joshua,” you breathed, burying your fingers in his mane of dark hair.

“I love you too,” he responded, his voice thickening with emotion. “You can’t imagine how much.”

Even though it was early in the morning, the airport was busy. As you climbed out of the car, you noticed Joshua’s anxiety kicking in. The posture of his body changed, and his gaze seemed to darken, and it was not only because of the hairs of his fringe tangling with his eyelashes. It was the way he looked around, probably making sure that the coast was clear.

Joshua did this lately. After he made sure that no one had known of his whereabouts, he extended a hand for you to hold. And when you did, he laced his long fingers with yours, pulling you closer as though he did not want you to get caught in the sea of people.

“Do you see Hannie?” he asked quietly beside you, adjusting the mask covering his mouth and squaring his shoulders to shift the backpack hanging on his shoulders.

You shook your head no. In fact, you had not started looking for him until your boyfriend suggested the idea for you.

Finding Jeonghan was quick. And easy. “There,” you squeezed Joshua’s hand with yours and nodded to the man perched on a massage chair.

Jeonghan’s head was lolling to one side languidly, his chest and shoulders shaking as the massage chair worked on his back. Joshua spotted the man as soon as you pointed and changed courses to meet up to him.

“Hey,” Joshua gently budged his shoulder, freeing the handle of his suitcase to do so.

Jeonghan opened his eyes, raising his head to peer under his baseball cap. “Oh, Joshuji,” he giggled awkwardly when his voice vibrated too. “There you are, you two. You’re late.”

“Yeah, you don’t say,” Joshua mumbled dismissively. “Let’s go, Hannie,” he urged the man, budging him another time but firmer, chuckling as he did so.

“Can’t you wait until this thing finishes?” he nagged, but then surrendered quickly when Joshua used his hand again to slap his shoulder. “Ah! Fine, okay,” he sighed, rising to his feet in front of you. “Hi, baby,” he muttered warmly.

“Hi, Jeongjeong,” you smiled at him, seeing his face made your tummy flutter uneasily. His eyes found yours, right before he planted a peck on your lips. His hand brushed your arm gently before he placed one peck on the tip of your nose.

The fluttering feeling intensified, making your breathing ragged. Your eyes shifted to your surroundings, thinking that people would find it weird that you were kissing one man while holding the hand of another man.

But you found out that no one was paying attention to you.

“Come on,” Joshua squeezed your hand gently.

“Okay,” Jeonghan conceded, following you when Joshua pulled you to his direction as he strode to do check his bags. Where you stayed back with Jeonghan as you both waited for Joshua.

“You’re okay, princess?” Jeonghan asked quietly, standing with his arms crossed and closely behind you.

You turned to see his eyes, partly covered by his cap. “Yeah, I’m okay,” you replied flatly, but your lie was made obvious by the way you quickly yanked your gaze from his face. “You know,” you sighed. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”

“Well, it’ll just be a few weeks,” he said in a consoling tone. “And we are going to visit him, we’ll watch him play for the biggest venues, it’ll be fine.”

You searched his eyes one more time. The confidence and reassurance he offered you never failed to do their work.

And he also never failed to read you perfectly well. “It’s not that what’s got you anxious, is it?” he mumbled with a lower tone.

You swallowed your words.

“What happened to trusting him?” he mused, the slightest of smirks playing on his lips. “When did that fly out the window?”

“I’m just overthinking,” you brushed off, sending a glance towards your boyfriend and felt guilty. “I didn’t like doing long distance the first time he went away.”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “Again, baby. It’ll be just a few weeks,” he leaned his head to his shoulder, looking at you with gentle eyes. “Don’t be afraid. Let’s just trust him, okay?”

Joshua was walking back to you and Jeonghan, you knew by the look on his face that he needed to go. “The boys are at the gates already,” he mentioned, sighing with heavy reluctance, and looked to you. “I have to go now.”

You nodded, but you could not stop the remorse gripping your heart. “Yeah, okay,” you forced out.

Joshua scanned the features of your face briefly before turning to Jeonghan. They exchanged a meaningful look, making you wish for the nth time to tap into the wavelength they jealously kept to themselves. But you kept your eyes on them as Joshua extended a hand for Jeonghan to clasp firmly.

Joshua pulled him into a hug. “Ah, okay,” Jeonghan muttered with an air of awkwardness, being caught by surprise. “I’ll miss you too, Joshuji,” he coughed up a chuckle.

“Take care, Jeonghannie,” Joshua brought up his hand to pat on his best friend’s head, and something told you this used to be a normal exchange between them.

“Yeah, you too,” Jeonghan darted a look to your face. “Keep in touch, yeah? Don’t be a stranger.”

It was then that you felt some semblance of reassurance. You could feel your own distractions dissipating as soon as you saw the two men you love hugging each other. Joshua was trying to change, so you had to let go of your fears too.

“Course,” Joshua muttered as he stepped back, a weary look in his eyes as these searched you one more time.

You reached out to him just as his arms wrapped you in, once your chest was tightly pressed against his, you let out a tiny sob.

“No, baby, don’t cry, please,” he muttered, turning his face so he could press a kiss on the crown of your head.

You took a big gulp of air to calm your sobs. “I’ll miss you, Josh,” you told him, tightening your arms around his torso.

“I’ll miss you too, baby,” he replied with a strained voice. As soon as he heard your sobs, the sharp feeling returned to grip his heart. “I’ll call you. Every day.”

“Please,” you whispered shakily, moving your face to meet his.

The feeling coiled around his heart tighter when he saw your teary eyes, but you kept yourself steady and strong as you locked eyes with him. Your plea to him was clear, and he nodded to you.

“I promise,” he whispered back, leaning down to press his lips in your forehead.

You grabbed his face with your hands, giving him a quick kiss. “I love you,” you mumbled meekly.

Joshua sighed, smiling at the shyness you displayed. “Kiss me properly,” he giggled into your mouth before slotting his lips between yours.

A warm tingling feeling invaded you, lingering beneath your hot cheeks. The kiss deepened, and even if you were aware of Jeonghan’s eyes on both you and Joshua, you let yourself ease into the kiss, moving your lips on his in a seamless dance.

“I love you,” he mumbled with a sweet smile, leaning to press a kiss on the tip of your nose.

And with that, Joshua released you from his embrace, patting Jeonghan’s shoulder right before turning to walk towards the gates, where he joined the mass of people and eventually disappeared.

Joshua was gone again.

The ride back home was a strong reminiscent of the first time Joshua left on tour.

The sun was rising, the wet pavement was shimmering with the sunlight and from the rain that washed overnight. The windows of the car were covered with a light layer of mist, you rubbed your hands together, trying to warm them up a little.

You lifted one finger and drew a smiley face on the car window.

“Oi,” Jeonghan jolted you awake. “No drawing on the windows!” he berated you playfully.

You added some rays around the face, turning it into a smiley sun.

“Ah, you little…” he giggled, sliding a hand on your thigh. “So, have you decided what you want for breakfast?”

You shook your head, gaze falling on Jeonghan’s hand parked on your thigh. “I just want to go home.”

“Okay, home it is then,” he mumbled sweetly.

You paused for a second. “I do want blueberry muffins, though.”

“Ah, alright,” he giggled, patting your thigh gently. “Let’s go get muffins, baby.”

You knew that Jeonghan had commenced his plan to distract you from the emptiness of going back to an empty apartment. When you got there, and saw the table cluttered with the stuff from the dinner of the night before, it was not as painful as you thought it would be.

Jeonghan kept quiet at first, helping you remove the cups of wine and taking them to the sink. The glances he sent to check on you continued until he decided you were alright, that your silence was not because you felt sad, and although you did, it was merely because you were going to miss Joshua.

“Do you want coffee?” Jeonghan, his soft voice breaking through the barriers of your mind.

“I’d love that,” you replied, offering him a reassuring smile.

You followed him to the kitchen, putting the rest of the plates in the sink. “Leave that there,” Jeonghan muttered as you reached for the scrub. “I’ll do the dishes.”

“You don’t have to, Hannie,” you said, noticing that he was trying to accommodate to your gloomy mood and do nice things for you.

“But I want to,” he shrugged, but then you saw a light smirk lifting the corners of his pretty lips. “You do the breakfast, though. It’s your turn,” he said, finishing with a broader smile.

“Pff, okay,” you huffed, a smile appearing on your face.

Jeonghan’s eyes lit up, outlining the features of your face swiftly. “And then maybe we could watch a movie,” he offered, trying to hold your gaze for as long as he could. “But then I have to go to work.”

You raised your eyes to his. And he noticed the question written in your face.

“Wanna come with?”

You nodded with your head silently.

“Okay, then,” he breathed in, pressing the button on the coffee maker on. Then he busied himself with doing the dishes, swiftly looking your way as you prepared two omelettes.

A shy smile crept on your face, being scrutinized by his sweet brown eyes just made you feel uneasy. Jeonghan noticed, moving to stand behind you so you would not feel his gaze on you, but then he did matters worse. His arms encircled your waist, hugging you from behind, his chest pressed to your back.

“What?” he asked when you lowered your head, smiling when he pressed a kiss on your shoulder.

“Nothing,” you mumbled, squirming slightly when his breath fanned your nape. “You make me nervous.”

“Why?” he whispered, he looked at your eyes, then your lips.

“I like you,” you replied in kind. You thought it was obvious.

The way his eyes lit up made your stomach flutter with butterflies. “I like you more, princess,” he said, his low tone quivering.

Your cheeks tingled, making you focus back on the stove and served two plates almost in a methodical way. “Do you think it’s strange?” you pried. “That I want to be with two people at once?”

“You know I don’t think so,” he replied matter-of-factly. “If the real question is, do I think people would find it strange, then yes.”

You coughed up a chuckle. “That’s helpful,” you scoffed, but you could not ignore that it had deflated you a little.

“But they’re not us,” you felt him shrug behind you. “What matters is what happens between Joshua, you and me, right?”

“What do you think?”

Jeonghan pondered for a second. He stopped hugging you and took the plates from the counter, turning to set them on the table. "Sit," he nodded to the chair before turning back to grab the two cups of coffee.

You sat down as Jeonghan set a cup down on the table for you and then himself. He then dropped himself into the seat next to you, a hand flipping the visor of baseball cap.

The tips of his ears poked out; his hair tucked behind them. You instinctively reached out to push some lose hairs behind his ear, drawing his heavy lashed eyes to yours.

A small smile appeared on his face as he caught your hand, pressing his lips to the pads of your fingers. Your stomach dropped in nervousness.

“So?”

“I don’t think it’s weird that you want to be with Joshua and me at the same time,” he said, sinking his fork into the omelette. As he chewed on his food, he lifted his gaze to the ceiling, appearing to be formulating his sentence: “I think we haven’t talked about the… more complicated aspects of dating two people at the same time. At least not the three of us.”

“Oh, so you have. You and Joshua?” you raised your eyebrows.

He nodded. “I asked him if he was sure about all of this,” his lips pouted as he chewed.

“What did he say?” you asked slowly.

“Eat,” he motioned to your untouched food, noticing that you were so caught up with the conversation that you forgot to eat your omelette. “I asked why he agreed to this, since he’s the most jealous guy I’ve ever known,” he shrugged, pausing with the piece of omelette in front of his mouth. “He says he doesn’t know why, but he wants this. You know?”

You nodded, chewing on your food.

“But I think we need to have this conversation again, the three of us when he comes back,” he continued, much as if his thoughts had organized neatly in his head. “Because I’m new to this, sometimes I feel like I’m catching up to the two of you.”

“I’m new to this too,” you frowned.

“I mean that I’m sort of… joining the two of you. Joshua and you already have an established relationship,” his eyes flitted around the room. From the two large noise amps that sat on the corner of the living room, to the table beside the dining table covered in photo frames of shots of you and Joshua. His eyes glanced at the shoe rack by the front door, filled with your and Joshua’s shoes before resting on you once more. “I just got to the party.”

You smiled at the way he conceptualized the polycule you have arranged. You set your elbow on the table, resting your head on your fist. “Well, we have time to bring you up to speed,” you smirked at him.

That seemed to catch his attention. His eyebrow quirked up. “Mm, I like to hear that,” he smirked back at you. He looked at your other hand resting on the table and did not hesitate to take it in his, his fingers playing with yours. “When do we start?”

“Today,” you giggled when you did not skip a beat to give him your answer. “You need to get ready because you're going to speed through this, old man.”

Jeonghan laughed, the sound of his chuckles warming your heart. “Oh yeah?” he arched an eyebrow. “What are we going to speed through today?”

“I don’t know what the steps are,” you admitted. “Joshua and I kind of flew through the steps to having conventional a relationship.”

“And I just got here to make it even more unconventional?” he added, smirking playfully.

“Or to make it more fun,” you quipped but then you shook your head. “I don’t know. You could take me out on a fancy dinner. Give me a reason to dress up.”

“Is that step number one?” he asked, enjoying your playful back and forth.

“Oh, no, you’re in like step number five already,” you quipped with a light chuckle.

“Ah, yeah?” he raised his eyebrows. “When did I climb the other four steps?”

You held up a hand and showed him your pointer finger, signaling a number one. “We hold hands,” you held up another finger, signaling number two. “We’ve kissed, multiple times. Three, we’ve slept together, four we’ve had sex–,”

“Multiple times,” he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you’re right. What’s next?”

You shrugged. “You tell me,” taking a big gulp from your cup of coffee.

“I’d like you to meet my friends,” he said, giving you a meaningful look.

Jeonghan gave a lot of importance to his friendships. You knew that even before you met him, since Joshua told you about him, about him being his greatest confidant. So, meeting his friends meant a lot to him.

Your ears perked up at this. “Oh, your friends from work?” you asked, and he nodded with his head meekly. “Let’s do it. I’d love that.”

“Nice,” he smiled with satisfaction. “Step number five.”

“You’re gonna grow bored,” he commented off-handedly as he held the door open for you.

“That’s why I brought a book with me,” you replied with a sing-song tone. “I don’t really know what you do for your job, so I probably will be paying attention to you.”

“That’s not…” he sighed and dropped his gaze to the ground, smiling shyly. He took your hand, looking at your fingers as you laced them with his.

You laughed in nervousness at your own bad attempts at flirting.

Jeonghan lead you through the establishment. You had been here before, but everything you remembered about the place was a blur. That time you were distraught, your mind was cluttered with thoughts about your big argument with Joshua, and your feelings for Jeonghan.

The interior of the place was beautiful, it struck you along with its quietness. As you followed Jeonghan through its cold halls, you marvelled at the walls decorated with large posters of their most successful plays.

“This way,” Jeonghan whispered, not really noticing that you saw his name plastered on one of the posters. He opened a door to you, showing you to the room that extended bellow you in rows of seats, and large steps that lead to the big stage. “Come on.”

The stage was not vacant, as you initially had expected. A group of people sat in a circle, and some were practicing a choreography in the background, a couple of men pushing a large stage prop to one corner.

It was so packed in fact that no one noticed you and Jeonghan coming in. “Wait here,” he mumbled, showing you to one seat in the front row.

You watched as Jeonghan paced towards the stage, rolling the sleeves of his hoodie up to his elbows. Something encircling his wrist caught your eye, just as he grabbed it to toy with it. It was your scrunchie, and it had been so long since you had seen it that it brought a smile to your face.

You sat down on the seat, closely following Jeonghan. He put himself to work at once, he was handed a tablet and people approached him, you saw him nod and shake his head, then he pointed at the stage lights.

He nodded to the person he was speaking to and seemingly came to an agreement. Then he turned, looking at the tablet in his hands as he approached your seat in the front row.

“Bored yet?” he asked, seating himself beside you.

“The opposite,” you grinned. “What are you doing?”

He lowered the tablet on his thigh. “Just doing a general revision before this rehearsal. We’re closer to putting this show together. These are the final days before the opening show,” he motioned to the table sitting on his lap. “And here I can see which are the scenes we’re going to rehearse, and I know what to oversee.”

You moved your head up and down, slowly. “Interesting,” you noted. “And what scene are we rehearsing today?”

Jeonghan leaned to your side, looking at the screen. “At the gates of Emerald city,” he recited the title scene with a pleased tone. “So, lightings, costume changes, the song, and choreography. Easy.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Easy, eh?” you mumbled.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth pensively. “I just have to make sure that everything’s going smoothly, you know?” he smirked. “Imagine I’m the teacher and the class are showing me their homework.”

You laughed, and that brought a big smile to his face. “And that’s all you do?”

“I get the playwright, the writers, the cast, the crew, and the budget,” he listed with a straight face, but you saw the cunning in his eyes. “I call the shots, baby.”

You snorted but drew from his confidence to say: “Alright, chief. Let’s see what you got.”

Jeonghan’s eyes flashed back to you, then to your lips. “Ready when you are,” he mumbled, continuing to lean to you when–

“Director-nim!” a snappy voice called from below one end of the stage. You followed the sound of the voice. The young man was flashing Jeonghan an annoyed look.

“What?” Jeonghan responded, his tone dropping to one you rarely heard on him.

“Yoon Jeonghan! Stop flirting and come here!”

“This guy,” he said under his breath as he stood up. “I’ll be right back,” he told you as he approached the group where the young man was showing him a daring smile.

The phone you stuck between your thighs started vibrating, pulling you out of your focus. Joshua’s name displayed on the screen, along with a photo of him that you took on one of your dates.

“Hi, handsome,” you responded to his call, a smile spreading on your face almost at once.

“Hi, beautiful,” his sweet voice came to your ear a second after. “I just landed.”

“How was your flight? You sound tired,” you noted.

“I didn’t get much sleep on the flight. But we’re on the way to the hotel and hopefully I can sleep before I begin with the promotional activities,” his tone dropped slightly, then he paused pensively before: “I can’t wait till I’m back home. I miss you already.”

A spasm in your chest made you choke out. “I miss you too, babe,” you replied, sneaking a look to Jeonghan walking back to you.

“I’ll call you when I’m at the hotel,” Joshua said. “I have to go.”

“Okay,” you mumbled. “Love you.”

“I love you too, baby.”

Jeonghan sat down beside you again, a knowing look on his face as he motioned a question with one movement of his head. “Everything okay?”

You tucked your phone between your thighs again. “Yeah. Everything’s okay. Josh just landed,” you sighed and looked back at him. “You?”

Jeonghan nodded when he saw your assurance. “These brats were trying to grab my attention,” he said with a hint of annoyance, which was quickly replaced with a cheeky smile. “They want to know who you are.”

“Oh, are they your friends?” you asked, sending a quick glance to the small group of performers gathered to one side of the stage. You caught the eye of one of the men. And you recognized him right away.

Jeonghan leaned back on the seat, crossing one leg as he nodded. “My friends first. Then I tried to get them into castings, and when I got my company settled they were there every step of the way.”

“They seem… fun,” you frowned, paying attention to the commotion that was starting to take place in the small group of Jeonghan’s friends. “I know one of them.”

“Who, Seokmin?” he guessed right away.

“Yeah, he was–,”

“Joshua’s flatmate, yeah. I introduced them,” he smirked.

“And you think it’s okay to introduce them to me like this?” you asked sheepishly.

“Well, we don’t have to give any explanation,” he shrugged. “But I do see how this could be uncomfortable for you.”

“I just don’t want people close to Joshua to think that I’m cheating on him,” you whispered, dropping your gaze to your hands.

Jeonghan stilled. “Yeah, I didn’t think of that,” he sighed with a hint of disappointment. “Maybe we could do this another way.”

Your heart deflated at once. “I still want to meet them.”

He pondered about it for a second. “I don’t want people to think you cheated on Joshua either,” he agreed, pursing his lips. “Tell you what, let’s wait for another opportunity. With a lot more privacy.”

You looked around the theatre room, catching several pairs of curious eyes on both you and Jeonghan. “Yeah, you’re right.”

After being with him all day in what truly felt like a regular day you would spend with a partner, Jeonghan took you to dinner with him, and went for a stroll, talking about everything and nothing while holding hands.

It had been a nice time, but more pressing matters distracted you: work. You needed to work since the last few days your focus was on enjoying Joshua’s last days at home.

“Are you… staying the night?” you asked as the car turned down the street you lived in.

Jeonghan had one hand on the steering wheel, and the other was clasped with yours. “No, baby, not tonight,” he decided after two long seconds.

“Can I ask why?” you asked with caution.

“I have to do some work early tomorrow. Plus, I don’t have clothes, or a toothbrush,” he replied with a shrug.

You looked at your hands laced together. “You can bring some of your things, so you can stay someday… if you want.”

You hated how tiny and vulnerable you sounded. But you did not want to spend the night alone.

But Jeonghan did not notice, his focus was on pulling to the curb right in front of your building. “I’ll bring some in, baby,” he replied aloofly.

“Okay,” you replied begrudgingly.

But you did not make a motion to exit the car yet, your seatbelt was still put on, your hand still in his. Jeonghan smiled, noticing your reluctance. “Come here,” he breathed, leaning towards you, a pair of fingers slipping beneath your jaw to kiss your lips tenderly. “See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow, Hannie,” you replied with a sweet smile like his.

Midnight Haze Rocks the World: New Album Breaks Streaming Records in 24 Hours

Read the headline on your monitor screen. A picture of the three members of Midnight Haze appeared on top of the article published that morning. It was the third day since Joshua left for his first tour with his band Midnight Haze. And as expected, the internet flooded with overwhelming love for their phenomenal skyrocketing to success.

As such, a lot of eyes were posed on Joshua. A deluge of articles and videos were coming out every day, about his personal life, about his artistic process to write his lyrics, and speculations about his lovers.

Joshua was right. There was a huge part of Midnight Haze’s following that suspected he had a partner. And there was an even larger part that suspected that he was no more than a womanizer.

To some extent, it was painful to read some of the things you found online. And as much as you wanted to avoid it, you could not. So you did what you knew best: bury yourself in work.

Midnight Haze Sold-Out World Tour Breaks Box Office Records

It had been ten days since Joshua left.

His texts came less often. Same as his phone calls. Whenever he did call or text, he said he was busy, stressed. But he was trying to keep in touch with you. And that was all that mattered.

Midnight Haze’s Joshua Hong and Mysterious Woman Spark Romance Rumors at Exclusive Event

It was fourteen days since Joshua left. It was becoming more difficult to ignore the headlines and rumours created around him to draw in attention from the public and his fans. Although he seemed more consumed by the fast-paced nature of his job, he still called everyday.

Deciding you had your fill of nonsense you found online, you rested your head in your arm, sighing deeply in exhaustion.

“Baby, wake up,” Jeonghan’s soothing voice pulled you from your dreams.

You lifted your head abruptly, drawing in a breath. “I’m up,” you blurted sluggishly. “What’s up?”

Jeonghan giggled as you rubbed your eyes. You were in your studio, sitting on your armchair. There was drool smeared on your cheek, as you came to find out when you rubbed your face.

“You fell asleep,” Jeonghan pointed, giving you a kind smile. “Let’s go to bed.”

“When did you get here?” you slurred out. The room had darkened, the only source of light coming from your double monitor idle screens.

“Just got here,” he said, and you had started to notice the hint of concern in his voice. “Go to bed, so you can sleep better.”

You turned to your screen to look at the time. You had been asleep like this for nearly four hours. “Oh no,” you gasped. “I slept for too long. I must keep working.”

“Why?” he asked slowly. “You’re clearly tired, baby. Sleep some more and come back when you feel more refreshed.”

“Mmn,” you pondered his request for a second. You ran your sleeve over the tiny puddle of drool on your desk and looked at him.

Jeonghan was standing beside you, looking at you as if you were a baby in your crib. “You missed here,” he whispered, bringing the tip of his finger to the corner of your lips.

You slapped your hand to your lips, wiping the drool that was there.

He giggled. “Come on, princess, let’s go to bed,” he egged, motioning to the door to the bedroom.

You shook your head. “I want tea,” you pushed yourself from the chair.

“Tsk,” he sighed heavily, but he followed you down the hall, nonetheless.

“I don’t want to hear it,” you mumbled groggily, knowing what was coming.

“You’re overworking yourself again, Princess,” he reprimanded.

“Here we go,” you said in a sing-song tone.

“Just rest for a day!” he suggested with earnest. “You’ll feel better, and probably will get more work done.”

“I can’t rest, the deadline to submitting the first draft is nearer,” you protested as you got to the kitchen, getting to the electric kettle, filling it with water and turning it on. “And I’m nowhere near done this draft.”

“There is nothing wrong with taking a break for one day,” Jeonghan tilted his head to one side, his brown eyes following you. “Just take a break for once.”

You locked eyes with him, now considering his request.

“For me,” he added, the corners of his lips tightening, trying not to break into a smile.

“Pfft,” you scoffed loudly when he finally gave in, laughing merrily at his own cheesy addition. “See, I was considering it, until you said that,” you pointed.

“Please?” he said, bringing a halt to his laughs and his features took on a more serious look. “Just for tonight.”

“Okay. Just for tonight,” you conceded, heart fluttering uneasily when he smiled in victory. “Tea?” you raised your eyebrows.

“Sure,” he muttered, nodding with his head once. He had crossed his arms on his chest, his eyes trained on you as you moved in the kitchen. “Did you stay up writing last night?” he pried.

“And the night before that,” you sighed, handing him a mug of tea with milk. “It’s just not going well.”

“Can I ask why?” he leaned back on the kitchen counter.

“It’s just a writer’s block,” you shrugged, but both of you knew that was not true.

“What is the problem?” he asked again, his tone was gentle, it gave you that cozy sense of familiarity he never failed to give you.

“I just can’t…” you started faintly, toying with the teaspoon. “I’m out of ideas. I planned the whole book, the whole trilogy, but I just can’t string them together. I’m paying too much attention to tiny details, and I can’t get my creativity flowing.”

Jeonghan pursed his lips. “It seems like you have the problem narrowed down.”

“Yeah,” you said dejectedly. “I just can’t solve it.”

“Well, stepping back can help,” he shrugged, flashing you a knowing look. “Maybe you need to… reframe your initial ideas.”

It was reasonable that Jeonghan had experience with this. His line of work is very similar to yours, in some way. Even if he did not always write the plays he directs, he knew what a creative block was.

You rolled your eyes to the ceiling, humming pensively as you tried to retrieve your answer. “I wanted this book to be like a bridge gapping the first and the third book but, now it just feels like I’ve written myself into a corner.”

“Don’t say that,” he protested, leaving his mug aside. “I get that you’re stressed and the deadline and all that,” a hand reached out to grab yours, gently pulling you towards him. “But you’re talented and smart enough to get out of any corner you find yourself in.”

His arm circled on your lower back, and your hand fell on his chest. It brought a smile to your face to hear his words. “Thank you, Jeonghan,” you said. “You’re right. I just focused on the smallest details, now I feel jaded.”

He nodded in understanding. “I know how that feels,” he said, his kind voice lowering a little. “Listen, why don’t we just relax for now? Continue tomorrow, take it one step at a time, see where that gets you.”

You nodded, sighing deeply. “Alright.”

Jeonghan smiled cutely at you, making tiny dimples appear on his chin. “You got this, baby,” he mumbled.

“Thank you, Jeonghan,” you whispered, meekly pushing yourself on your tiptoes to reach his lips with a kiss.

“Don’t thank me,” he breathed, his other hand came up to cup the back of your head, his fingers tangling with your hair. He slotted his lips between yours, and you tasted the sweetness of green tea mixed with sugar in his kiss.

“Mmn,” your hands found his face. Jeonghan’s kisses were always tender, and delicate. Almost as if kissing the petals of a rose. Even during make-out sessions, just as this moment was turning into, he kept his lips gentle on yours.

But he pulled away too quickly, sucking in a breath between his teeth. Dropping his head back, he stared at the ceiling. Jeonghan had been doing this for the past few days: stopping himself before the kissing went too far.

“What’s wrong?” you mumbled.

He shook his head silently, and then he lowered his eyes to meet yours. “Let’s go to bed,” he suggested, taking your hand again.

“Okay,” you whispered, a coy smile appearing on your face.

“Knock it off,” he snapped, but he started smiling too.

“I didn’t do anything!” you giggled as he took you to the bedroom. “What’s with that serious face? I thought you were onto something.”

“Careful, princess,” he cautioned, but you heard the hint of playfulness in his tone.

“Or what?” you smirked as you sat down on your bed and kept your eyes on him as he emptied the pockets of his black sweats on the nightstand. His phone, the keys to his car and apartment, and a green vape pen.

“Or nothing,” he huffed, motioning at the bed. “Are you going to lie down?”

“Yeah, I just…” you saw him lie down on the mattress; legs spread wide open. You sighed. “I’ll change into pjs,” you announced, a smirk painted on your face as you rose to your feet, stripping your cozy pullover with one movement and then your pants.

“Tsk,” he clicked his tongue and reached for his vape pen, tucking it between his rosy lips. Even as you turned your back to him, you knew his eyes were on your semi-naked body. You sent him a glance to confirm your suspicions were true and smiled.

“Don’t smoke in my bedroom,” you chastised him, but your tone was made insecure by his eyes staring at you.

“I’m not smoking,” he mumbled faintly, and his statement was true. He had not drawn from his vape pen yet, but he kept it tucked between his lips.

You finished smoothing Joshua’s oversized t-shirt over your frame and walked to the bed. Jeonghan watched you crawl to where he occupied the mattress, which was your side of the bed.

“What does it taste like?” you wondered, tilting your head in curiosity.

Jeonghan said nothing, he just handed you his vape pen, matching your curiosity with his eyes. And you took it, you tried to mimic his movements you always saw him do by tucking the tip between your lips. A faint smirk appeared on his face when you sent him a glance and sucked in a breath from the vape pen.

You started coughing at once. The light smoke invaded your throat and coating it with an overly sweet taste, making it impossible to get an actual experience of what Jeonghan was so addicted to. He chuckled as your coughing died.

“It’s slowly, baby,” he instructed, taking the vape pen from your hand gently and motioned your eyes to him. “Like taking a small sip from a straw.”

He took a draw from the vape pen slowly, his throat bobbing as he seemingly swallowed the smoke, and then exhaled it through his mouth and nose.

“Try it.”

You sent him a reluctant look, but took the pen to your mouth, nonetheless. Slowly, you sucked in a breath once again, getting a taste of the green apple flavor that reminded you of Jeonghan. Then you quickly blew the light smoke with your lips.

“That was disappointing,” you mumbled.

“What did you expect?” he chuckled.

“This is what you’re so addicted to?” you raised your eyebrows, giving the pen back to him.

“No,” he rolled his eyes. “I was that or tobacco. And I just need to keep my hands and mouth busy. This helps,” he signaled to the vape pen.

“Hands and mouth busy, eh?” you smirked.

“Shut up,” he hissed, but a wide smile took over the features of his face.

“Make me,” you whispered, zeroing your eyes on him in a tantalizing way.

Jeonghan paused, the only sign that he was not expecting you say that was a single twitch of an eyebrow. He took a long draw, an even longer one, that went on for seconds, filling his chest out with smoke.

“Come here,” he said, not letting go of even a ghost of smoke through his lips. He extended one arm, his hand cupping your cheek, holding your face inches away from his. “Open your mouth.”

You instinctively parted your lips, just as he exhaled the smoke he had been holding in his chest, pouring it into your mouth. It felt cold, it tasted like green apples, it filled your senses with the taste of him as you exhaled.

Jeonghan sealed your lips with a kiss so soft it had you asking for more. You moaned, a hand coming to hold his face to help you kiss him harder, enticingly. “Princess,” he grunted through your continued attacks with your lips. “You need to rest.”

You pulled away from his lips, looking at him in utter disbelief. “Okay,” you frowned.

Rejected, you lied down on the opposite side of the bed to Jeonghan, turning over so your back was to him. Your heart deflated with pangs of pain at each beat, your mind riddled with questions as to why he was keeping you at arm’s length.

You jolted in surprise when Jeonghan’s arm encircled your waist, nuzzling his face in your hair. Just as he did the last time he slept in your bed.

“Are we just cuddling?” you sulked.

“Yep. Just cuddling,” he mumbled, scooting his body to yours so he could perfectly spoon you.

“Why?” you whispered, closing your eyes to push down the tears trying to sting them. You felt ridiculous.

“You need to rest,” he repeated with a calming tone.

“Jeonghan,” you turned over to see his face. “Did I do something wrong?”

He frowned. “No,” he shook his head. “Why do you say that?”

“You haven’t been… as physical as usual,” you mumbled out with caution. “I’m beginning to think that I’m doing something wrong.”

Jeonghan blinked, an alarmed look settling in the features of his face. “I just wanted to take my time with you,” he said, gentleness coating his words. Once he saw your features relax, he continued: “We started with the wrong foot. I wanted you to get to know me outside of the sexual aspect, you know?”

“But I do know you outside of the sexual aspect,” you blurted. “You’re my best friend.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you wished to take them back.

“That’s not…” Jeonghan sighed with a frustrated air. “When you mentioned the steps to a relationship, I thought we could take it slow, and let you know me intimately.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, yanking your gaze from his face.

“No, I’m sorry,” he replied in the same fashion. “I never wanted to make you feel rejected.”

You noticed for the first time, how struggling it was for him to speak out his inner thoughts. He was an excellent communicator sometimes, but it was different when it came to his feelings.

“It’s okay,” you reassured, now enclosing the space between you on the bed, so you could entangle your body with his. “But I’m confused. I do know you intimately.”

He shook his head lightly. “You mean as your friend,” he said wearily. “I mean as a boyfriend.”

Your heart stopped, and the moment between you too. In all the past few weeks you have been with Jeonghan, in all the considerations you were trying to bring into the relationship, you somehow thought that was a given.

“Wait,” he blurted, closed his eyes tightly and then: “I want to ask you formally.”

You blinked at him, a smile slowly curving your lips. “It’s okay,” you repeated. “I’d like that, Jeongjeong.”

“You would?” he smirked. “I’m sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve done serious relationships. And I’m old. So, I don’t know what’s in anymore.”

“You’re not old,” you said slowly. “And I don’t know what’s in either, so… Chances are that whatever you have in mind is something I like.”

“Okay,” he sighed, looking more relaxed, but then he pressed his lips into a tight line. “Just so you know, it was never within my intentions to make you feel like I don’t want you.”

“It’s okay,” you reassured with a light smile. “It was just confusing to me why you didn’t want to be physical anymore.”

Jeonghan let out a low chuckle. “Princess, believe me, there’s nothing more I want right now,” he rolled his eyes in shame. “Especially when you undress yourself in front of me, doing those sounds when I kiss you.”

You had to laugh at his face in complete frustration. “Well, if you had said something about it, I wouldn’t have teased you so much,” you pouted.

“Ah, really?” he snickered. “Really, princess? I don’t believe that for a second,” he emphasized.

“Why, don’t I get the benefit of the doubt?”

“Not when you’re both mine and Joshua’s partner, mm-mmn,” he negated with his head on the pillow.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you asked, though pointlessly.

“You’re a tease,” he said with an obvious tone. “You know what will work on me because it works on him.”

“Mmph,” you hummed thoughtfully. “You know I don’t see it like that.”

But it did sound familiar to something Joshua said a couple of months ago. It was something that you had started to find very real: Jeonghan and Joshua were so similar to the point it could be eerie. And it did not seem impressive to Joshua that Jeonghan would find you attractive, because he also did.

“Let’s go to sleep,” he said after taking a look at your face.

“Okay,” you conceded, turning over again to be cuddled by his body.

Some moments later, you could still hear him breathing normally. His movements were kept at minimum, but you knew he was still awake. He shifted slightly behind you, you heard the rustle of the bedsheets, when he moved his head on your pillow.

You just closed your eyes, trying to fall asleep but his body behind you was too distracting, your feet bumped into his, the warmth pooling inside your tummy making you smile.

Jeonghan shifted again on the bed, encircling his arm around your waist languidly, now his body fully pressed against yours. You could understand the reason why he struggled to find a position to rest with your body close to his.

“Are you okay?” you breathed.

He blinked, darting a look to your face. “Yeah, I’m just…” he sighed, smiling shyly at you. “You’re very warm.”

“You don’t like it?” you frowned. “We don’t have to cuddle, we could–,”

“I do like it,” he cut in. “That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?” you mumbled, giggling softly at his indecision.

When you went to bed, you had forgotten to close the blinds completely, a faint light coming from the windows painted his face in a pale white color. You could see his eyes properly as he contemplated his answer.

“I don’t think I can wait much longer,” he mumbled, laughing sheepishly at his own demise. “I thought I could, but I guess I’m not so strong when it comes to you.”

Jeonghan had his arm folded and tucked under his head, so that way his eyes lowered to find your face as you turned over, your back pressed against the mattress.

“Well, you’ve been edging me and yourself for nearly two weeks now,” you said, smiling at him as he laughed harder. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I want to be a good boyfriend to you,” he pursed his lip into a pout. But his hand parked on your tummy over your t-shirt.

Your heart stammered in your chest frantically, making your blood rush to your face. “You are a good boyfriend, Jeonghan,” you mumbled, flashing him a cheeky smile. “You can be a good boyfriend and have sex with me.”

“I–,” he broke into an airy laugh, squeezing his eyes in utter shyness. “Don’t tempt me, princess. You’re tired and haven’t slept well.”

“Mmn, okay,” you said, but you could see it in his eyes: Jeonghan wanted you. His rosy lips parted slightly, his heavy-lidded eyes reading your face. “Come here, baby,” you whispered, sneaking a hand on his nape to pull him to your face.

Jeonghan reciprocated the need of your lips without skipping a second. The strangled sound that coiled in his throat only egged you on, your hands slid from his nape to graze his scalp with the tips of your fingers.

“Call me that again,” he breathed gruffly into your mouth as he repositioned his body on top of yours.

You paused, looking at his face that was now hovering on top of yours. “Baby,” you hummed, an ecstatic shudder shaking you when he saw the fascination flash in his eyes. “Kiss me… please.”

Jeonghan leaned down but stopped before he could reach your lips, a smile broke the features of his face. “You’re going to be the death of me. You know that, right?”

The tip of his nose bumped with yours playfully taunting you before he slotted his pretty lips with yours. You felt the weight of the pillows shifting when he placed his forearms on the sides of your head, caging you in. Blindly, you parted your legs for him just as he slotted himself between them.

He kept kissing you, he never stopped. The softness to which he was kissing you made you drunk, wanting more. “Hannie…” you whispered, turning your head as his lips kissed the apple of your cheek, trailing down to the line of your jaw.

“Tell me what you want,” he mumbled faintly, his breath fanning a spot below your earlobe.

You recounted in your head every sexual experience you have had with Jeonghan so far. Narrowing down what had made you so dissatisfied the last time you had sex with him was easy: there was a lack of connection with him. One that you craved deeply.

“I want you–,” you gasped when his lips reached your collarbone, as he pushed back his body, his hands retreated from your sides, finding the hem of your oversized t-shirt. His hands were cold upon sliding on your tummy. “I don’t care how, just do anything you like.”

A flash of déjà vu hit you hard. Jeonghan lifted his head from the curve of your neck, his long dark hair obscuring his eyes. “Anything?” he asked, tilting his head to one side slowly. “There must be something you need, princess.”

“I don’t know,” you smiled at him sheepishly.

Jeonghan leaned forward, his fingers trapping your chin. “I’ll do anything you tell me to,” he purred right before capturing your lips with his for a shallow kiss. “You call the shots, baby.”

Your breath hitched; his hand came to cup your cheek. “Keep going, please,” you muttered, though it was not necessary, his lips were still on yours, giving you soft pecks.

Jeonghan gave you no verbal reply, but he kept kissing you anyway, each kiss tenderer than the one before. It made you dizzy, the softness that he put with every touch.

“Jeonghan,” you put a hand on the center of his chest, bringing a stop to his sweet kisses at once. His dark eyes locked with yours, giving you the confidence you needed. “Can you be rough with me?”

Upon hearing your request, he stilled completely. “How rough?” he asked, much as if he did not give a second thought to your words, nor pause to ask why. He knew this was what you needed.

“Just do it,” you asked, your tone waning over the nervousness that kicked right in. “I promise I won’t break.”

“I know you won’t,” he smirked, diving for another shallow kiss, laughing softly at the low grunt you gave him in protest.

Then he kissed you again. Harder this time, showing you how much he had been holding back. Before his touch had been delicate and tender. But now, his kiss was forceful, passionate. He crushed your lips, making you muffle out a moan in his hot mouth.

“Want me to fuck your brains out, baby?” he rasped, backing away to take a look at your face. The lascivious glint in his eyes was unmistakable, and so eerily familiar.

“Yes, please,” you mewled, your hands snaked from his chest to clutch at his neck.

Jeonghan sighed in your mouth. “You needy little thing. You really are made for us.”

“I am,” you replied in a frenzy, returning each needy kiss he planted in your mouth.

A hand pushed your t-shirt up to your chest, uncovering your tits to him. “Do you know how fucking much I love these?” he rasped, sending you a look before dipping his head to litter your skin with kisses.

His lips attached to one of your nipples, his tongue toying with your pebbled bud, to then suckle at it with a smacking noise. “Fuck-k, baby,” you mewled, your fingers tangling with his long dark hair, giving it a soft tug.

“Mmn,” he searched for one of your hands on his head, grabbing it and driving it to the mattress. No touching, he wordlessly commanded, locking his fingers with yours.

“Sorry,” you whispered. “God, fuck,” you squirmed helplessly, the back of his tongue teased your nipple, swirling around it and suckling at it hungrily.

His free hand fumbled your other breast, his fingers pinching and tugging your hardened nipple as his mouth continued to work on the other, making it sensitive. He detached his mouth with a wet sound, his eyes marvelled at your body for a second as he released your hand.

“Behave,” he conditioned before leaning down again to tease your other nipple with his mouth.

First his lips tugged at it, to then graze at it with his teeth, making a sharp hiss come out from you. You lowered your gaze, finding his. Jeonghan smiled at you, pulling his tongue out to tease your nipple, swirling around it.

You sighed out the pleasure burning within you, sinking in the pillows as your skin prickled. “Please… more,” you mewled, your hands clawing on the bedsheets. “Keep going, Hannie, please.”

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, but the motion of his tipped tongue did not stop. His hands cupped your tits, making them bulge, and he lowered his face onto your chest. The low grunt that he muffled in your tits told you that he was enjoying sucking at your nipples just as much as you.

You closed your eyes, focusing on the pleasure building in the pit of your tummy, your muscles clenched in response when he sucked harsher, then changed to toy with your nipple with swift motions.

“Ha-hannie,” you called shakily. “I think I’m gonna come.”

For a moment, you thought Jeonghan had not heard you. He made no move, no sound to acknowledge your words. He just kept going: sucking, licking, pinching your sensitive nipples. Drool dripped down on your bumpy skin, the wet sounds Jeonghan made, paired with the low groans he gave you whenever you moaned.

“Oh god… I’m coming,” you choked out, hands clenching around the bedsheets. Your orgasm flooded within you, it was quick and sweet, and even though the feeling was short, it had you panting. And wanting more.

Jeonghan hummed with satisfaction, leaving a kiss on each of your nipples before meeting your eyes. “Was that a first?”

You recognized where his game was going at once. “Yeah,” you sighed with a meek smile. “It felt good. I needed that.”

“Mn, princess, you’re such a needy mess,” he said gruffly, his hand caressing your bumpy skin over your tummy. “Is that why you can’t write, baby? Too much in your head?”

“Think so,” you replied coyly.

Jeonghan sat back on his heels, contemplating you for a second under the pale light coming from the window. “These need to come off,” he toyed with the band of your wet panties with his lithe fingers.

He hooked his fingers around the hem of your panties, pulling them down your legs with your help, lifting your hips for him.

“No, not that. Keep that on,” he instructed when he caught sight of your hands trying to get rid of your t-shirt.

Then he stretched one arm, reaching for something on the nightstand. Your heart stammered when he grabbed his phone. “Are you ready for this?” he asked, sending you a glance.

“Yeah,” you replied.

The flash of the camera hit your eyes, making you squint at it. But you quickly adapted, seeing Jeonghan’s fascinated face behind his phone as he directed it to your naked body. He caught on video everything he liked to see: your face, your tits smeared in his spit, and your pussy.

“You got so wet, baby,” he mumbled, making a trail with the tips of his fingers from your bellybutton to your mound, caressing it. “Baby needs to be fucked everyday, or she can’t function properly. Right, princess?”

The white light returned to your face, you nodded. “J-jeonghan!”

His fingers continued trailing down, finding your pussy lips spread open. “So fucking wet,” he sighed in awe, dipping one finger in your pooling entrance. “You got like this just by playing with your tits a little…”

Another finger joined in, pushing inside your throbbing walls as the phone captured it in video.

“Jeonghan,” you protested. “Please, just fuck me.”

“Stay still, baby,” his voice was low whenever he gave you a command, and that way you knew not to challenge him again. “I’ll give you what you want if you promise to be good.”

You sighed in frustration. “I promise,” you hated the way your voice sounded.

That seemed to please him. The flash of the camera went off, Jeonghan tossed his phone on the bed near your body, pulling his fingers out of your pussy.

The loss of stimulation had you protesting with a lewd whine. “So impatient,” he tutted. Then he nodded his head at you. “Knees up.”

His hand pushed on the back of your leg, making your chest compress a little right before he dipped his head to your needy pussy, his tongue swiping a line between your folds. Your muscles tightened under the overwhelming sensation of his tongue licking your arousal, drinking you in.

“Fuck,” you gritted, your hands flew to grab your own legs to keep yourself in place for him.

You heard a muffled laugh, his breath fanning your wet pussy causing you to shiver. The tip of his nose bumped against your clit as his tongue sank inside you, then retreated, only to dive in again, his face pressed flush against you, fucking you with his tongue.

A strangled gasp escaped you, his tongue left your pussy and was quickly replaced by his fingers, slipping them in until he was knuckle deep inside you. But his tongue slid to your clit, teasing it with swift jabs, getting it to swell by teasing it with his lips, tugging and suckling at it.

“Oh, g-god,” your body shook on the bed sheets, your eyes squeezed shut so tight you started to see colors.

The low hum he gave you was paired with one deep intake of breath on his part, breathing you in practically, his mouth unrelenting on your pussy. His fingers kept dragging inside and out of your throbbing walls, delighting himself with moans each time you clenched around him.

“Fuck, Hannie,” you mewled, pushing your head back onto your pillow. “Don’t stop, baby, please…”

Jeonghan pushed his face onto your cunt harder, groaning against you as his fingers thrusted inside you harshly, curving inside your walls and finding that spot effortlessly. Your mouth fell open, pelvis tilting towards his face. All focus, was narrowed to his mouth making out with your pussy, his fingers teasing that spot inside your walls.

“I’m there,” you sighed out. “Jeonghan, I’m coming,” you let out a long cry of pleasure, body shaking on your bed.

Your orgasm washed down your spine, burning inside you. His fingers kept thrusting inside you, his mouth helping you ride your high without stopping for a second to breathe. Just as you were coming down, he detached his mouth from your throbbing pussy, but his fingers did not.

“Jeonghan?” you panted.

His fingers kept teasing that spot inside you, the force from his hand on your cunt had started to make a single vein pop out along his forearm. “Can you give me one more, baby?” he asked, his free hand reaching for the phone he had discarded earlier.

“I… yeah,” you decided, holding your legs to your chest with your hands.

The camera flashed your eyes again. “Good girl,” he whispered, capturing the mess that you were in. It occurred to you that Jeonghan did not want you to remove the t-shirt you were wearing… he wanted to fuck you in it for Joshua to see.

He pointed the camera at his hand pumping in and out of your puffy cunt, the wet sounds coming from it sounded loud and almost dirty. His fingers picked up the pace, now teasing relentlessly inside you, making you gasp and jolt at each harsh jab.

“J-jeonghan!” you cried out.

“Careful, we can’t make too much noise, remember?” he smirked at you.

“I-if you keep going, I’m gonna… I’m gonna–,” you choked out, arching your back on the mattress as the hot liquid spurting from you landed onto his hand and the bed.

Jeonghan smiled, his fascinated eyes flitting from the screen of the phone capturing the mess you were making, to your body writhing on the wet sheets. “Tsk, messy girl,” you heard him say between the loud wet noises and your own breathless moans.

To see him smile sent you onto another wild frenzy. You moaned as his fingers left your throbbing pussy, his other hand tossing his phone heedlessly. Then, Jeonghan grabbed his t-shirt, peeling it off his torso with one swift motion.

“Remind me to put a towel under you next time,” he smirked, using his own t-shirt to wipe your arousal and his own spit from his chin, then his hands.

You sighed, embarrassment heating your face, but you could not deny that you liked this. And Jeonghan saw right through you. He leaned over to you, capturing your lips in a kiss, he smelled of you, and you could taste yourself in his mouth. The act was so dirty it had him swallowing your moans, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“Jeonghan… I want you to fuck me, please,” you whined when he pulled his head back.

“Do you think you deserve it?” he asked, his voice was low and slightly raspy.

“Yeah?” you smiled coyly.

“Why shouldn’t I edge you a little bit more?” he grabbed your legs, wrapping them around his waist, as he pressed his chest against yours, grinding his hips against yours.

The bulge of his hard cock pressed against your cunt. “Jeonghan,” you gasped when he ground against you harder, teasing you. “You’ve been edging me for days now.”

“You said I could do anything I wanted to you,” he smirked, his hand grabbing your jaw before pressing a chaste kiss on your lips. “

“But I want you now,” you mumbled wantonly.

“Don’t argue with me,” he retorted, the glint in his eyes giving away the playfulness behind his actions.

“Stop teasing me, Jeonghan,” you whispered, your hands holding onto his back as he kept rubbing his hard dick against you, smearing your wetness all over his boxers. “Please, I need you, baby,” you whined pathetically.

He dived for another hungry kiss. “God, you’re so fucking needy,” he protested, but his tone made him sound just as pathetic.

“Don’t mock me, Jeonghan,” you bit back. You should not have done that.

The slap came to your face in the blink of an eye, it was swift and painful, but the wave of both excitement and arousal barreled down your spine, making you gasp. Your widened eyes found his face, gaping at him as your cheek tingled.

“I told you not to argue with me,” Jeonghan laughed, and the sound of his laughter sent a wave of shame that burned in your face.

A low moan escaped you when his hard cock rubbed against your swollen clit. “Jeonghan, please fuck me. Fuck me now,” you pleaded with a whiny tone, ignoring how pathetic you sounded, or felt.

“That’s it, baby. Beg for me,” he purred, nibbling at your lower lip right before kissing you. His tongue caressed the roof of your mouth, making you whimper at the sensation.

Then you understood what he was doing, he pushed his boxers down, freeing his pretty cock. He grabbed it with one hand, one thumb pressing down his tip, directing it to your pussy. And just when you thought he was finally going to fuck you, he decided to do something else.

“I don’t hear you begging,” he said, fucking his cock between your pussy lips, making his tone waver. A low grunt escaped his lips, and you responded with your own.

“Please,” you breathed.

“Please, what.”

“Fuck me,” you mumbled, regretting the minute you asked him to be mean with you. But you could not lie to yourself, you liked this. You liked seeing his cock glistening wet with your arousal.

“I am fucking you,” he chuckled airily, pushing his hips against you so his tip nudged your entrance, but slipped between your folds.

“I need you inside me, Jeonghan,” you whimpered as his shaft rubbed against your clit. “N-need your cock inside me, please.”

“That’s better,” he sighed, retracting his hips to then sheathe himself inside you with one full thrust. He lowered the upper half of his body to yours, repositioning his arms above your head.

“F-fuck, Jeonghan…” you gritted as his cock filled your walls. You sighed in pleasure, finding his face with your hands to pull him in a kiss.

You saw something flash across the features of his face, making him groan as his lips met yours. “God,” he gasped. “I love how you squeeze around me, baby.”

“Y-yeah?” you breathed pathetically.

“Mmn, yeah. Your pretty little c-cunt feels like magic,” he shuddered in pleasure, grunting in your mouth before kissing you again.

“It’s yours, Hannie,” you replied dazedly.

“I know,” he grinned, his hand finding the back of your knee, pushing it to your side to hold you open for him. “You’re such a needy slut for us, right?”

A wave of arousal tore through you. “Yes,” you breathed. “I am.”

Jeonghan noticed your demeanor, your eyes glazing and mouth parting in utter pleasure. “Wait,” he stilled. “Turn over for me, baby,” Jeonghan pulled his body, sitting back on his heels as you reluctantly turned facedown on the bed. “Ass up.”

Then on your side, Jeonghan handed you his phone, the front camera was already recording. You grabbed it and searched for somewhere to place it, deciding for to put it against the lamp on your bedside table. You saw yourself on the screen and Jeonghan on his knees behind you.

Through the screen you saw Jeonghan sneaking a hand between your body and his, then felt the tip of his cock searching for your entrance. A strangled moan came out of you as he sheathed himself in, a hand pushing your lower back down for you to tilt your pelvis for him.

“God,” he groaned, his head lolling back, grabbing your hips with his hands as he fucked you slowly.

You were too entranced by watching his face through the recording to focus on his cock massaging your walls.

“You feel so fucking good, princess,” he swallowed a moan, making his throat bob.

“Y-you too, Hannie,” you responded faintly, lowering your face back onto the bed covers to see him through the screen of his phone.

“No, no. I want Joshua to see your face,” Jeonghan rasped, grabbing you by the hair, pulling your head upward with little to no heed for you.

The sheer thought of Joshua seeing this made you clench around Jeonghan’s cock. He moaned in response too, his fingers digging into your skin, squeezing your ass firmly as his other hand kept pulling your hair.

“Jeonghan,” you called breathily, the hard thrusting had you panting already. The rails of your bed banged against the wall with the pacing of his thrusts. “Harder. Fuck me harder.”

Jeonghan laughed, ignoring you completely. He pulled your hair firmly, making sure the camera captured your teary eyes. “Jeonghan, please.”

“Alright, alright,” he conceded, placing his hands on the middle of your spine, pushing your chest onto the mattress. “You asked for it.”

You could no longer see yourself on the video, your face was mushed against the covers, giving you space to cry out as Jeonghan started pounding on you. The brutal pace of his thrusts knocked the air out of you, the sound of skin slapping against each other was the only thing you could hear above your muffled cries.

“Jeonghan!” you forced out, your sweet release flooding inside your body. “Oh, god, Hannie…”

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped. “God. Keep squeezing me like that,” his hands clenched on your ass, switching the motion to his hands, fucking you on his cock instead of moving his hips. “Fuck,” he gritted with a sigh. “Yeah, just like that…”

You gathered yourself, breathing in slowly as you lifted your head. In the screen of his phone, you saw him looking at your body, moving your hips to meet with his languidly.

“Hand me the phone, baby,” he made a motion with his head.

You reached for his phone in your nightstand and passed it to him, turning your head to see what he was doing. He was now pointing the camera lens to your ass, and you knew that he was capturing your messy cunt, filled with his cum as he kept pushing his cock inside you.

He was panting when he tossed the phone one final time. “Are you okay?” he asked breathlessly. “Want more?”

You shook your head. “I’m sensitive,” you admitted. And you were so tired that all you wanted now was to rest in the pleasure he had given you.

Jeonghan nodded, caressing your ass gently before pulling out of you. “Lie down, baby,” he muttered as you just eased onto the bed with a tired sigh. “I’ll bring you something to clean up, hold on.”

The bed shifted around you when he climbed off the bed and exited the bedroom. You closed your eyes, breathing out in pure bliss, enjoying how languid your body was after being pleasured over and over.

You heard him come in. “Turn over for me, princess,” he mumbled with a sweet voice. He had a towel in his hand, soaked in warm water. “What do you need?”

“Sleep,” you slurred out.

Jeonghan nodded. “Do you have clean blankets?”

“In the closet,” you said, pointing to the double doors in the bedroom.

Jeonghan got a bundle of blankets, spreading them over your naked body to then slip beneath them and next to you. As you searched for his body to hold him, you realized that he had not slept naked with you before.

“Thank you, Jeonghan,” you hummed happily, wrapping your arms around his torso.

“For what, baby?”

“For taking care of me,” you mumbled, your heart swelling with warmth and love. “And for fucking my brains out.”

Jeonghan chuckled, his hand brushing your hair slowly. “Anything for you.”

“Do you think we’ll get another noise complaint after this?” you asked sluggishly.

“If they come to the door, I’ll deal with it,” he said decidedly. “Sleep for now.”

You lifted your head to give him a kiss. “Goodnight, baby.”

Jeonghan gave you a sweet smile. “Goodnight, princess.”

“We have a date tonight,” Jeonghan announced the morning after.

“We do?” you asked. “You know, I’d appreciate it if you invite me out with more time in advance.”

“I forgot to tell you last night… you kept me busy,” Jeonghan rasped sleepily, his arm wrapped your back, his fingers trailing gently down your spine.

“So it’s my fault,” you laughed.

“We’ve talked about this,” he slurred out, but a lazy smile spread on his lips. “Everything is your fault.”

“Maybe last night was my fault,” you conceded playfully, lifting your head from his chest. “Where is the date?”

“Mmn, I don’t know, I have to ask,” he mumbled, his eyes were closed but you noticed his heavy lashes shaking slightly.

“Ask?” you inquired.

“It’s a double date,” he explained, peeling one eye open.

“Oh,” you gasped. “With whom?”

“My best friends,” he said with ease, but you knew how this important was to him.

“You have a lot of best friends, baby,” you chuckled.

“Mmn, yeah, you’re right,” he said, his voice was still lazy, but he had gained more lucidity. “These are friends I met in school, while I was getting my degree.”

“Exciting,” you smiled at the way the features of his face were lax in the serenity of his sleep.

“What?” he noticed, his lips pouting slightly as he asked: “What, why are you looking at me like that?”

“I like your face, handsome,” you mumbled sweetly, running the tip of your finger down the bridge of his nose.

Jeonghan looked confused for a second. “I like your face too, beautiful,” he whispered.

The effect his words had on you made you freeze in place. You leaned to plant a small kiss on his lips, which he reciprocated with a low hum.

But then you were turning around, reaching for your phone on your bedside table to check if you had any updates from Joshua. He had replied to your last few texts, telling you excitingly that he had a date for you to visit him soon. And that he could not wait to see you again.

“That reminds me,” Jeonghan sighed, reaching for his own phone on the bedside of your side of the bed.

The videos. As soon as he unlocked his phone, the sounds from the night before flooded your ears: your whiny moans, the sounds of skin slapping together. Jeonghan wrapped one arm around your waist as you leaned your head on his shoulder and watched the videos you recorded together.

You hid your face flush on his shoulder when you saw a few seconds of one of the videos, making your insides twist in utter shame. “Oh god,” you groaned.

Jeonghan rested his hand on the back of your head. “What?” he asked, shifting his face to take a look at yours.

“It’s so…” you made a motion to the video playing on the screen, grimacing at the lewd sound of your moans.

“Hot?” Jeonghan lowered the phone after hitting Send with his thumb, sharing the videos to your boyfriend with nothing else to say in the message, no preamble whatsoever.

“Can I see?” you mumbled, extending your palm.

“Sure,” he deposited his phone in your hand without hesitation.

The videos were saved in a secret folder that he shared only with Joshua, you realized. “You were quick,” you said. He must have created the folder after recording he fucked you in a changing room.

“I don’t want them to fall on the wrong hands, princess,” he muttered, lazily drawing in a breath before yawning.

“Mmn,” you swiped your finger through the set of videos. You saw your face in so many of the frames captured. “Can I have access to this too?”

“Of course, baby,” he giggled sweetly. “I should’ve asked, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you mumbled, aimlessly fidgeting with Jeonghan’s phone. You went back to the main folder where he kept all of the photos he took.

Jeonghan did not stop you, so you dived in the rows of snapped memories. Most of the photos were of himself with his friends, photos you helped him take, photos with you… Joshua.

The tip of your finger chose a photo, almost as if it had a mind of its own. “Where is this from?” you asked.

Jeonghan had chocolate brown hair in the photo, his head leaned on Joshua’s shoulder. The smile plastered on his face was sweet, two fingers in a peace sign held to the camera. Whereas Joshua had a pale bond hair, also smiling and holding a peace sign.

“That was… I think it was one of the first times I saw one of his shows,” he said, coughing a laugh. “He was a complete mess. He wasn’t the confident sexy rockstar you know now.”

“Mmph,” you smirked. “So you think he’s sexy?”

The restaurant was located on top of a hotel building. The tables were beautifully flanked by water gardens, lamps hanging from the open ceiling, illuminating everything with a warm orange glow.

“They’re usually late,” Jeonghan explained. But this was not said with his nonchalant and characteristic way. He anxiously looked around the tables with a pout on his face.

The air was damp, urging you to fan yourself with your hand in slow, lazy motions. Jeonghan wore a white shirt, unbuttoned all the way through, a white tank top underneath it. His long dark hair tucked behind his cute ears, he chewed on his lip.

“Are you nervous?”

His fleeting gaze fixed on your face. “A little,” he admitted, giving you a meek smile.

“Should I worry?” you raised your eyebrows.

“No, baby, not at all,” he slipped a hand under the table, finding your thigh to five it a squeeze.

“Okay,” you sighed, returning the smile he had given you.

Then you saw a familiar face, something helped by the fact that you had scrolled through Jeonghan’s photos on his phone. It was a friend of both Joshua and Jeonghan’s, but apparently so, Jeonghan had met this person long before Joshua did.

“They’re here,” he announced with a shaky mutter, standing up as the couple approached the table.

Then, with the nervousness that you had never seen in him before, he introduced you to his friends by name, sending you a glance. He probably saw the nervousness mirrored in your eyes, but somehow his confidence was restored upon mentioning that you are his girlfriend.

The man that was introduced to you as Choi Seungcheol blinked from your face to Jeonghan’s one time only. There was something exchanged there, but it was quite obvious that the man was not understanding this. The thought of this going badly set your nerves on fire.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” his girlfriend stepped in quickly, reading the situation too.

“Baby, why don’t you go with Cheol’s girl to see the water gardens?” Jeonghan cut in, giving you a knowing look.

You paused before nodding with evident reluctance, stepping away from the table, leaving both men to have a moment alone.

“What the fuck?” Seungcheol whispered, looking around the tables to avoid dragging attention in. So he sat down.

Jeonghan returned to his seat too. “What?” he shrugged, pulling out his vape pen from his pocket.

“Why do you have the same girlfriend as Joshua?” as soon as the words left his mouth, Seungcheol grimaced.

“Because she is Joshua’s girlfriend,” Jeonghan replied with faux nonchalance, drawing a long stroke from his vape pen.

“Gimme that,” his friend gritted, yanking the vape pen from Jeonghan’s grip. “Jeonghan, I’m being serious,” he regained some control before asking: “Is she your girlfriend?”

Jeonghan exhaled slowly, trying to keep his heartbeat steady. “Yes, she really is my girlfriend,” he replied. “We’re both dating her.”

Seungcheol blinked, looking at his girlfriend in the distance walking alongside you. You both are looking quite friendly with each other, laughing, and chatting. “So, when you told me that you found someone, you meant…”

Jeonghan hated this, he hated to be open and vulnerable about his feelings. But this was Seungcheol. Jeonghan could not hide from him, and he did not want to. “We’re all in a relationship, us three… It’s complicated,” he choked up a little, rolling his eyes to the sky. “I love her.”

For a moment, both men were lost in thought.

“Are you happy?” Seungcheol asked.

“I am,” he forced out. That was a lie; Jeonghan was not fully happy. There were somethings he still needed to figure out with you, with Joshua. But in that evening, he felt happy.

“That’s all I need to know,” Seungcheol sighed, pushing his hair back with one hand.

“Good,” Jeonghan agreed. “Can I have that back?”

Seungcheol rolled his eyes, giving the vape pen back. “You know, you’ve always been really weird, you and Joshua.”

This made Jeonghan tilt his head to one side “Weird how?”

Seungcheol shrugged. “I noticed it before but never said anything. When we get together, talking, or playing a game… something always made me think about it. It’s like you two share one mind. It’s creepy.”

“Pffft,” Jeonghan broke into a chuckle. “Alright.”

“What? You move at the same time, you finish each other’s sentences! It’s weird!” Seungcheol protested with a pout.

“Let’s order something to drink,” Jeonghan dismissed, raising one hand to motion for you to return to the table.

As soon as you sat down, you searched his face as he grabbed your hand again. You sent him a questioning look, subtly asking if everything was okay. Jeonghan laced his fingers with yours, giving you a reassuring squeeze with his hand.

And at that, the evening went on. Meeting his friends gave you another insight into his personality, and you were glad to find out that his friends were accepting of you. Soon, you felt a bit embarrassed for being so nervous before, as you realized that Seungcheol and his girlfriend were really understanding.

“Would you share a bottle of red wine with me?” you asked, reading the menu.

“I don’t know a thing about wines. But I trust you,” Jeonghan mumbled beside you. He chewed on his lip, absentmindedly mouthing the words his eyes were going over on the menu.

“You’re okay?” you asked discreetly beside him, darting a glance to the couple sitting across the table.

“Why do you ask?” he replied as quietly, shifting his gaze from the menu.

“You look worried,” you pointed, sending another swift glance. “Something happened?”

“Nah,” he discarded the idea at once. “I’m just thinking what to order, baby,” he said reassuringly, grabbing your hand to nibble at your knuckles with his lips.

“Let me order for you,” you offered, sweetening your voice involuntarily. “Something that goes with wine.”

His eyes triangulated to your own and your lips. “Alright, beautiful,” he smirked. “Impress me.”

You gave him a badly coordinated wink. “I got you, handsome,” you said, laughing at yourself.

He shouldn’t lie to you, he reprimanded himself with a stab to his heart.

“Oh, shoot,” you muttered under your breath, getting your phone from your handbag. Jeonghan knew who it was before he even thought to glance at the screen. “I’ll be right back. Order, these,” you pointed with your finger at the menu, pressing the phone to your ear.

“O-okay,” he stuttered, watching you leave the table to take Joshua’s call.

Jeonghan hid his reaction behind the menu, but he knew Seungcheol was looking. The man was resting his chin on his hand, and Jeonghan wished that he just spoke what his eyes were trying to say. It would have been better that way, instead of suffering the weight of his dark gaze.

But he ordered the bottle of wine and pasta that you pointed to before leaving.

The order arrived just as you were returning to your seat. Jeonghan made no question, no comment about Joshua’s call, like he usually did. But instead, he just grabbed your hand, giving it a comfortable squeeze before raising his wine glass and giving it a generous gulp.

Jeonghan made a face.

“What, you didn’t like it?” you asked, taking the glass of wine to your lips.

“It was just a big gulp,” he said with shame in his eyes.

“Small sippy sips,” you indicated, lifting a finger in a knowing expression.

Jeonghan laughed. “Sippy sips,” he repeated, giving you a nod before raising his glass at you. “You’re cute.”

You touched his glass with your own. “Try it again.”

Jeonghan took another sip cautiously, letting the rich taste of wine linger on his tongue as he savoured it. “It’s fine,” he decided, nodding approvingly.

“It’ll taste better with the food,” you pointed at his plate with your fork.

You ignored the two pairs of eyes watching your interaction with Jeonghan, smiling at him as he experimentally took a bite from his plate of pasta, chewing graciously and washing the flavours with the red wine.

“I like this,” he said contently, giving you a loving smile.

“See, I told you,” you replied in kind.

As the minutes passed, Jeonghan began to loosen up. His shoulders slacked, leaning back in his chair as he downed the first glass of wine and pouring himself another without you noticing. The warm glow of the lights above showed the light dewy layer of sweat on his forehead.

“Are you hot?” you asked innocently, setting your empty glass on the table, leaning towards him.

“You are hot,” he replied, breaking into a hearty chuckle.

“Shut up,” you rolled your eyes. “Not here.”

Choi Seungcheol lifted his head, frowning lightly at the pronounced sound of Jeonghan’s laughter, but made no comment. Jeonghan’s lucidity had started to wane, and only a keen eye like Seungcheol’s would notice.

“Let him have fun,” his girlfriend advised him, giving him a gentle nudge with her elbow.

Seungcheol nodded, visibly discarding his worry away with a light shaking of his head. “So… how did you two meet?”

Everyone on the table noticed that the question was good in nature, harmless, but indirectly putting you in a tight spot.

“Joshua introduced us,” you explained, ignoring the groan from the other two displeased parties. “He wanted me to meet his best friend.”

“How does it work?” Seungcheol asked, ignoring the more aggressive jab of his girlfriend’s elbow. “Sorry, I have to ask. I need to know.”

“It’s okay,” you assured. “I realize how this is confusing; it was for me too. But we just work it out. Make sure that it’s all fair for everyone in the relationship. It’s still all new but I’m glad we made this choice.”

Jeonghan placed a hand on your thigh in a subtle gesture of thanks. You eyed him, noticing the light glow in his face, the rosy cheeks, and lips.

“It seems like a difficult choice to make. How did you arrive at it?” now Seungcheol’s girlfriend asked, equally as curious. And you only understood it as them caring out for their friend.

“We had a threesome,” Jeonghan blurted, a bemused smile plastered on his face.

You realized too late, that as the night had worn on, Jeonghan’s demeanor had changed, from being rigid and nervous to being less coherent, and more reckless.

“You’re drunk,” Seungcheol sighed, dropping his forehead onto his palm at Jeonghan’s chuckles. He had been blunt in order to stop them from asking more questions.

“How much did you drink?” you asked him, taking in his flushed face, his glazy and unfocused eyes.

“I don’t know. A whole bottle, maybe,” he admitted with a slurry speech, a light frown on his sweaty face. “I’ll be right back.”

He grinned sheepishly as he excused himself from the table, walking disjointedly to the bathroom.

“I’ll take you home,” Seungcheol told you, motioning to a waiter to bring the bill.

“No, it’s okay,” you shook your head. “I’m okay, I can take his car.”

Seungcheol stilled, cocking one eyebrow at you. “He lets you drive his car,” he pouted sulkily, looking at his girlfriend. “He doesn’t even let me go near the wheel.”

“Come on,” you struggled to get the tall man through the hallway of his apartment, nearly dragging him into the marbled floors until you reached the master bathroom. You giggled nervously when his shoulder bumped against the doorframe, making him groan in pain.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he mumbled some seconds after, making you think that the alcohol had set deeper in him during the ride to his home.

“Help me, Hannie,” you giggled at his clumsiness.

“Don’t you laugh, I’m drunk!” he pouted, his eyebrows pushed inwards in a cute frown.

“Sorry,” you sighed with a smile. “You’re a big baby,” you explained, groaning as you helped him sit down on the rim of the bathtub, you swiftly turned the shower on and kicked your heels to one corner of the big bathroom. Jeonghan languidly raised his head to follow your movements, tilting his head back to look up to see your face. “Let me take these off, okay?”

He blinked slowly, taking some seconds in to process your words, biting his lower lip, he nodded.

“Don’t get any ideas,” you whispered, but could not help to also mask your smirk as you worked to get his white shirt off.

Jeonghan smiled, giggling goofily. “Caught me,” he muttered, raising one hand to clutch your wrist, looking now at your arms working to get his clothes off. “You’re very beautiful.”

“Tha-thank you Jeonghan,” you awkwardly replied. “You're beautiful, too.”

That made him chuckle again, slowly, but it was a joyless laugh. “That’s not what you said earlier,” he muttered, raising his arms as you peeled the white tank top off his torso.

“Did I said something earlier?” you asked with genuine curiosity, making a gesture with your hands, motioning him to get to his feet, which he obediently did, but with paused movements.

“Don’t play coy with me,” he tilted his head to one side, his half-lidded eyes now lowered to find your face.

“I’m not,” you blinked, but noticing it was just playful and drunken banter, you continued to undress him. “I–I’m taking your pants off, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, his head bouncing and then he smiled shyly, bristling when your cold fingers slid on his belly, unhooking the waistband of his pants to push them down. “God, I’m so drunk. This is not how I pictured this night going. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you shook your head dismissively. “Are you okay though? Can you step in the shower?”

Jeonghan nodded, wordlessly moving to stand under the shower stream. He let his head hang forward lazily as he seemed to come back to life under the lukewarm water.

“Is the temperature right?” you asked, leaning against the wall, enjoying the sight of him standing upright, and tilt his head back, letting the water shower on his face fully.

His hands pushed his damp hair back, feet stumbling clumsily as he seemed to lose his balance for a second.

“Be careful,” you mumbled, quickly shuffling on your feet to ready yourself to lend him a hand if needed.

“I'm okay, I'm okay,” he tried to reassure you, but your brow did not relax. “I’d be better if you hop in here with me.”

“Jeonghan,” you said chastising.

“Alright, alright,” he chuckled, nodding his head as he washed his face nearly methodically. When he was done, he looked around and said: “Can you pass me that towel?”

You should have known better, from the moment he did not seem to be shutting the tap off, you should have just waited but you dumbly grabbed the folded towel and handed it out to him.

Jeonghan was swift, grabbing you by your arm and pulling you in with such a strength that you nearly stumbled over his body.

“Jeonghan!” you squealed, awkwardly steading yourself before you made him stumble too.

But he seemed to be fine, laughing like a kid playing in the rain, his hands grabbed you firmly by your waist, pulling you to him so you were now pressed to his body.

“That’s better,” he whispered, making you stop in your attempt to step out of the shower and raised your eyes to him.

“You’re crazy,” you half scolded but could not continue suppressing your smile. “I don’t have a change of clothes,” you mumbled, being swiftly swept away by the beauty of the man in front of you.

Now you remembered. You had called him handsome. You called him in the same way you did to Joshua routinely and although he noticed your clear mishap, he liked it.

“I can lend you something,” he replied, his voice was barely a mumble. “Will you stay here? With me? Please.”

You quickly understood what he was doing, playing the same cards you did on him when you wanted him to stay the night at yours. You smiled at him knowingly and he quickly returned your smile, although his was relaxed.

“Of course,” you whispered, eyelids fluttering repeatedly when Jeonghan swayed your body in a drunken motion, the shower stream washing over you, dampening your hair and dress.

“Good,” he mouthed, pressing a lazy kiss on your mouth. Then his hands moved from your waist to remove the pin from your head, releasing your hair.

“Jeonghan,” you called when he pressed desperate kisses on your lips, trailing down to your chin and then your neck, breathing heavily as if tired. “Hannie, let’s get you to bed.”

“Mmn, yeah, okay,” he sighed, but he did not stop kissing your neck, lips pressing quick kisses. But then in a movement, he lost his balance once again, his body stumbling over, pushing your back against the wall. “Oh, shit, shit. I’m sorry,” his hands held onto the wall to regain some balance.

“Let’s go,” you insisted, blindly finding the tap with one hand to shut it off.

You managed to slip the straps of your dress off, removing the soaked material from your body and stepped off the shower, grabbing the nearest towel from the hanger and wrapped your body, handing the bathrobe to the very drunk Jeonghan who just followed you with his gaze.

“You look troubled,” he mentioned, much as if he could not stop his mouth. “Am I overstepping?”

“No,” you immediately blurted. “No, Hannie, I’m just worried about you.”

“Don’t be,” he muttered, squaring his shoulders as he adjusted the knot of his bathrobe. “I can do this, I’m fine.”

Then he turned to leave the bathroom with a slow pace in his footsteps. “Jeonghan, wait,” you chuckled at his determination.

You followed him out of the bathroom, across his walk-in closet and to his bedroom. Where you were mildly surprised by the minimalism of the space occupied by a lonely king size bed. It was neatly made, the white covers folded by the hem, pillows fluffed.

Then you realized, Jeonghan had not spent a night at his place in a while. He had been spending night after night at yours, just sleeping and leaving the next day for work.

Jeonghan stood by one of the sides of the bed, clumsily getting on it with his hands and knees crawling to slump down on the pillows with a pleased groan.

Hesitant, you approached the other side of the bed, sitting beside his body, thinking that he had already fallen asleep. But he lifted one hand, blindly searching for your body. He first found your hand resting on your lap, then he palmed your thigh, right before he moved his head to rest it there.

“I’m sorry, this wasn't in my plans for tonight,” he mumbled, his cheek was tightly pressed against your towel covered lap, making his words partially muffled.

“It’s okay, Hannie,” you sighed, bringing a hand to caress his wet hair. “I’m beginning to think that you like being babied.”

He chuckled, his body vibrating slightly on his bed. “Yeah, maybe I do,” he replied, moving his face against your body to nuzzle you slightly. “But not like this. I wanted you to have a nice dinner.”

“I had fun tonight,” you replied with a sweet tone, feeling crushed when Jeonghan pouted, turning his head to see you face to face. “I thought your friends were nice.”

“Did you really?”

“Yes, of course,” you smiled at him. “Let me take care of you, yeah?” you muttered, his dreamy eyes blinking confusedly at you. “I’ll dry your hair and get you dry clothes, okay?”

Jeonghan took a long second before nodding with his head in a stiff motion. “Okay,” he conceded.

Once you got him to wear some clothes you found in his closet, he slipped underneath the heavy white bed sheets and covers, motioning you over to his side. Jeonghan was quiet, the kind of quietness that no longer felt welcoming, nor comfortable.

You unwrapped the towel before sliding to his side under the covers, thinking that he was about to fall asleep. But he raised his gaze at you, and your stomach twisted violently when you understood that there was a reason why he had been behaving like this.

“I want to be more than your best friend,” he whispered groggily, struggling to stay awake. “I want to matter to you as much as Joshua does.”

“Jeonghan, that's not what I meant,” you breathed, chest deflating painfully upon finding what the root of his erratic mood was. “I trust you.”

Jeonghan decided that it was best to wait to hatch this conversation again once he was sober. You waited for his answer, but instead, he was surrendering himself to the fatigue that was accentuated by the alcohol.

“Hannie,” you called, but he made no motion. “Talk to me, please,” you whispered, shaking under the stress of thinking that you had hurt him with your actions.

“It’s nothing, baby,” he whispered languidly. He should open up before he gets worse, he told himself. But Jeonghan was not a person who would confess his feelings first. His ability to think coherently was almost completely gone, and he feared to say something he might regret the next day.

“Are you sure?”

“Let’s talk tomorrow. When I’m sober,” his hand came to your cheek, whispering a sorry when you bristled upon his cold contact.

“Yeah, okay,” you mouthed, wriggling closer to him, where he received you with a kiss on the crown of your head.

But you could not fall asleep at the same time he did. You watched him breathing slowly, his heavy eyelashes tremble in deep slumber. You kept your movements at minimum, as quietly as you could, admiring his beauty without him knowing.

When you could finally fall asleep, you adjusted in his welcoming embrace, letting yourself ease into his warmth and leaving your worries for the following morning.

Jeonghan groaned, waking up to a light, but throbbing headache. But you were buried beneath the bundles of white covers with him, peacefully asleep, your cheek squished by the hand you kept under it.

He remembered you tend to have a light-sleep when you wrapped your arms around his torso too. “Good morning, princess,” he whispered, sounding gruff.

Your arms tightened around him slightly before you moved your head back to lock eyes with him. You looked tired, but there was a calmness in your entire demeanor that Jeonghan knew that was not because of your recent sleep. It was something else.

His heart sank once again. Did he say something last night? What happened?

But you just pressed your lips against his, humming in delightfulness when he reciprocated the kiss. “I love you,” you whispered.

Shock, relief, joy. Elation. All coursed through him upon hearing you say those words. He knew just how much you had been overthinking, grappling with questions about fidelity, jealousy, hurt feelings and such. So, to hear you finally say it lifted a stone from his chest.

Jeonghan took one look to your face and smiled. “Well, look at that,” he whispered, teasing you. But he could not deny, he was over the moon pressing his smiling lips to yours repeatedly. “I love you too, princess.”

You smiled on his lips. “I'm in love with you,” you reaffirmed, almost as if it was relieving for you too to say it out loud.

Jeonghan laughed in your lips, shyly lifting a hand to cup your cheek. “I know,” he touched your forehead with his own. “I'm in love with you too. I have been for a while,” he whispered nervously.

“I know,” you giggled too. The truth was, whatever Jeonghan thought he felt, you felt it too.

“Mn, I know you do. You made me suffer a little,” he teased, his voice muffled by the closeness to which he kept his lips on yours, pressing them repeatedly.

“It wasn't on purpose, Jeonghan,” you replied with a remorseful tone, pausing the kisses to send you a saddened look.

“I'm joking, baby,” he cupped your cheek, moving his hand to tuck your hair behind your ear. “I wanted to wait for you to be ready.”

“Thank you,” you whispered shakily, denoting on how much this still affected you on an emotional level. “I'm sorry I kept you waiting.”

“I'd do it all over again,” he assured, his eyes reading your facial features slowly, committing to keep the glint in your eyes in his memory.

“I never wanted you to feel shunned,” you confessed, feeling emboldened by the honesty in his eyes, the softness to which he welcomed you in his arms. “I'm still thinking of how to make this relationship fair for everybody.”

“But this is fair,” his brow furrowed slightly, lips pouting slightly as he spoke. “I just wanted to feel reciprocated.”

“I know,” you nodded slightly, still looking at him in his eyes, which had something in his chest fluttering crazily. “I took my time to realize that.”

“It's okay. And it's all better now,” he whispered, leaning so his forehead touched yours once again. “I know this is hard for you.”

You nodded again, taking a deep breath. “Having two boyfriends is difficult,” you confessed.

“Yeah, I imagine. And it must be doubly difficult if both boyfriends are possessive, clingy, and obsessive, right?” he conceded with the smallest of smiles. “Maybe you should leave the thinking on how to make this fair for you to Joshua and I.”

“Mn, that would be nice,” you muttered, but you were quickly swept away by the softness of his lips, the way he hummed in delight as you kissed him repeatedly.

Jeonghan sighed deeply, nearly shuddering with the ecstatic feeling coursing through his veins. “I love you,” he whispered.

Both of his hands came to cup your face, squeezing your cheeks as he pressed more loving kisses on your lips. It made you smile the way his kisses took on a more hurried speed, as if he were trying to convey all his adoration before combusting.

“I love you, Jeonghan,” you replied when he stopped for air, deciding to keep his forehead resting against yours.

“I needed this,” he mumbled in between kisses. “Needed you.”

“I know, baby,” you admitted. “Me too.”

Your hands searched for him while keeping your lips latched onto his. You found his torso, sneaking beneath his t-shirt. This time, Jeonghan did not protest against your touch, he let you touch his torso freely, roaming the skin of his back with your fingertips. You swallowed one of his moans, shuddering against you.

“We never finished watching that show,” you muttered aloofly as you continued giving him open mouthed kisses, almost as if you found it impossible to part from his lips, and he very much welcomed it.

“What show?” he hummed, equally aloof, his hands were already on you. A groan tore his chest when his hands found your bare skin and he remembered that he held your naked body through the night.

“Love Island, I think is,” you giggled nervously when his hands pulled you to him just as he turned on the bed, lying flat on his back, with you on top of him.

“You think?” he asked, but none of you were interested on the topic of conversation, you and Jeonghan were all about to keep touching each other, unable to stop the warm, open kisses. “I thought we did.”

“Mmn,” you breathed out as you placed your knees on each of his sides on the bed. “They released another season,” you said right before diving on his lips for a longer, deeper kiss.

“Mn,” his hand cupped your chin, keeping you close with his pointer and thumb on you. “Wanna watch it, baby?” he asked, but his voice had dropped to a low, raspy murmur.

“Yeah,” you breathed out aloofly, then realizing how your voice sounded, you giggled.

“Right now?” he paused, his sweet brown eyes scanning the features of your face swiftly.

“Sounds like you have a better plan,” you quipped, running the tip of your finger down one of his cheeks, a soft smile spreading on your lips when you realized the lascivious need glinting in his eyes.

“I might have one,” he replied, a shyness in his face revealing itself in a smile and he finally giggle, making you do that too.

“Of course you do,” you quipped.

“Come here,” he whispered, pulling you with his hand already on your chin for a kiss.

With that, Jeonghan came to his resolve. He was in love with you. And he was determined to make this work with you. No matter what.

✮ author's note: hi hi hi hi there i really have nothing to say. i was thinking of explaining the dynamic between bunny and joshua, and her dynamic with jeonghan but i hope i did a good job of conveying that in this chapter so tell me what you guys think? hehe also, i want to thank you guys for showing me your love for this fic in the last chapter. i was losing purpose in writing and seeing you guys show this fic some love made me so happy. i thank you for staying and for being here on this journey with me. i love you all 🩵😭 anyways, toodles!! ✮ STAY TUNED FOR THE FIFTH CHAPTER!! ✮ JOIN MY TAGLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTERS | BUY ME A COFFEE? (●'◡'●) © RIGHTS RESERVED TO HANNIEWEEN I DO NOT ALLOW TRANSLATIONS, CONTINUATIONS, REIMAGINATIONS OF MY WORKS OR THEIR REPOSTING ON OTHER WEBSITES.

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husbandhoshi · 1 year ago

Text

title: eat. play. love.

pairing: seungcheol x f!reader

wc: 19.4k

summary: being one of new york's top food critics comes with a lot of perks: free dinners, nice awards, and a linkedin profile your parents could be proud of. that doesn't stop you from wanting a lofty promotion to editor, and the only person standing in your way is choi seungcheol. just one problem: his romance column has half of new york under his grimy little thumb. that, and you hate him.

in which your love language is food. seungcheol doesn't have one.

notes: romcom with mild angst, coworkers!au, slow burn enemies to lovers, playboy!cheol, suggestive (one moment in particular) + mentions of sex (otherwise sfw), swearing, lots of alcohol, also you will probably get hungry reading this. extra special thanks a million times over to my fav person @wuahae for bearing with me through literally all 20k words of this. i love you:')

It's underneath a layer of paper-thin egg yolk pasta where you think you see god.

Spoon meets whipped ricotta, white truffle, sage oil. A sip of 1979 cabernet, punishing and oaky. Rinse and repeat.

None of these words are in the Bible, yet you are having nothing short of a religious experience.

"Well, this seems like good news for the place," Jeonghan says. "Wine's tasty. Three stars?"

At this point, you're fairly sure Jeonghan has tuned the explanation of your elaborate rating process out (he's there for the wine, anyway), so instead you top him up and help yourself to a generous portion of his pappardelle.

"Four, then?" He leans forward on his elbows. "Or critic's choice?"

Candied lemon, pecorino, garlic. Derivative, but it's a good bite.

"You're distracting me." You point your fork at him. "You're like 80% alcohol, anyway. Bad opinions."

"Sue me," he laughs. "I would take a client here, is all I'm saying."

You pass on the opportunity to bring up that Jeonghan once brought a client to a Bubba Gump because he was craving coconut shrimp. But Jeonghan isn't a food critic—he's a business analyst and your best friend from college, back when all you cared about was Friday's house party and writing pizza joint reviews for the university paper.

It's a good arrangement. You appreciate his company, and he's never one to turn down a free meal. The both of you keep a small circle—such is the price of discernment.

There aren't many things that can come between you and a delicious meal. But, you have notifications turned on for just three things (all work-related) and you both watch the linen tablecloth light up under your face-down phone in true horror-movie fashion.

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. "Popular on a Saturday night," he jokes. "Copy on your ass again?"

"Nothing's in production," you reply, letting the evil claws of your terrible work-life balance encircle you once again as you open your email.

URGENT: LIFESTYLE EDITOR TRANSITIONAL PLANS, it reads. It's from Wonwoo, your editor in chief, who has sent it with priority, as if the caps lock wasn't scary enough.

"So Joshua decided to quit. Just like you said," Jeonghan says, but it's like he's speaking to you through a wet paper bag because it takes every working brain cell of yours to read the email.

As you may know, Joshua has decided to step down from his position as our current Lifestyle editor.

Not a surprise, given his wife is having a kid. You had called it six months ago over the paper's Christmas dinner at Eleven Madison Park, when Joshua spent half of it outside on a phone call and the other half browsing the Baby Gap website.

I have decided to hire internally to fill his position. I and upper management believe you would be a good fit for the position. Please plan for a meeting 9 AM Monday to discuss transitional plans.

It's that part that you have to read over three times. And then you read it over a fourth, just for good measure.

"You're starting to scare me." Jeonghan puts down his glass, which is something akin to a baby separating from their bottle.

Sometimes you need a dictionary to understand Wonwoo, but the email seems clear as day to you. Good fit. Transitional plans. Suddenly you wish Jeonghan hadn't had so much of the wine because you're in desperate need of a drink.

"I-I think…I think I'm getting promoted."

How funny to think your lifelong dream would be realized over a 40 dollar plate of pasta. You want to cry and hug the maître d' and eat the entire complimentary bread basket.

"It's about time." The glass finds his relieved hand again. "You breathe journalism. I'm afraid one day you'll text me in AP style."

You read over all of it again, trying to memorialize the words that undoubtedly will launch your wonderful and long career in the upper echelons of media.

Looking forward to talking with the two of you.

Wait—two?

Then the proverbial cherry on top, the laughably convenient other thing your eyes had glazed over before.

CC: Choi Seungcheol.

"Choi Seungcheol?!"

Nothing is ever that easy and it then dawns on you that this is a competition type thing because never in the history of the printing press has there been two editors for a section.

Jeonghan stares at you blankly. It would be funny if you didn't feel like you were being double deep-fried like terrible fair food, all the thrill and elation of the moment boiled down to lead in your chest.

"I—he," you stammer.

Jeonghan mouths check to the poor waiter assigned to watch your table. God bless him.

"Words," he tells you. "You went to journalism school."

You take a syrupy breath that sits in your lungs unhappily. Your food is cold. This is a disaster.

"Well, actually, I'm not getting promoted."

Jeonghan's eyes soften, just enough without making you pity yourself more.

"There's this guy," you start. "He's the love and relationships columnist, the one I complain about all the time." Jeonghan makes a small ahh sound, your predicament finally dawning on him. "I guess we're both under consideration for the position. I didn't-I didn't even think of him. I—"

You slump into your seat, the arancini your only solace despite your complaint that the breading was too salty earlier.

"So? I bet you're a way better fit than him. It'll be a shoe-in. Easy decision."

Jeonghan's confidence in you makes you want to cry.

The problem is that Seungcheol is the human equivalent of Cosmopolitan Magazine. You can't recall the last time he walked into the office with a fully buttoned up shirt. You also can't recall the last time one of his advice columns wasn't in the end of quarter recap for popularity.

It's not in you to explain this debacle to Jeonghan. This whole situation is so cosmically awful that all you can do is ask for dessert in a takeout box and watch Jeonghan calculate tip without a calculator because that's all you learn in business school.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Jeonghan asks when you're both in the Uber.

"Yeah." You have a headache. You also can't decide whether or not to give the restaurant three or four stars, and you always know by the time you're out the door. "It's fine."

The tiramisu is cold in your lap. Jeonghan squeezes your shoulder. You refresh your email.

Choi Seungcheol's name stares back at you.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

The meeting goes exactly how you would expect.

Wonwoo, in his lanky taupe sweater vest, says that Joshua is leaving and you and Seungcheol are standing toe-to-toe in the space left behind.

"I'm sure you two are well-acquainted," he begins.

You stifle a laugh, but Seungcheol's cat-like grimace says more than enough. Neither of you have the heart to tell Wonwoo that your very first impression of Seungcheol was that he tried to hit on you at the new recruit party, or that Joshua probably deserves reparations for how often he mediated fights between the two of you during weekly meetings. (Maybe not reparations, but at least an Edible Arrangements.)

For better or for worse, Wonwoo's genius does not extend to social cues, and he follows with a blithe, "Therefore, I hope you two will treat this as a friendly competition between equals."

You almost laugh again, but this time it's because you need the promotion more than you need air, and you cannot allow some Buzzfeed reject with the face of a model take that from you. And you don't doubt Seungcheol wants it as bad as you do, considering how often you've seen him try to schmooze his way up the ranks.

He may have become a columnist by rubbing elbows with the right people, but you'll never forget the late nights you spent sifting through hours of interview transcripts, on the grueling climb up the totem pole to earn your position.

"We'll evaluate an article of your own submission at the end of the month before we decide. Best of luck."

At least Wonwoo knows to quit while he's ahead—he closes the meeting with a succinct nod before returning to his seemingly infinite unread emails.

"Exciting," Seungcheol says. He claps his hands together, Rolex gaudy under the office lights, and sends a nauseating smile your way. "May the best writer win."

He offers you a handshake. You think he has real life cooties, so instead you close your planner and shoot him a very pointed look.

"There's only one writer here. Thrilled to read your next thinkpiece on how men should spend more time on Tinder and not therapy."

That earns you a chuckle from Wonwoo, but Seungcheol is not easily fazed.

Instead he rushes to hold the door open for you on your way out, likely his favorite piece of advice to give his poor, indolent readers.

"I'll book a table for us at Avra next month," Seungcheol gloats. "Consider it a gift from your future boss."

"They don't have a kids menu, you know."

"No problem. I'll have my darling food critic order for me." He places a wicked hand over his polyester covered heart. "Ending misogyny in one fell swoop, huh?"

You wait for the door to Wonwoo's office to close before looking at him right in his wet, cow eyes with the most malice you can possibly muster. You feel it collect in your bones, enough to feel like you can physically hack it up and hurl it at him.

"You have no clue what you're talking about, huh? Do you actually attract women with that attitude? Or are you just a really good liar?"

You are so close to him, you could kiss him if you wanted—luckily for the both of you, you would rather die a thousand fiery, terrible deaths, and then die all over again. Instead, you watch his pout unravel into a grin from hell, and he leans in closer, the scent of Old Spice and break room coffee heavy on him. This morning's matcha latte churns in your stomach, and you wonder if you should have gotten oatmilk instead of dairy.

Up close, he's worse. His hair reminds you of the sad, tired swoop of the washed-up lead of a daytime soap opera. And he has no pores, which is deeply upsetting because he looks like the type to wash his face with Palmolive and a prayer.

"You know what?"

His breath hits your lips and your skin prickles like you have an allergy.

"What?"

"You just gave me the winning idea for my next column." No way, you think. Mind games. Classy. "See you at dinner, sweetheart. Looking forward to it."

The pet name makes you seethe. There are a million things you want to say, all colorful and none workplace appropriate.

"I'd rather starve."

"Better not let Wonwoo hear you with that bad attitude. I'm sure management loves a team player." His cheshire grin somehow gets bigger, all white teeth and pink lip. "Try to smile a little, huh? Have fun writing about snails and black garlic and cwa-ssants, or whatever it is that you do."

you watch all the laminated syllables of croissant go through his paper shredder smile and you think you black out.

He spins on his heel triumphantly, almost bowling over Minghao from Arts & Entertainment, who is undoubtedly wondering if you did, in fact, kiss.

Seungcheol laughs as he walks away, linebacker shoulders rippling under his one size too small shirt.

The metal-red knot of anger swells in your gut as you watch his perfect silhouette and his tiny little waist disappear into the staff room. Then you realize what you've been looking at and let yourself get mad all over again.

He does have a nice ass, though. You'll give him that.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

"You'll never guess what I have."

"Is it better than this lox bagel?" You answer, mouth unattractively full.

Seungkwan's answer is the sound of a straw hitting the bottom of an empty cup and the grating jostle of ice. Phone calls with him are like ASMR because he's always doing a million things at once, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

"Infinitely," he finally says, after procuring the last milliliter of what's likely his second coffee of the day. "Besides, we all know pesto is way better."

"Wrong, but okay," you reply. "What is it?"

"You're not gonna thank me for being the best friend in the world? Me, an editor, keeping nepotism alive for you? A mere columnist?"

"Senior columnist," you laugh between bites. "You need me. Who else would you text during content meetings?"

"Whatever." His eye roll is audible. "I guess I won't tell you."

He shakes his cup again, all ice and no patience.

"Fine! I owe you. My career and my life."

"And a seat at Momofuku."

"And that."

You take another greedy bite, letting the everything on an everything bagel get all over your chin. You love dressing up and going to restaurants that cost more than both of your kidneys, but there's something sacred about eating a $10 bagel behind the shield of your computer screen at a cafe where no one knows you.

There's someone laughing really loudly somewhere, and if you weren't otherwise preoccupied, you would look for the offender and give them a hard glare. You don't know what could possibly be that funny at 9 AM, but, then again, you never were a morning person.

"So, I have intel. About Seungcheol." You can picture the glint in Seungkwan's eyes, glittery and caramel. Unfortunately, the news that it's related to your worst enemy makes you sit up a little straighter. "At today's content meeting, Joshua said that he's working on some kind of challenge to go on as many dates as possible. He might make it a series."

"How tacky," you say, but the information clanks around in your brain like shoes in a washing machine. The indulgent, clickbaity headline just falls together perfectly—I Went On 50 First Dates So You Don't Have To. Exactly the kind of article your mom sees on Facebook and sends to you.

"You have to admit it's a decent idea. Not as good as yours, but it'll get engagement," is Seungkwan's reply, but you can barely hear it over the swell of another sitcom-esque laugh, this time, from a woman. "The other editors are very invested in this whole thing, by the way. Of course, I'm betting on you."

You're about to very openly stress about people gambling on your success when your eyes wander to the backside of the Sports Illustrated model getting napkins at the counter. Not bad at all, you think. It may be too early for the comedy club, but appreciating the male figure has no schedule.

And then he turns around, and you're able to see past the curly hair, muscle tee, beauty pageant smile—it's none other than Choi Seungcheol, fully outfitted with the audacity to trespass on your bagel place. You have never been more disgusted by your heterosexuality.

You hide behind your computer screen.

"Helloooo?" comes Seungkwan on the line. "Are you making out with your breakfast or something?"

"Seungkwan, I gotta go," you hiss. Your eyes follow Seungcheol as he makes his way back to his table. "There's a…situation."

You watch him sit across from a beautiful girl in a sundress and Prada sunglasses, and her lips tumble into a brilliant red smile.

It would be really fucking funny if he was on a date, you think, but then you see him make the kind of eyes you last saw in the deepest, stickiest recesses of a frat house on thirsty Thursday. Then you realize he is on a date, that he's been on a date, and it's his laugh that is equally annoying as it is loud.

Seungkwan works hard, but the devil always works harder.

"Ok, talk to you later. Bye!" You can hear the beginning of one of Seungkwan's protests, but you hang up before he's able to properly complain. Maybe you'll have to do a little better than Momofuku—that's a problem for later.

Over the rim of your laptop, you catch glimpses of their conversation. You notice Seungcheol talks a lot with his hands, and you wonder if that's another one of his tips or if that's just him. Him and those big clown hands, illustrating a story that you're unfortunately too far away to hear.

But you can hear her laugh again, and you try to guess what he's talking about. His childhood dog. The insurmountable burden of being prom king and captain of the football team. This little not-competition and this little not-rivalry between the two of you. How the PB&J bagel is the best thing on the menu (it's not, but you see the berry compote all over his fingers and you know that's the hill he's dying on).

No matter how you spin it, it's a hard pill to swallow. Choi Seungcheol is good at what he does, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.

You hear the careening lilt of what seems to be Seungcheol whining, and there's a brief flash of something like endearment in your stomach before the repulsion sets in.

Nothing you can do to stop him, huh?

The question, sinister and burning, writhes in your brain as you chew on the ice from your coffee and stare at a blank Word document, the cursor blinking like a heartbeat.

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Beware the wrath of a woman scorned.

It's number 3 on Seungcheol's article titled Revenge and Other Stories. Unsurprisingly, he must not practice what he preaches, because you currently have all nine circles of Dante's Inferno inside you right now.

Play nice, Jeonghan had told you. Looks better to upper management.

And you did, until one of your photo requests mysteriously got deleted. Then Joshua told you to cut 500 words from this week's column because Seungcheol's just "happened" to be a little longer this time.

The knockout punch was yesterday when Seungcheol told you he was using your January critic's choice pick to take Wonwoo out for a friendly dinner, his treat. If you had known, you would've called ahead and told them to poison the hamachi. (No matter. Any foodie worth their salt knows Thursday is the worst day for sushi).

Now you sit on the C train, dressed to the nines, because you have a date with destiny at Nai. Sometimes destiny is a big pan of paella for one, but this time, it's Seungcheol and his next victim on date night.

Getting him there was so easy, it was almost criminal. An obnoxiously loud elevator phone call in which you name dropped the executive chef, a friend of yours, at least four times. Seungkwan very strategically asking you if a press pass can bypass reservations for a booked-out restaurant. Gossip in the break room with the intentional use of "intimate," "sangria drunk," and "affordable."

Affordable was a lie, but you're learning quickly that a hungry fish will take any bait. And seeing Seungcheol's face is never a joy, but you're not opposed to watching him open the menu for the first time.

"I have a killer Spanish accent," Seungcheol told you on the way out today.

Hook, line, and sinker.

The subway car rumbles under you. You're almost in East Village. You don't normally spend your Friday nights crashing dates—you actually don't really spend them outside your apartment at all, but Seungcheol is the exception to the rule and you're making a lot of them for him. A small price to pay for the glory of dethroning Casanova.

The plan is to "accidentally" run into Seungcheol and his Friday night exploit, and then to casually, non-bitterly mention a, that she is about to become a statistic, b, that his idea of chivalry was birthed in the basement of the Alpha Omega house, and c, that you're surprised he's still single because you always happen to catch him on dates. Something like that.

This is admittedly the best you could come up with. Like you said, you don't really crash dates. You don't really sabotage people either, but Seungcheol declared war the minute his Folgers breath hit your face outside Wonwoo's office.

Then you think of all the ways things can absolutely backfire. Seungcheol's warm, carefree whirl of laughter when he explains you're office rivals, or worse, lies and says you're nothing but a jilted, jealous ex. Or this whole thing could simply be immortalized in his winning article as a jaunty sentence about making the most out of a bad situation, yada yada yada.

You picture watching another girl, spellbound, as you dig into your table-for-one paella.

In your mind's eye, she laughs, floaty like his date at the bagel place, and for a moment you understand what it might feel like to want Choi Seungcheol.

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Friday night at Nai is red and glittering and heady with saffron.

You remember when you first ate here, two weekends after the soft open, early in your career at the paper. After a three hour conversation over wine and octopus with the owner, you wrote the restaurant a glowing review that, to your surprise, helped land it several ritzy awards. Now the dining room is never empty, but they always find space for you.

That was the first time you learned that all of this work meant something. Yeah, you loved an excuse to stuff your face and get paid for it, but what was even better was the chance to tell the stories of a working father's hand-pulled noodles, the drunk, midnight origins of a tasting menu, the caramel-greedy fingers of a well-loved childhood.

This is the long way of explaining how you bypass the two hour standby wait time, and how you walk in on a first name basis with the manager.

You're fully prepared to see Seungcheol mid-churro, perhaps four pick-up lines deep and wondering if he still has a condom in his wallet.

That's why you almost miss him on your way to your table. His is empty, other than a lonely, watered down martini on the rocks and two menus.

"Seungcheol?"

He looks up at you, and something like genuine surprise melts into relief, then intrigue.

"Look at who crawled out of her dungeon," he chuckles. "You clean up good."

Whatever pity you may have felt for him vaporizes instantly. Although, when he beckons for you to sit in the empty seat across from him, you do take the bait—you're not about to pass up a good opportunity to humble your least formidable foe.

"Refreshing to see that our love guru isn't above dining solo," you reply. "I have to admit, your acting is impressive. What an elaborate ruse to get another poor, single diner to pity you enough to sit with you."

"It worked, didn't it?" He takes a sip of his cocktail, which is almost a brand new drink because it's 90% water, 10% martini by now.

"I'm no expert, but pretending to get stood up is not a tip I would give the general public."

"Who said I was pretending?"

No fucking way. Your jaw drops. It's too unreal to believe. Even if the slutty cut of Seungcheol's shirt wasn't persuasive enough, surely the prospect of enjoying a free Michelin star dinner would warrant an appearance, even for you. Breaking News: New York's Hottest Bachelor Ghosted at Top Restaurant. If only that were as wonderful to the average reader as it is to you.

Because waiters are trained to enter conversations at the best possible time, you're forced to pause and order a wine for the table and some tapas. (No paella for one? Seungcheol asks, and you try to reconcile your annoyance with the fact that one, he's read your review of this place, and two, that he looks mildly turned on that you can pronounce all the menu items. You tell the waiter to add a paella.)

"You got stood up?" You cross your arms over your chest. "You may think I'm dumb, but I'm not that dumb."

"You have no idea how flattering your reaction is." He laughs, and the air shifts around him, drawing you further into his eyes, inky under the lowlight. "I understand you think I'm irresistible, but, alas, not everyone shares your opinion."

"I never said that."

You hate how easy it is for him to push your buttons. You hate how in control he is, and you hate how he's looking at you like you're on the menu.

The waiter returns with the wine, and you decide you're feeling equally as terrible.

"Truly, you can't be that irresistible. After all this time writing about relationships, you would think you'd actually be in one."

Touché, you think. Normally, it would be too low a blow, even for you, except that his column-related debauchery is one of the four thrilling conversation topics he subjects you to at the office. And who are you to bury the lede?

"Coaches don't play," Seungcheol says, leaning back and popping the martini olive in his mouth offensively, as if he's not at a restaurant that takes months to get a good table at.

"Bullshit." You lean forward and chase his gaze. He doesn't shy away; rather, he meets you with an appraising raise of an eyebrow. "Coaches should at least know how to throw the ball."

"What do you think we're doing right now?"

"Oh, please." Your wrist twitches as you fight the urge to down your entire glass of merlot in a single gulp. You picture the title of his next article: Top 10 Ways To Get A Woman Drunk. And then the oh so charming punchline: 1. Be so insufferable she cannot last a conversation without her real life partner, wine.

"See? I've already got you laughing." He notices the generous sip missing from your glass and tops you up.

"No, you do not get to make this about me."

Somehow, you are laughing, but you chalk it up to the spiteful little man in your brain writing headlines for Seungcheol's column.

How To Antagonize Your Date In 5 Easy Steps.

"Need I remind you I'm only here because your actual date stood you up? Too soon?"

"I prefer you anyway," he answers, his expression half-challenge, half-something else that you don't really want to think about.

"Crazy, because I'd rather be literally anywhere else."

Signs You Are In A Hostage Situation, Not A Date.

"You should stick to food. You're a bad liar." He cocks his head to the empty table next to him. "It's still open if you want it."

"I'm no quitter."

Maybe The Male Gaze Isn't So Bad: A Thinkpiece.

Definitely not that one.

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"So, before I try anything," Seungcheol says, leaning across the table. "Teach me how to be a food critic."

"Why, so you can steal my job?"

"You can keep it," he laughs. "I'm gonna be your boss, not your replacement."

You notice he'll linger on the tail end of his sentences, betting on the response you haven't even come up with yet. He's picking apart the furrow of your brow, the marrow of your brain. It's like one drawn out interview, but you suppose that's all dating really is. Maybe your journalism degree wasn't a waste of money after all.

You won't give him the satisfaction of a fight (plus, you don't want the food to get cold), so you change the subject.

"Well, I take pictures first," you say, waving away his overeager fork.

"Genius. They really scammed you out of your Pulitzer, huh?"

You ignore him in lieu of repositioning the chorizo. Unfortunately, Seungcheol is unrelenting. You hear the snap of his phone camera, clearly taking a photo of you and not the meal—clever, but you won't bite.

"Wanna be in my story? I can tag you."

In your periphery hovers his wry, wanting smile.

"Sure. So the world can know I'm a charity worker too."

He whistles, clutching his heart. If he weren't so annoying, you would find him a little cute. Just a little. You blame the kitchen for whatever aphrodisiac is in the food today.

"Live update: date with food critic going about as well as an episode of Hell's Kitchen."

He says this leaning forward, elbows on the table, so close to you that your knees might touch. You tense at the thought.

"Any date of mine would be on better behavior."

"So you're admitting this is a date?"

"This," you wave your hand over the table. "This is not a date. This is me regretting ever pitying you."

"Well, pity looks good on you."

And there it is again, that accursed, perfect smile. This time, it works, and you fight the losing battle of the wine flush undoubtedly all over your face. It bothers you that there's a little part of you that enjoys this, but that's a confession you plan on taking to the grave.

"Enjoy it while it lasts, because you're not getting any again."

"Fine. I'm still waiting for your grand secret," he says, now biting the tines of his fork like an untrained dog. No rest for the weary, you suppose. "Food is food. Prove me wrong."

Despite the betrayal of your basal human instincts, you're determined to make this a bad encounter. Maybe you hadn't anticipated the full force of Seungcheol's overgrown fratboy persona, but you came here for a reason and you do plan to see it through.

"There is no secret." You split apart an empanada, the guts steaming and fragrant. "You eat."

"Like this?" He crams an entire piece in his mouth, and you watch him recoil and huff the heat out. "Mmm, 's pretty good, though."

Your eyes almost roll back far enough to see the wrinkles of your brain. Of course he wouldn't get it, but you don't know what you were expecting from a guy who thinks Hot Pockets are fine dining.

You put on your most pretentious food critic face. "Eating is about respect. Storytelling. He's retelling the first time someone made him this dish. The ingredients—they're words on a page. An autobiography." Your hand finds your chest and you sigh, a final touch to your Oscar winning melodrama that would certainly annoy anyone with even half a brain.

"Huh. Poetic," he says. He's still fanning his (very full) mouth, but he chews a little more slowly. "I'm respecting. I'm taking it in."

You don't know if he's actually doing any of that, but, when he takes his next bite he asks about what's in it (tomato, raisin, egg) and if someone really made the chef an empanada when he was younger (yes, on the flour-printed counter, every Sunday morning).

You press on. It shouldn't take much to bore him, but with every question, food-related factoid, and snide comment you have, he matches you with genuine curiosity. Either he's an excellent actor or he's secretly culinary school-bound, because you can't actually imagine anyone putting up with any of that, nonetheless I like dick jokes and football Choi Seungcheol.

You spend the rest of the evening like this, spoon to heart to cherry mouth. The wine is abundant, and Seungcheol spends more time listening than talking, which he admits is a first for him.

"You really know a lot about food," he says, likely fighting the urge to use his finger to get the last of the chocolate sauce off the churro plate. "I like that."

It's a cheap compliment in a game of low blows, but it sits warm and content in your chest. You have to force yourself back to the night you met him, when he was all cognac and one-liners and he gave you his spare hotel room key. A good reminder of his true nature, you think, despite the fact that he just listened to you talk about all the different grains of rice, ad nauseum.

"It's my job," is your reply, adequately distant for your liking.

"Fair. You gonna ask me about mine?"

"What more is there to know?" You hold up the check. "You're paying, right? Chivalry and all that?"

You're waiting for him to mention the company card, the only one allocated to your section that Seungcheol couldn't possibly have because it's sitting snug in your purse. The one you'll say you conveniently forgot so you get to see a grown man squirm at paying the bill.

"Already did. Gave the host my card when I got here. You're holding the customer copy." His chuckle disappears under the lip of his wine glass. "Bet you were excited to use the company card, huh?"

If shame were a physical object, you feel like your own personal Atlas. Your only option is to stare at the wasteland of empty plates before you and wonder how deep Seungcheol's pockets really are.

"Hardly. More excited that I burned a hole in your wallet." You click your tongue, out of options on how to ruin Seungcheol's night. You would spill wine on him but there's none left. "Anyway, I'm heading out."

"Running away?"

"Bored," you lie.

He calls you a taxi, and you walk out together, night heavy with the rhinestone glare of Friday night traffic.

"I actually had a nice time tonight," Seungcheol says, emphasis on the actually.

"Unfortunate."

"How do you think I feel?"

The taxi pulls to the curb, and he sighs, weighty with exaggerated relief. You can't even take it seriously because he's looking right at you and badly failing to push down the smile at the corners of his mouth.

It's only now that you notice his eyes are really brown, like he's from a cartoon or something. Worse, you'd daresay they're nice, less menacing, when they're tempered by a good meal and semi-public humiliation.

"Text me when you get back to your villain lair."

"If I were a real villain, you would have a lot more to worry about."

Seungcheol opens the cab door for you, and you catch a whiff of the cologne he undoubtedly smeared on in the toothpaste-streaked mirror of his five by five studio bathroom. Pine, leather, and citrus, which is the most pedestrian combination of smells to exist and yet you doubt it hasn't done him any favors.

"I'm terrified. Shaking." You clamber into the backseat, and he smiles at you again, as if you've forgotten what all his other ones looked like. "By the way—"

You have half a mind to shut the door in his face, but you can't find it within you—maybe it's the wine, or perhaps pure defeat. Probably the former.

"This job. It's—" He clicks his tongue and looks at the tops of his leather shoes. He's actually thinking, and you don't like it. "Never mind. See you Monday."

And then the words are gone. He shuts the cab door, and they're left in a plume of exhaust and Seungcheol's tiny waving figure in the rearview mirror.

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"So you're telling me you went on a date with your worst enemy."

It's 8 AM, and Jeonghan isn't pulling punches. Even through the phone, you can see his lazy grin, the pen he's flipping in his hand, the green ribbon of the Dow Jones on his desktop.

The newsroom is refreshingly near empty, except for Joshua, who hovers around the water cooler like a fly on the wall, if flies wore Armani ties and cigarette jeans.

"It wasn't a date, and I wanted to ruin it so he would have nothing to write about."

"No one goes on a date to ruin it. You could have just left."

"Clearly you haven't seen How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days."

"Are you serious." Jeonghan laughs, crackly and bright. "Care to tell me how that movie ends?"

"Except he isn't Matthew Mcconaughey. He says spaghetti like pah-scetti and doesn't use Oxford commas."

Mid-laugh, you endure another beat of extended eye contact with your editor until he beckons you over. He'd likely been waiting for the perfect time to interrupt the conversation he was so subtly eavesdropping on—oh, how you love a newsroom with an "open floor plan" to "facilitate communication." Sometimes you think the reason Joshua's stuck around this long is because reporters can't stay away from drama, especially if they're not the ones reporting it.

"I gotta go," you tell Jeonghan, whose version of a goodbye is a triumphant cackle.

You find Joshua putzing around, plastic water cup incriminatingly full.

"I take it you had an enjoyable weekend?" he asks, eyes sequined with all the secrets they hold.

"Yup. Just working on that Dining Through The Years article." Not entirely a lie—you are hedging your bets on this story, one where you revisit the restaurants you wrote about when you first got your start at the paper (Nai included, although admittedly yesterday's food was the least of your concerns). "You needed me?"

"Glad to see New York's finest chefs are well-versed in Kate Hudson's filmography," he says, grinning something beastly. If he weren't your boss, you'd knock that little water cup clean out of his hand. "Anyway, if your interview is over, I need you to go on a field trip."

"Field trip?"

Surely you're better than a task for the interns. You wonder if they're off fighting their own demons, seeing as you missed the circus in the elevator this morning, the usual juggle of hazelnut lattes and lemon poppyseed muffins for the higher-ups.

"Wonwoo needs you to help pick out catering for the corporate event later next week." Joshua tips his head back at Wonwoo's glass-plated office, where you see him redoing his tie in the reflection of his computer monitor. "My guess is that Yerim is going to be there, and he wants to make a good impression. Like an 'I consulted a food expert' impression."

Classic gossip queen Hong Joshua, always with the unnecessary but incredibly cogent commentary on office politics. You think you're actually going to miss the bastard.

"Flattered," you remark dryly. "Catering from where?"

"That's the thing. It's from this Thai place like two hours out from the city."

Two hours: code for an all day endeavor. He wasn't kidding when he said field trip.

You graciously resist the urge to groan out loud. No one told you taking the high road is one big slog through the mud, but here you are. You tell yourself this will help your campaign to be editor—the stinky, dirt-smeared silver lining.

"Before you ask—yes, I know you cannot take the subway there." You blink at him, wondering why this all feels like the set-up to a terrible joke. "Luckily, as you probably know, Seungcheol drives here every day and has offered to help."

Ah. There it is. You look for the blinking applause sign hanging above your head and the chorus of riotous Seungcheols making up your own personal laugh track.

"Only back to the office, though—" Joshua adds, as if that provides you any solace. "There's a one-way bus going up there at noon."

"N-not both ways?" you croak.

"Something about funds," he replies, shrugging. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger."

"You're not the one I'm thinking of shooting."

"Who knows? Maybe he is Matthew McConaughey." And when your glare turns sharp as the edge of a santoku knife, he holds his hands up like he's getting arrested. "I'm just saying. As your friend, not your editor."

Whatever.

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You have to admit, Wonwoo does have impeccable taste in Thai food.

Three noodle dishes, two curries, and the best mango sticky rice you've ever had: that's what it took for you to finally say "not all men." Certainly not Wonwoo, who's in deep enough to send his goons cross-state for a girl he's tried to woo for almost a whole year now.

A tamarind sunset blankets the countryside in milk and honey. You're sitting on a bench, ridiculously full with leftovers to spare, waiting for your chauffeur from hell.

Two years and you still don't know what car Seungcheol drives. Your last memory of it is it being flashy, impractical, and loud, much like him.

You know this, and yet you are still surprised when a gnat of a BMW rips into the curb in front of you. The passenger window crawls down, and Seungcheol has the gall to whistle at you.

For someone so predictable, he sure does manage to find new ways to piss you off. Unfortunately, on brand— according to him, Consistency Is Key (number 2 on Keeping the Spark Alive, August 2022 issue). You've done your reading.

"You're welcome," is the first thing Seungcheol says to you after cranking down the volume of the radio and watching you fumble with the seatbelt.

"You really didn't have to." You look at the array of gas station snacks bubbling out of the cupholders—Sour Patch Kids, a Big Gulp, and Flamin’ Hot Fritos. You didn't even know they sold Sour Patch Kids to full grown adults.

Still, you do feel a little bad. You can count on one hand the amount of people you would do this for and still have one or two cheese-dusted fingers left.

"But, thank you."

"Joshua made me," he says, and what happened this morning starts to make a lot more sense. "Plus, I was a little jealous. I would kill for a day frolicking in the sun, eating delicious food, far, far away from the big city. Not trapped like me in the newsroom, exhausted, toiling away on my magnum opus."

The sigh that crawls from his chapped lips practically shakes the car.

"I'm retracting my thank you."

"I'm devastated. Really."

You choose to watch the strip of shitty New York highway unravel through the greasy passenger window. No point in picking a fight when you're in a leather quilted jail cell for the foreseeable future.

It's at the thirty minute mark where Seungcheol casts the first stone of terrible, stilted small talk.

"Why'd you get sent all the way out here anyway?"

The red taillight flush of rush hour floods the car, an unpleasant reminder of the real sunset left far behind you.

"Thought you knew it was Wonwoo."

"Yeah, but why?"

Why does it matter? Is your first thought, but you realize he's attempting to actually have a genuine conversation with you, which you suppose is better than him flinging around another rude remark. Either that, or he's falling asleep, and you'd rather not have the last moments of your life be in Seungcheol's chick magnet car.

"Joshua thinks it's because he wants to impress Yerim at the corporate meeting this week. I guess she likes Thai."

Traffic is slow enough for him to turn to look at you, really look at you.

"Come on, he can't like her that much."

"Yes, he can." you try to read his expression, neon-glossy. "This isn't even that much effort."

"Nah," he shrugs. "There's gotta be some kind of ulterior motive. Maybe he wants to move into corporate."

"Hot take for a romantic." You frown. "Not everything people do is a career move, you know."

You omit the unlike you that sits heavy in the back of your throat, although, his cavalier approach to relationships is starting to make a little more sense. You wonder if this whole thing—the dates, the watch, the Invisalign smiles—is just a long, drawn-out joke to him.

"Seems like a lot of effort to go through for an office crush." His gaze drifts back to the road. "The extravagant birthday present. Always having her favorite flowers in the office. That one cringe voicemail we all heard him re-record ten times. No one likes anyone that much. Come on. Her dad is the CEO of the company."

Suddenly his winning smile doesn't seem so triumphant. It almost feels like a betrayal, but you don't know why.

"Maybe he just likes her," you reply. "I dunno. I choose to believe that. I think it's sweet."

"Maybe you're the romantic." The words come out like an accusation; Seungcheol laughs, but all the joy's been sucked out of it.

"Who hurt you?"

"No one did. I'm just being honest."

You would laugh at the irony if it didn't feel like there was a vine wrapped round your throat. Life is funny, but never so funny as to curse New York's favorite romance writer with cynicism and a lying streak.

"Controversial, but I actually want to do nice things for the person I like."

"And when was the last time that happened?" He's deflecting, which is predictably on brand for him. His grin, now playful, is propped up by a pair of frustratingly well-formed dimples.

You can't even find it within you to protest because he's right—you haven't dated in a long time. Joshua stopped asking if you were bringing a plus one to office parties ages ago.

But it's not that you can't—in fact, the last time you did, you think it broke you a little inside. It's certainly not a story Seungcheol's privy to, though. You already feel strange, cut-open, trying to convince him that people are capable of meaningful relationships.

Childishly, there's also a part of you chasing the truth about him because it takes him further and further away from you. So you do what you do best and deflect again. Two can play at that game.

"Not taking criticism from a guy who's dated half of the city and has nothing to show for it."

"I wouldn't say nothing."

He opens his mouth then closes it again, as if he's revising the words on his tongue. Journalist behavior, which you didn't even know he could still exhibit.

Now you're really thinking. Who hurt him, and how? The development that Seungcheol is more than the playboy slime haunting page 3 intrigues you more than you'd care to admit.

Before you can pry, Seungcheol's stomach growls, almost offensively loud.

"Sorry," he says. "Who would've thunk that corn chips aren't a balanced meal?"

You stare at the takeout boxes snug in your lap. There is a cosmic message being sent right now.

Seungcheol's sad, Frito-filled belly. Fresh noodle that won't keep well in the fridge. Tax and tip for a four hour car ride back to the city. Expanding your repertoire of blackmail so that you can claim your rightful helm at the paper.

These are all the reasons you give yourself for what you ask next.

"You in a rush?"

"How could I be—do you see the blinding speed we're driving at?" He laughs at his own incredibly unfunny attempt at a joke. "No, I'm not."

"I may or may not have an actual balanced meal for you."

That’s how you end up in the parking lot of a random 7/11 off the freeway. In any other circumstances, it would be a cruel and unusual punishment, but you've already been whittled down enough to actually care about Seungcheol, even if just a little.

That's what you tell yourself, anyway, as you watch him finish the last of the takeout.

"So I'm bad at food, and you're bad at love. Why the fuck did Wonwoo even think of promoting either of us?" Seungcheol kicks his shoes off and props his feet up on the dashboard. You notice his socks have dogs on them, little linty brown ones, and you feel a little worse about openly bullying him about his fashion taste in front of the entirety of copy staff.

"I may be bad at love, but you're worse. Especially for someone who does it for a living," you retort. "Don't think I forgot our earlier conversation."

You try to read the tiny text on a receipt he's got stashed in the center console, among his graveyard of snack wrappers. (2) CHEESY GORDITA CRUNCH…8.78. (1) M MT DEW BAJA BLAST…1.00.

Definitely bad at food, you muse to yourself.

"You think I'm not kicking myself right now? That I have a beautiful girl in my car right now, and all we do is argue?"

Now that—nothing could have prepared you for that.

It gets awfully quiet. The noise of the freeway seems to screech to a fever pitch, all horns and the thrum of the asphalt. You wish anything but John Mayer was playing on the radio.

You will the headlines man in your head to make you laugh. Instead, your brain presses the word beautiful into your neurons and you feel all the heat in your body float to your face, traitorously, dizzyingly. John Mayer croons, your body is a wonderland and your stomach knots into itself over and over again.

"Stop that."

"What?" Seungcheol's head lolls to his shoulder so he can look at you from the corner of his eye. " 's not a big deal. Never been called beautiful?"

A grin plays on his lips, expression dancing on something grim, like he's spoken his final words.

"I'm serious! Stop trying to get me to like you." You huff and cross your arms over your chest, like it'll somehow make you feel more normal. "I'm not some experiment for your column."

"Is it working?"

You don't answer. How can you? There's a yes resting on the roof of your mouth, surely the product of the handful of real, actual moments you've now had with him—far too many for your liking. This whole charade has been a balancing act on the razor edge between rivals and something else, and now you're feeling the sting.

"For the record, I have been called beautiful before."

"And for the record, you're not an experiment for my column. You never were."

There's a relief that pulses through your chest, a breathless, wonderful kind of dizziness. You grab hold of it as soon as it's reared its ugly head. You're flying way too close to the sun, chasing cheap validation from the same guy who ate your lunch out of the fridge last week.

He's no better—he looks like the vulnerability cracked him open a little, and you're the one holding the hammer. It makes for a grubby, unflattering portrait of two emotionally inept people trying to play feelings.

However, much like all other things Seungcheol, any glimpse of something real is gone before you know it. He takes a loud, noisy pull of Diet Coke, and the spell is broken.

"Want any?" And when you shake your head, grateful to swallow the words pressed to your tongue, he says, "Should we wait out traffic here?"

This is an easier yes. You tell yourself you're getting sick of brake lights and reading the license plates on the back of other people's cars. Certainly that makes Seungcheol's gaze, lingering and moonlight-warmed, a little more tolerable.

For once, you don't talk about Wonwoo or your job. You don't talk about love, either.

Maybe this is the reason the next few hours slip through your fingers. Three folded takeout pagodas and a secret—somehow this is all it takes for you to hate Seungcheol just a little less.

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Usually, a good eggs benedict can solve the majority of your problems. Today seems to be the exception. The hollandaise is broken, Jeonghan is already laughing at you, and nothing will ever erase the fact that Seungcheol drove you home last night and now he knows where you live. If you wake up one morning and see a sniper laser pointed at your forehead, you have no one to blame but yourself.

"You look exhausted." An eighth of a buckwheat pancake disappears into Jeonghan's mouth. "You literally eat for a living. There is no reason for them to keep you late."

Jeonghan has a funny way of caring about you, but he's right. You did get home at 2 AM yesterday, but that was on you, not Wonwoo.

"I'm not going to let a corporate slug tell me what is and isn't a real job," you sigh, taking a swig of your half-flat mimosa and reminding yourself to figure out which staff writer gave this place 4 stars in last week's paper.

"Says the girl who needs the company card to afford bottomless brunch," Jeonghan replies.

"At least I'm not a slave to my career."

"What do you call this whole thing with your coworker then, huh? It's all you text me about." The smirk on Jeonghan's face is miserably, tragically righteous, and you can't even be mad about it.

"Seungcheol is my enemy, remember?"

"You sent me a five minute voice memo the other day ranting about how he went on a date with another girl." And just like the little shit he is, he even pulls up your mile-long text history, just to rub it in your face a little harder.

"Am I not allowed to wish for his demise? Since when were you the mature one?"

"I wouldn't call keeping track of his whereabouts wishing for his demise." Jeonghan takes a well-timed bite of your hashbrowns. "Something tells me you're wishing for something a little different."

You almost choke on a blueberry.

"Absolutely not."

You watch Jeonghan power down another mimosa, half-fascinated, half-appalled he would even dream of suggesting something so vile.

The memory of Seungcheol, leant back in the driver’s seat, lowering greasy spools of rice noodles into his mouth, crosses your mind. He had laughed until he cried when he asked you if a pineapple had really fried this rice. That was the kind of man you were dealing with. You can't believe you laughed with him.

"I think it'll be good for you to get back into dating again. Mingyu was, what, three years ago?"

And that's the chocolate chip studded, syrup-covered nail in your coffin. Of course all roads had to lead back to you and your relationship trauma Jeonghan considered unresolved.

You had dated Mingyu when you were younger, softer. It was a love of firsts, of sun-washed mornings and farmer's market Sundays, of raw, black currant midnights and whatever long-winded conversation you had spent all day on.

Mingyu was a chef. His hands, his lips, his eyes—that's how you fell in love with food. Strawberry kisses into fresh pasta into the first time someone had ever cooked for you. What a wonderful, terrible thing to see all your history on a plate, the I could never eat peas, the once I ate mangos till I was sick, the guilty spoon in the vanilla ice cream after a bad day and the dark chocolate you keep in your purse. He remembered that you like your noodles just a little bit overcooked, and you don't even think you told him that.

Food, like some shitty piece of home decor would say in that swirling, curly font, really is some window to the soul. It didn't fully hit you until, one day, you were at the grocery store alone, and somehow you knew exactly what brand of everything Mingyu liked.

You opened a restaurant together after you graduated from college. Then it closed, and you lost Mingyu to Naples or New Orleans or Seoul—somewhere, anywhere to escape the corner of 5th and 40th, the December-pleated memory of his hands in yours and a promise you could never keep.

You're sure you're over it by now, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't look for him in a bowl of his favorite ramyun, the one you could never replicate even though he insisted he just added hot water (Food tastes best when it's a gift, he'd say. You never understood until now.).

Jeonghan doesn't believe you because every time you try explaining this to him, you end up sounding like the most chronically lonely person on planet Earth.

"That is the wrong guy to suggest then," you instead reply, feeling all the food dry up in your mouth.

"I'm running out of options."

"Don't you have a hot coworker or something?"

You shut your eyes, pushing Mingyu back to recall literally any face from one of the many swanky corporate parties Jeonghan bullied you into attending. The only person coming to mind is Lee Chan, and even more than his face, you remember the fat platinum band around his ring finger (Better luck next time, Jeonghan had said, mid-cheese cube).

Worse, amidst all the fuzz, a grainy recollection of Seungcheol's wet cow eyes washes up against your eyelids, and it's not going away this time.

"I thought we were all corporate slugs," Jeonghan replies, enjoying the way you glower at him over your fork. "I was kidding, anyway. Relax."

Your entire body heaves with the sigh that escapes you.

You thank god that Jeonghan is never serious, because otherwise you'd have to consider the fact that he really thought you should date Seungcheol. Jeonghan, who knows the pizza column you, the Mingyu you, and now the you that works late because there's nothing else left to do, really might have thought you should date grifter by day, con artist by night Seungcheol.

The fluorescent glaze of the gas station lights. Seungcheol's hand on the gear stick. His voice, warm and gauzy. It's like there's a flash drive of last night plugged into your head, and you can't take it out.

The stem of the champagne glass finds your hand, and you down the whole thing.

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Monday is uneventful. So is Tuesday, and you wonder what good deed you'd done to deserve such a blessing.

Wednesday, you realize you're just three interviews away from what could possibly be the best article of your life. Unfortunately, two of those won't pick up the phone and the third keeps rescheduling on you.

That's fine—Rome wasn't built in a day, and the same hopefully applies to your future noodle empire.

You're using your lunch break to write an email to number two when you notice Seungcheol hovering around your desk, a plastic straw in his mouth and evil in his eyes.

He's taken to publicly annoying you at work more than usual—Progress, Joshua had told you in the elevator this morning. Towards what? you had asked. He shrugged, letting his crafty, knowing look do all the talking.

"Me, you, and date number two?" is today's opening line. Before you can peel yourself away from your computer and give him a good lashing for whatever the fuck he just said to you, he continues with, "How's that for a follow-up text to my speakeasy date?"

"Lame," you reply, hackles still raised but now re-reading your email for typos.

"Wrong. You were supposed to say incredibly romantic, extremely witty, and unfairly charming." He perches his baseball player ass on the corner of your desk, waiting to be humbled. This is the usual order of things, which has shockingly become more of a familiarity than anything else.

"Do you even have a romantic bone in your body?"

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. "Just one, but it's the only one that matters."

"Ew. Gross." You wrinkle your nose and attempt to soothe your temper with a sip of the terrible protein shake you got for lunch. "No wonder your column sucks."

"If mine sucks, I'd hate to see what people are saying about yours." And when your reply is a tired, hungry swig of your sad drink, he says, "No lunch today? Even I had something better."

"Lucky you."

The bigger truth is that that the deadline for your article, looming before you, is getting to you more than you'd care to admit. Seungcheol isn't helping, not with his bottomless magic hat of date stories that seems to only grow deeper by the day. Now you're forgetting to pack a lunch, and the highlight of your day has been reduced to punching numbers into a vending machine.

Things are bad, but you'll never say that aloud, especially not to the guy who'll spend the next five years dunking on you if you keep this up.

You stare down the lip of your bottle at the faux-chocolate dregs streaking the bottom.

The month before Mingyu opened his restaurant, you were so preoccupied with making sure everything was just right that you also forgot to eat. One day, leftovers from his work started magically appearing in your fridge. Chow fun (miss you!), salt and pepper shrimp (don't forget to drink water!), a gargantuan vat of hot and sour soup (love you most!).

It was a perfect coincidence until you realized there was no way Chinese takeout was coming out of a very French restaurant, and it was then you learned that love is never really a coincidence.

Now you have no coincidences, mapo tofu, or romance. Just muscle milk and a front row view of the struggling inseam of a man who must shrink his pants in the dryer.

He's peeling a tangerine. Your worst confession to date is that it's easy on the eyes. For once, his hands, always made busy with some scheme, now still over the rind, steady, practiced. Plus, it looks like a marble in his huge hands, which is unfortunately both funny and a little hot.

"Stare any longer, and I'm gonna forget how to peel this."

"Don’t flatter yourself. Just hungry," you half-lie.

Hungry, Stressed, And Delusional—The New Holy Trinity.

It's a catchy headline, but not a great look for you. Never in your life did you think you'd be ogling a man peeling an orange. He even takes all the pith off, and you don't have the heart to tell him that's where all the nutrients are.

"Exactly," he replies. Then he plops the naked, shiny fruit right on your bare desk. "Here. Eat."

You’re so taken aback, all you can do is stare. First at the orange, then at Seungcheol, who suddenly cannot make eye contact with you. Instead, he stacks the peel in his hands, dimpled piece over piece.

"Payback for the, uh, Thai," he says, and although you wouldn't equate a tangerine to James Beard awarded pad kee mao, all you can think of is an lime green sticky note in your fridge and a smile.

A gift. A pithless, wrinkly one.

The idea that Seungcheol was capable of being genuinely nice to anyone, nonetheless, you—probably the most undeserving person of it in the world—makes you feel something close to guilt.

You push through the feeling, instead taking the fruit in your hand and splitting it between your thumbs. The flesh caves so easily, and it's then you remember that food, unlike people, doesn't have to be complicated.

You can feel a better person somewhere inside you, someone easier to care for and with less of a bad attitude. You're not there yet, but there's a dark, satisfying comfort in not being good enough for the indulgence of that kind of intimacy. An arm's length was never too far away for you, except now there's someone sitting on your desk and they gave you lunch. Worst of all, you don't think you mind.

You hold out the half—sticky, guilty fingers and all.

Seungcheol wordlessly accepts it. There's no surprise or confusion—he smiles, you say cheers, and you both take a bite.

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On weekends, the Korean place down the street from your college apartment sold corn dogs until 3 AM. That was when words came easy and love came easier.

It was with sugar all over your nose, eyes pressed to the once forgiving half-moon, where you told Mingyu you would become a writer.

The thing about youth is that it can float anything, no matter how holey, desperate it was. So you sailed through college, that gasping hope wound tight in your fist. Then you started freelancing, just in time for Mingyu’s soft open. You wanted to write, but more importantly, you wanted some way, any way to be useful to the person who had given you so much.

In retrospect, there was no way your crude attempts at actual journalism could ever generate real publicity for him. Not in the heart of New York, where a new restaurant opened every two days and someone wanted to get published every three.

So you eventually sank, and so did Mingyu, leaving you with all this creased, no good love in your chest to shrivel up with nowhere to go.

All of that landed you here. A degree, a dream job, and a laundry list of accolades, but the fruit of that love still hangs heavy and joy-rot on the vine, as you wait for it to be good enough for the taking.

Ironically, it reminded you of cooking. No one ever teaches you when to stop, and now every other joint has dry-aged steak and some version of a three-day demi glacé. But at least demi glacé tastes good—you don't even know what the fuck you're doing some days, and the feeling's never been worse than now, waiting on a call you were supposed to get two days ago.

The phone rings, just in time to distract you from the top button of Seungcheol's fitted shirt, which looks like it's holding on for dear life. He's currently deep in conversation with Mina from design, but every so often, he'll glance your way to see if you're just free enough to be bothered.

The unspoken perils of working late—less people around to pester on Wonwoo's dime.

Mina stuffs her laptop in her bag and checks her watch. Strike three for Seungcheol.

Working Hard Or Hardly Working: A Guide To Office Romances. You're surprised he hasn't written that one yet. Maybe Joshua shot it down.

"Hello?" The dial tone breaks into the warm, risen-bread voice of the woman you know to be the owner of one of your favorite hole-in-the-wall noodle spots. The Friday night after your review was published, there was a line out the door. It honestly felt like a no-brainer to you, and you had no hesitation telling the owner that you were sure her place would become a local mainstay. You watched her crow-footed eyes go moony and you couldn't help but picture the day your yellowed newspaper would be posted up on the wall, framed and prophetic.

You're ready to profusely apologize for not stopping by—truthfully, no bone broth has come close to hers. Instead, she apologizes to you, which you aren't sure is flattering or a sign something terrible has happened.

You hope it's the former, but you should have known that hoping has never been enough.

She tells you that she closed the doors to her restaurant yesterday. It all comes spilling out, one gut punch after the other, the bills and the empty tables and how things just weren't the same the year after your review was published. She thanks you for your time, your writing, and your belief, and then she hangs up.

Not a thing in your body feels capable of moving. All the phone static passes right through you until the week's canned up dread balls up in your throat and some darker-than-black feeling swallows you whole.

The fluorescent ceiling lights sear into you. You think you're going to cry, and that's the last thing you want.

To anyone else, it wouldn't be that serious. Restaurants close all the time, and you know an entry in your silly little column is a far cry from a Hail Mary. But all you can think of is Mingyu’s neon sign on 5th and 40th and the two pairs of hands that had to take it down. You think your fingerprints are still on it, right over the blue shock of the I and the N.

One more dream taking on water, and once again, you're at the sad, cruel center of it.

You try to imagine the gumpaste walls, bumpy and water-stained. Maybe a pale square where your review used to hang.

No, you're definitely going to cry.

Fuck this, fuck work, fuck the article. And fuck Seungcheol, who's packing up his annoying, jingly messenger bag and is the only thing standing between you and an empty office to lose your shit in.

You squeeze your eyes shut and try to remember if you're wearing waterproof mascara today. Unfortunately, the cowbell of Seungcheol's bag sounds like it's catching up to you, and, like it or not, you are two shaky breaths away from breaking down in front of the last person in the world you want to see.

"Final touches on another titillating piece about pineapple on pizza?"

You have no stomach for yelling at him. You can't even look at him. Instead, you bury your head in your hands and tell him to never use the word titillating again.

"A little too soon to play editor, in my humble opinion."

You don't reply. You're trying to scare him off without really scaring him off because god knows you've done that with enough people. Either way, he's calling you a crazy bitch at the next holiday party. You can just hear it.

But you should've known Seungcheol, of all people, doesn't flinch at a little silence. You still feel him hovering behind you, probably wondering if it's the half-full vanilla protein shake on your desk that's turned you sour. Or if you'll really make good on your threat to shank him with the plastic knife you keep in your top drawer.

Just walk away, you think. Go the fuck home.

Seungcheol, who gets paid to play cupid like it's fantasy football, would never understand that bite of the dial tone. Not like that. Half an orange is a hell of a toll to pay for your unfortunate work-related trauma.

You count the seconds till he walks away.

One. Two. Three.

Four is cut short because instead of doing what he should have done and left, he places a hesitant hand at the base of your neck, between your shoulder blades.

"Hey, you ok?"

Easy, noncommittal words, but something in you cracks. You don't know what it is—maybe it's because it's late and you're running on nothing, maybe it's because you can't remember the last time a hand was so warm.

And so, against your better judgment, you lift your streaky, raccoon-eyed face (definitely didn't use waterproof today) from your hands to look at the same eyes you looked at not more than a month ago and swore at.

You're glad you have no idea what you look like, because it's bad enough that all the corners of Seungcheol's face fall.

"Whoa," he breathes.

Now he'll know when to leave me alone, you think, but then that hand slides to your shoulder and his expression becomes impossibly soft and what you thought was confusion, pity even, dips into affection, stinging and raw.

"Listen, I—," he clears his throat nervously. Perhaps he's running through his repertoire of Wikihow phrases to say to a sad person, but you, inexplicably, don't believe that. "I don't know what's going on, but if you, you know, ever needed to talk…" Then he points to himself because that's probably the longest he's gone without attempting to tell a joke.

You're two and a half shaky breaths into this conversation, and the likelihood you will start crying has not changed. If anything, the odds have gotten much worse because the stubbornness of Seungcheol's expression is fooling you into thinking he actually cares. The illusion is comforting—after all the fighting and sabotage and inconveniences, he's still made space for you. That, or he's keeping his enemies close.

Then his thumb rubs over the plane of your collarbone, and all the little walls and hurdles and dams and shields in you drop.

Close friends, closer enemies, and the infinitesimal space between you and Seungcheol.

You'll blame your sorry state of mind for what you're about to do because you can't really cope with any other explanation. That's a tomorrow problem.

Today, you trust Seungcheol. Today, you tell him not everything, but enough.

"Forgive yourself," he says. And before you protest and tell him, through the waves of tears and snot and lightheadedness, that your heart has yet to catch up to the rest of you, he interrupts you before you even start. "I get it. Just try."

You’re all too familiar with his sugar-floss, candy-coated platitudes that make everything seem so simple, but he looks you in the eye, or somewhere even deeper than that, with so much belief, it's contagious.

The words are ripped out from under you. All you can do is what you wanted to do in the first place. So you cry, and when Seungcheol takes you into his arms, at first tentatively and then all at once, you cry even harder.

"Is this ok?" he asks, so quietly, you almost don't hear him.

"Yeah, I-I think so."

You let him hold you, and all the noise and the heat and the static fades into a hum. His chin finds the top of your head and you let him do that too.

Neither of you say anything more. You don't need to.

All that matters is the welcome sound of someone else's heartbeat, a kind hand in your hair, and Seungcheol, with none of the charms and boasts and failed, half-baked insults he hides behind.

Just him, and you decide you like this version best.

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The emotional hangover you wake up with rivals that of every vodka-flavored morning you had when you were in college, plus another two shots.

There is nothing worse than the aftermath of a particularly bad episode of oversharing. There's a reason you don't talk about your personal life at all, but something about Seungcheol makes every single thing claw its way back up your throat.

A need to prove yourself. A tiny, whispering hope that if you give a little, you'll get a little in return. Or your pride, the familiar knife you keep wedged into your side. A million excuses rattle around in your head, but nothing will ever take away the fact that it felt good.

Shields down, heart bleeding—never did you think that's how you would find yourself in a state where you actually liked Seungcheol. It felt good to be taken seriously, to say that all the talk about foie gras and peppercorns and microgreens was just tableside service for a great love and an even greater apology. And you'd like to think somewhere between the tears and the linen of his shirt, you were finally understood.

Just try. The words, sun-warmed stones, float in the hollow of your chest. It felt a little more possible, coming out of Seungcheol's mouth, with that dumb, resolute expression of his.

You don't even know if you would do the same for him. If he came to you, rosy-eyed and breakdown-adjacent, would you drop everything and listen to him? Clearly his problems ran deeper than a pretty girl not calling him back, but you had never really cared to listen.

And that's something you'll give Seungcheol credit for—he puts up with you, with everything, really, albeit with clumsy hands and the mask of reluctance.

You roll onto your side to reach for your phone. There's a text from Jeonghan asking if you're still up for grabbing drinks this evening. (Always). You have your final interview at 2. (Thank god).

And no text from Seungcheol. (Damn.)

Somehow this is disappointing, which makes your day that much worse. Maybe the runny mascara wasn't as flattering as you thought.

8 Totally Normal Texts To Send When You're Overthinking.

Not a good headline for a worse situation. Honestly, you shouldn't care, but now you're here, staring at your phone and undecided on if you even want Monday to come or not.

You'll order one (or three) margaritas tonight. You'll ask Jeonghan about his upcoming trip to Seoul. You'll make your favorite overnight oats and you'll go to sleep and Sunday will pass just the same.

You won't think about Seungcheol's arms around you or his head on top of yours or the way he insisted he would drive you to the subway so you didn't have to walk. You almost brushed against his hand on the gear stick and the nearness made you want to throw up.

But you're not thinking about it. You can't. Not without falling in love just a little.

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"Here. Drink."

You set two cups on the table before sitting face-to-face with Seungcheol, who decided to roll up to a coffee date in a somehow flattering polo and slacks.

But it's not a date—you're just talking. It's a meet-up. Not a hangout, which sounds too familiar, and definitely not a date.

Yesterday did not go as planned. Margarita-buzzed and under Jeonghan's terrible influence, you texted Seungcheol. Just to clear up some stuff, you told yourself. Friday night's like a scab, and you just can't help coming back to it.

"So, you're a coffee connoisseur too, huh?" Seungcheol says, tipping his head to the side.

"Not nearly," you reply. "Just wanted to pay for something for once. I'm pretty sure I owe you at least fifty of these."

"I'll hold you to it." He's doing that thing where it's like he stares past you. It's the most impressive eye contact on the planet, and it's making you nervous.

Then the silence, once welcome, becomes awkward—the air turns stiff, clinging to all the things you haven't said yet.

You play chicken with the idea of being an emotionally intelligent person and just talking about what most certainly is on everyone's mind right now. The cup between your hands is burning your palms. Seungcheol smiles.

"I'm—" The exact moment you start, the words crinkle up on your tongue and all the walls come back up again. It's a terrible, inevitable instinct. "I'm sorry. For Friday."

"For…what?" Seungcheol pauses mid-sip to say this. "Also, this coffee is really good."

Arabica, orange, and honey, you want to say. But you can't deflect this time. Somehow Seungcheol has cornered you into this tiny cafe chair with that disarming grin and an overabundance of patience.

"Everything, I guess. You were just trying to leave."

"No, I wasn't." And he laughs, which makes your stomach fold over trying to figure out what there possibly is to laugh at. "I actually liked getting to know you. You…care a lot. And I didn't expect that."

Seungcheol's sincerity staggers you. You could ask what the hell he just meant by all of that, but you decide to take him for his word. You think you've experienced the most honesty from him in the past three days than you have in the entire span of time you've known him, and it almost feels like a privilege.

"Thanks…?"

"Don’t let it go to your head, though," he adds, as if to erase what he just said. "Can't have you walking around the office with a bigger stick in your ass."

"Poetic." You sigh. Once again, the illusion is shattered. You wonder if his kindness has a time limit. "How's your article coming along?"

"Nice try," he replies. "I'm not that easy."

"You're literally the definition of easy."

"Is that a compliment?" There's that challenge in his eyes again, that same look that he gave you outside Wonwoo's office. "You did ask me out on a date, despite saying that you'd rather eat glass. So I guess either there's a half-eaten plate in your trash or you've finally come to your senses."

"This is not a date. Dream on."

"You're right. This isn't a date." He leans forward on his elbows. "Just like our dinner date wasn't a date."

"It wasn't."

"Of course. If it was, I'd be asking stuff like…Where you're from. But I already know—h, e, double hockey—"

"Chicago."

"Same difference."

Your conversation continues as such.

Not a date, but where'd you go to college? Not a date, but do you have a pet? Not a date, but can I walk you home?

You realize your talk in his car two weeks ago involved everything but your pasts, but you suppose neither of you are the type to unwrap old wounds. Sometimes the bandaid is better on, but, in your case, there's really nothing left to tell.

You divulge that you went to Northwestern for journalism. You have a family tabby, and no, you wouldn't mind being walked home.

You also realize before today, you knew less about Seungcheol than you thought, but there's some give to his secrecy. He went to USC because his parents wanted him to. Played football for half of it until he tore his ACL and got adopted by the sports section of the school paper. He even captained the advice column for three semesters—something he wants to return to, but you're happy to tell him you wouldn't trust his advice as far as you could throw him. (What was your alias? Samuel. Sounds kinda like Seungcheol, huh? You say no. He laughs.)

After circling the same park three times, you reach the doorstep of your apartment building. You cycle through some one-liners to end on a high note, but none of them seem quite right.

It's not a date, but you've noticed Seungcheol keeps glancing at your lips, and it almost seems like one.

It's not a date, but Seungcheol asks some stupid question about if coffee could be considered tea, which you start to answer before you are rudely interrupted.

First, the bump of his nose against yours, then his lips, slow, insistent, dizzying. Your heart jumps all the way to your throat and you think there's so much heat in your cheeks that he can feel it.

It's not a date, but Seungcheol just kissed you and you liked it.

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The next time you see Seungcheol is in the elevator to the newsroom on Monday.

He sticks his dumb, big arm out of the cabin to hold the door open for you, and his smile bruises your overripe heart.

"Hi," he says, sneaking a glance like a guilty child.

"Hi."

The floor indicators flicker like fireflies, one by one. He sidesteps toward you so that your shoulders touch. You watch the 4 crawl to 5. The air in the cabin is sticky, electric.

And as if taking a great big dive, you kiss him, a fleeting, tender thing that you rolled around in your head for a good thirty minutes earlier this morning—and you never thought the fruit of overthinking could be so sweet.

The elevator dings.

Before the doors open to your floor, Seungcheol slams the close button, takes your face in his hands, and kisses you again.

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You have three reasons to get drunk.

1. It's Friday.

2. You finished your article.

3. You and Seungcheol are no longer mortal enemies, but now you don't know what you are.

(The other day, you both worked late, and he ordered takeout to the office. You sat crosslegged on his desk as he tried to explain what a touchdown was and why he was obsessed with the Steelers. Normally a two hour long conversation about football would be a punishable offense, but that night he made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt the next day.)

After Wonwoo's dinner with corporate, he went to the market across the street and picked up a few handles of soju and the fattest bottle of cheap vodka you've ever seen.

You're all getting a raise—you guess the Thai must have worked out well, although Wonwoo must have struck out with Yerim since he's spending his Friday night drinking with you guys instead.

So you get drunk.

Drunk enough to tune out of Jihyo from Sports giving Wonwoo dating advice—riveting, if not for your near double vision—and follow Seungcheol to the staff bathroom.

"Anyone—," you manage. His lips are hot on your neck, and every dizzy neuron in your body seems to be reaching, grasping for him. "Anyone ever tell you that your forearms look really good when you roll up your sleeves?"

"All the time," he replies, and he swallows the laugh right off of your tongue.

"You are so annoying." Your palm finds his heartbeat, and you revel in how it leaps towards your skin every hurried beat. You don't want to think about how many girls came before you, leant back against the bathroom counter just like this, but having a body against yours never felt so good. You guess that's what a three year hiatus will do to you. "Bet you hear that one a lot too, huh?"

"You got that right."

Another kiss, just a nudge of his nose and you're leaning up to him; your lips feel swollen and warm and somehow they still crave the feeling.

"How is it that we still bump noses," you ask, half words, half air. Seungcheol's hands, skin-greedy, skim over the back of your thighs like they're water and find the swell of your ass.

"You make me impatient." Cheshire grin across heart lips and you're toast. "Anyone tell you that you have a great ass?"

"All the time," you squeak out. It's a lie and a half but who cares. His fingers drag under the seam of your underwear and you've never been so thankful you forgot to wear shorts under your dress.

"Need you," he says, lips flush to the skin behind your ear, and your lower half would give out if you weren't propped against the sink.

The idea of Seungcheol on his knees, your thigh hiked over his shoulder, crosses your mind. He'd probably be really good at head, and that makes you dizzier than any ungodly combination of alcohol would. Or would he press you against the mirror, want your skirt pushed to your waist so he could fuck you from behind?

Anticipation tumbles into anxiety into some primordial, horrible shyness because you haven't had sex in years. You feel hot and damp and sweaty and you can't remember if you shaved or not. Plus, you're already seizing in his arms and he hasn't even touched you for real yet.

"H-home," you breathe. "Let's go home."

"Hm?" His hand slows in the dip between your thighs. "You wanna stop? We can stop."

"No, I just…I just thought it would be better if we went home. To…you know."

"Yours or mine?"

"Mine’s closer," you answer after a considerable amount of mental gymnastics trying to figure out if you're both drunk enough to not mind the mess.

You know your apartment and you know your bed and you know where the bathroom is in case you have to pee. There's a box of condoms under the sink. You have an extra toothbrush for him. Less variables to worry about because nothing else has really gone to plan. You watch Seungcheol misbutton the top two buttons on his shirt and all the fondness in your heart feels like a welcome stranger in your body.

How To Ruin The Moment In One Easy Step!

You feel incredibly horny and guilty all at once, but Seungcheol kisses your cheek on the way out and it's like you're able to breathe again.

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It seems that the car ride to your place sucks all the sobriety back into the both of you.

You're lying stomach-down on your bed, Seungcheol against the headboard with his shirt undone. You're in your bra and your still sticky underwear, and somehow, despite being ready to break your three-year spell, you like this much better.

"Imagine if someone needed to piss," Seungcheol groans. "I think we would have gotten fired. Lifestyle would have no editor."

"I honestly think that's why Seungkwan was standing outside for so long."

Upon hearing this, Seungcheol's eyes shoot open. If your phone wasn't charging, you would take a picture. He fell asleep on your shoulder in the car, and now, even with all the affection you can muster, you can only describe his hair as broom-adjacent. Einstein-core. How far you've fallen from grace.

"Don't worry, he won't say anything." And as you watch the color return to his face, you add, "Also, it's not that I didn't want to have sex, I just…" you trail off, hoping he'll get it even though you're making no sense.

"No, it was the right call. I wanna do it when we're both sober."

It smooths your frayed-out nerves knowing that none of this was a performance or a test, just two shy, touch-starved people stumbling in the dark.

"Lemme guess—this is just a typical Friday night for you."

"Flattering but no," Seungcheol replies, grinning something stupid. "Do you always spend this much time wondering what I'm doing?"

"No!" His hands, once busy with scrunching up the fabric of your bedsheets, now find yours, and he runs a careful thumb over your knuckles. You notice he has the care-worn hands of a line chef, or maybe even a baker, which is funny because you don't even think the man knows how to turn on an oven. "I dunno. You just seem so experienced. What about all of those other girls?"

He flips your hand over, tracing the creases of your palm.

"Just dates. Nothing serious."

You want to ask—What about us? Are we serious? But you swallow it all down. You watch Seungcheol's eyes, midnight-weary, fall back upon you, and it feels like he's trusted you with something important.

"Don’t get it twisted, though," he adds, before yawning big and wide without covering his mouth. "I'm a loser, not a virgin. Definitely not."

You bite back a laugh. Killer journalist bio, but that's something to pitch next content meeting.

"Definitely a loser. I think you make me a loser by association."

"Good. So we're both losers. I like that." He smiles at you with so much warmth, it makes your heart physically hurt. Then he clamps down another yawn. "God, I'm exhausted. I think if we fucked in the bathroom, I'd have passed out. Or pulled my back."

"Then sleep," you chide, shucking a pillow at him. "Also take your shirt off. I don't like outside clothes on the bed."

"Say less," Seungcheol says. "I’ll blow your back out another day. Save the date." Between your almost audible gulp and his unfortunately attractive physique, you almost forget the place you're in-between.

Did everyone fit into his arms? Did he lift a hand for just anyone? Two silhouettes in the lamplight—was that how every day with him ended? Or just you, the only other person competing with him for his dream job? The convenient reality scares you.

The thought never seems to cross Seungcheol's mind. His head hits the pillow, and he's out like a light. But not without a not-so-subtle scoot to your side of the bed, near enough that the heat of his skin plays off yours.

You lean into it, liking how your skin buzzes with the closeness.

You're lulled by the sway of Seungcheol's breathing behind you—probably the most quiet he'll ever be. The moonlight oozes into the room; sleep comes over you like water, a slow, gentle wash.

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You can't remember the last time you cooked for two.

You open your fridge, and the hollow insides stare back at you. Rows of condiments and two water bottles. You have finally reached K-drama CEO status.

"Is this the part where I get kicked out?" Seungcheol says, shrugging his shirt back on as he walks out of the bedroom.

"This is the part where I cook breakfast for you."

"Really? You don't have to." He sounds genuinely surprised, which tips your heart a little off-axis.

"I want to," you reply, double checking the fridge as if opening it a second time would repopulate it. "That's what people do when they care about each other."

"Or if they're trying to poison you."

"Will you just let me do something nice for you?" You yank your head out to glare at him, and he looks stung.

"Thanks." He says it after so much pause that you wonder if this is the first time someone has done this for him. You wish you had a better offering, but surely the man with the worst palate in the world could spare his judgment for one meal. "No really, 'cause I am starving."

You let him bask in the rare glory of the unobstructed refrigerator light while you rummage through the pantry for a plan B.

"Holy shit. You live like this?"

"Not always. It's been…a week." All you have is the ramyun Mingyu likes, which feels like a weird, culinary betrayal. But you're hungry, and Seungcheol is eyeing a strange bag in the freezer that you don't even remember putting there. "You good with ramyun?"

"Honestly, I'll eat anything," he whines, gnawing on the ice straight from the freezer drawer.

At least he's self-aware. But he makes all the spaces Mingyu left behind seem a little less empty, and you can't find it in you to be mad at that.

You wait for the water to boil and Seungcheol finds a seat at your tiny dinner table, a misaligned, wobbly product of Mingyu’s inability to read an Ikea manual.

"I'm hoping your week got better?" Seungcheol asks, referring to your capital W week.

You tentatively nod before dropping the noodles in.

"Of course it did—you woke up to me in your bed. Can't get better than that."

"Actually, it's because I finished my article yesterday."

Seungcheol pauses before laughing to himself. "Congrats," he replies, now wiggling the table on its bad leg. "Can't say the same for myself."

you watch the starch-foam wash over the mouth of the pot, precariously close to the edge. You overfilled it, which mildly surprises you until you consider that you're cooking double the food.

There's a stretchy, anxious tumble in your stomach. It's not like you were expecting him to cheer or anything, but it just reminds you that you are, still in fact, competitors. When all of this is said and done, one of you is losing, and from every angle, it seems like quite the death knell for whatever you've got going on now.

It's a pity because you actually kind of like this arrangement. If Seungcheol was in your banged-up flea market chair next Saturday morning, you wouldn't be mad. Maybe you would even make him waffles. From scratch, even.

"What, too many dates to cover?"

He laughs again, somehow to no one in particular. "Something like that."

Past the bruising swell of his smile is the much sharper, more unforgiving edge of an unspoken hurt that you're neither trusted with nor owed, and yet you refuse to drop it. What about me? It feels like you're almost there, wrapped around something bigger, a scoop you can't pull your stubborn teeth out of.

"Is there a reason none of those were serious? Come on."

"What's so wrong with that?" And when you don't say anything, he says, "Trust me, it is never that serious."

His voice ticks up at the end like a teenager trying to play cool and the noodle water boils up around your chopsticks as you try to get your portion cooked through.

You won't—can't—turn to face him. You committed to the line, and now you must see it through, no matter how bad an idea it may be.

"That's not true," you finally squeeze out, finding the right footing for your voice. "It was serious for me. I'm sorry it wasn’t for you."

The table stops rocking.

"I'm glad. Really." He claps his hands together like a cruel punctuation mark, and it's then you remember that the only person as ill-tempered as you happens to be sitting two feet away.

Like an injured animal, your heart wants to cower back into your chest. You knew this was a mistake—this being everything—but an open wound can't help but bleed and your pride can't do without seeing the knife.

"Look, I don't know what your problem is." The pot hisses, astringent and pleading, beneath your fist. "I don't know what happened with your love life, but don't take it out on me."

"You asked."

"Yeah? Well, what is this?" You turn to face him, feeling the air between you tense, pulled like a rubber band. "You can't sit in my kitchen and tell me you don't care about whatever this is."

After all of the terse meetings, elevator spats, and foul-mouthed encounters in the parking lot, you can now recognize the fresh twist of Seungcheol's mouth and the livewire of a temper you've become so familiar with.

"Who said I didn't care? I'm just tired of you trying to lecture me about my life. I—"

"I'm not lecturing you, I just know you can't really believe what you're saying." Every word stumbles out, trembling and doe-legged, barely audible over his attempts to interrupt you. "There's nothing wrong with admitting you were in love with someone. And if you can't, I just feel really fucking sorry for you."

There’s an incredulous look in Seungcheol's eyes. But it's the worse part of you, ruthless and hungry for acceptance, that makes you say, "Maybe the fact that nothing lasts is your fault."

"Oh, really?" Seungcheol's voice, half-laugh with none of the warmth, rips through you. "You're really gonna act like you're better than me? As if you don't write in your pretentious little column every week, just waiting for your ex to read it and decide he wants you back again?"

There’s a red hot flash behind your eyes and everything inside you feels like it breaks at once.

"You know, at least I had someone who cared about me. Can't say the same about your miserable, sorry ass. Now get the fuck out of my apartment."

"Wh—"

he stands up, table croaking underneath his fists, and you realize you've crossed a bridge that can never be uncrossed.

"Get. Out."

It feels like a stitch in you has come undone. The water has long boiled over the pot and there's no joy to be found in watching Seungcheol stumble over his pant legs on the way to the door.

"I didn't want Mingyu. I wanted you."

it's not an apology, nor is it an indictment. You don't know why you say it, and you guess Seungcheol doesn't either. The door slams behind him, and all you're left with is a bloated pot of ramyun you never really wanted anyway.

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Celery. Red wine. Short rib.

If you had one day left on earth, you think you would go grocery shopping. It was like a prayer to you—you could close your eyes and know exactly what aisle had the beef broth, or feel the stone weight of a can of San Marzano tomato paste.

That's one thing you can thank Mingyu for—it's true that you don't love him like you used to, but you refuse to believe that any love worth having is also worth leaving behind.

Fingerling potatoes, the red ones. A Vidalia onion.

You recite your shopping list, slowly, quietly, a rosary.

Baguette is the next item, with a question mark next to it because sometimes your local bakery sells out after 3.

You pass by, expecting to see the shop window cleared out. Instead you see a familiar crown of cowlicked black hair and a horribly well-worn grin that only looks good because it's on Choi Seungcheol's face.

He's paying for a pretty girl's sourdough, and thyme, rosemary gets washed out by a dizzying riptide of heartache.

It was never personal, you tell yourself. Just another date. That's the angle.

You think it hurts a little less, knowing that it all was a business transaction. A long interview.

The thyme is next to the dill. The rosemary is next to the chives, at the end of the shelf.

You watch Seungcheol lean over the tiny cafe table to take a sip of his date's Americano. Did he always laugh like that? Were you really any different?

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Monday feels tilted.

There's the usual gust of cinnamon sugar and cold brew—today's offering from the interns, who have begun to master the art of pressing the elevator buttons with full hands. Wonwoo is wearing his Monday outfit, a wrinkled cream button up under a navy blue sweater vest. Your cubicle is empty, just the way you like it, save for the ass-shaped spot cleared off on the desk edge.

You like days like this, except today you don't and you know exactly why.

"Today's the day," Joshua says, nose buried in a bakery-style muffin, the top pillowing out of the wrapper.

He stares over your shoulder at your article, locked and loaded for submission to copy.

You are not exaggerating when you say you would die for these four thousand words. You ate and cried and argued for them in what you can only describe as the worst literary coliseum of your life, and now their (and your) fate rests in Joshua’s massive Mickey Mouse hands and Wonwoo's bespectacled whimsy.

"Well, don't let me stop you." He laughs and then totters away, sucking a crumb off a finger. Just another Monday.

Your cursor hovers over the SUBMIT button. You've always been a little scared of it—unsurprising, since you're also the type to triple read an email before sending it—but there's a new kind of fear boxed in those little pixels.

Last night, you emptied out your freezer. Stuck on the back wall was a neon green sticky note, behind all the bags. See you when you get home, it said. You laughed and then you cried and then you ripped it up because that's probably what Seungcheol was looking at the morning you chewed him out.

All of that heartache must have been good for something. To say you wasted it on a no-love situationship wouldn't do any of it justice, not when all that's left is most definitely a crude shoutout on Seungcheol's next listicle. If you weren't already getting one earlier, you sure are now.

You wonder what you'll be:

10 Signs She Is Clinically Insane.

It's Not You, It's Them!

Help! My Friend With Benefits Isn't A Friend Or A Benefit!

At least that one is funny, although if it's the winning line, you don't think you can ever show your face in the office again.

The beginning and the end and the muddy in-between. Entrenched in all of it was this article and this job, and you'll be damned if you let your misplaced faith get co-opted by a sweaty-palmed Casanova.

(8:19 AM; the smell of summer and dried-down cologne. A hand on your ribcage, just beneath your heart. Good morning, Seungcheol says, as if emerging from a long, wonderful dream.)

You picture the byline with editor tacked next to your name. To run your finger over the ink spackled serif of a paper hot off the press, as if somehow it would radiate the misery you had to endure.

(11:41 PM; jajangmyeon and a pack of rice crackers. Seungcheol had given you his chopsticks because you dropped yours. The hum of the broken light outside Wonwoo's office sings in the silence of an empty newsroom. Your eyes meet, and you don't look away.)

There's a sinking feeling in your chest. You close your eyes and hit submit.

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Ask Samuel!

It's 6 PM on a Thursday and if you weren't already on your last thread, you are now. The angry red of the Daily Trojan website glares back at you from your phone as you step into the elevator with none other than your editor-in-chief.

You've resorted to reading Seungcheol's old advice columns. Not because you miss him, but because you want to know if he was ever a competent writer capable of talking about something other than how to score on a second date.

That's the only way he's beating you.

(There's also no way you miss him. The thought would make you laugh out loud if you weren't standing next to your boss).

One column became four became ten. After thirteen you concluded Seungcheol must have sustained a head injury some time before starting his job here—you can find no other explanation for how someone so generous and intuitive could've gotten lost in the chaff of articles with more pictures than words.

"Congrats," Wonwoo says, seemingly speaking into the void.

"Pardon?" You close out a particularly riveting query about estranged childhood friends to look up at him.

"Congrats."

"F-for what?" You get that head rush again, the same one you got a month ago at the Italian restaurant with Jeonghan.

"The job. You got the position." Wonwoo clears his throat calmly, as if he's not delivering the most important news of your life. "I wanted to let you know in person before we sent out Monday’s email."

For once, you have no words. In a wonderful instant, they are all zapped out of your brain. You feel hot and clammy and anxious all at once and you half expect to close your eyes and see either god or the flare of a hospital light, waking you up from an impossible coma.

"Holy shit," the primordial ooze inside you says instead. "T-thank you."

"No need."

"What about Seungcheol? Does he know?"

"I haven't told him yet, but he should be aware." Wonwoo pauses. "He didn't submit anything."

"What?!"

There are only so many surprises your body can handle. You feel like you are being held together by a fast-unraveling string on a poorly made sweater. Your stomach is somewhere in your feet and you don't even know where your heart is. Part of you is waiting for the elevator to stop so the entire office can jump out of the walls and laugh at you.

"I too was surprised," Wonwoo says, now checking his smartwatch for messages. "He must have changed his mind. No matter—I'm confident you will be an excellent fit."

The elevator jerks to a stop at the first floor. You feel boneless, like a can of cranberry sauce.

"Forgive me, I have a dinner appointment." Wonwoo ends the conversation the best way he can—with his trademark parentheses smile and a nod of the head—and leaves you in the elevator cabin alone.

All the times you've dreamed of this moment, you're tear-dizzy, joyous, fumbling with your phone to call your parents.

Instead you stand motionless, waiting, emptied.

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To make croissants, you fold a slab of butter into a square of yeasted dough. You roll it out thin and then fold it into itself before leaving it to rest in the fridge. Then you take it out again, roll it, and fold it. You do this until you've forgotten how many times you folded it and you no longer crave croissants.

When you were five, you pressed your nose to the window of your favorite patisserie and decided this is how your mind works.

You've had ample time now to flatten out Saturday morning, to watch all the little layers of doubt and loathing form, and now you're sick of it. It's not often you're star witness to your own unhappiness, but, as if you were called to the stand, you can easily play back the moment you lit the match and then watched everything explode.

You're not sure what either of you were expecting. A playboy and you, who loves so insistently, almost as if out of spite—there is truly no reality in which it makes sense. The fact that you fought over a literal pot of ramyun only proves this.

And now he's saddled you with the final blow. The position of your dreams with none of the glory because he gave up.

He gave up.

None of this should matter to you.

You're standing outside the office, waiting for your ride to your celebratory dinner (this time, on Jeonghan). The little headline man in your brain is silent for once. Instead, you try to enjoy the breeze, honeyed with late June, and not dwell on the horrible twist in your stomach every time you think about your new position. It's been 24 hours since you found out but it is no less raw.

It's then that you catch Seungcheol, creeping out the double doors of the office like some sort of criminal. You're not sure if it's the plod of his Sasquatch feet or that bag you hate so dearly, but you could recognize that walk from anywhere.

His pace quickens when you turn to face him—he's running away. You won't grant him the satisfaction. Not when he's fucked up what little you had left, and then some.

"You're an idiot, Seungcheol."

That does the trick.

"Funny way of saying hi," he responds, bracing himself on the sidewalk as if you're about to hit him.

"Why didn't you submit anything? What the fuck were you thinking?"

"What does it matter to you? You got the position."

"Look, I—" You shut your eyes, feeling the frenetic ice-cream churn of your brain try to put together a million broken up words. "I'm sorry for Saturday. But I never wanted to scare you off from the job. You deserve it as much as I do, and, as much as I hate to say it, I care about you too fucking much to watch you throw away your shot."

Saying the words is like cutting something loose from your chest, a million strings coming undone.

Seungcheol takes a deep, unsteady breath. You watch the crest and fall of his shoulders and the inescapable tar pits he calls eyes get big and shiny.

"No, I—" He pulls himself from your gaze. "I'm sorry. I should have never said that to you. And I should have never treated you like that."

The silence between you ripples, as if after a long rain.

"I was scared. A long time ago, I threw myself into a relationship. I thought we had something really, really good, and then I found out she was also seeing someone else."

Being right never felt so bad. It's even worse that something you would look forward to—the I told you so, the jokes really write themselves—no longer holds any satisfaction, only a sense of loss and a terrible urge to make it right again.

"And it's not right, but I decided that it was a mistake to take chances like that again. And it was fine, fun even, going on all of these casual dates and getting paid for it. Then you just had to mess it up."

"H-how?"

"You were so dead-set on convincing me otherwise. You wouldn't let it go, not with your weird sayings and the way you talked about your ex and when you told me you were making me breakfast. I started believing you, and it really fucking scared me."

There's a sharp pain in your head. It feels like, at once, you were skinned like a fruit. Like the interlude between dream and waking, all the sheets of sleep yanked from your person.

"What…what about the article?" you ask, scrambling. You don't really want to contend with what he just told you. You don't think you can.

"You deserved it more. And you really love what you do. I used to think it was all bullshit, but I was wrong."

You take a hard swallow. The image of Seungcheol, head bowed, a nervous hand on the back of his neck, swims in front of your eyes.

"Whatever. I don't even know what I'm saying anymore," he laughs, mirthless.

"No, wait," you say. "I-I also…never took you seriously, not even when I should've. You know, I read your advice columns. Crazy, I know."

"I do have to say that is one of your more insane claims."

"No, I thought, they were actually, you know…really good." You watch him blink, mouth already twisting up as he fights a smile. "What I'm trying to say is that I think we messed up. In a lot of ways. But I want to be friends again. Or at least not enemies."

Seungcheol takes a long pause before he sticks his hand out.

"Choi Seungcheol. Writer. It's nice to meet you."

Some force, as if you had always been connected, pulls your skin to his. You shake his hand for the very first time, and starting over never felt so good.

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"You're booking Eleven Madison for the office dinner again, right?"

Wonwoo pops his head into your office, his Monday uniform now festive with a holiday tie. Today, it's snowmen with glasses.

"Naturally," you reply. "Unless you have plans on that Friday."

You're referring to last week, when Wonwoo took a call in the middle of a staff meeting and revealed that yes, he would most definitely be available for drinks with Yerim that evening. He ended the meeting thirty short seconds later, and you think you saw him skip to the elevator.

He laughs, deep and caramel. "Not this time. Also—don't forget to review those job applications. Sent them to your email."

Before you can tease him again, he leaves, and you are forced to look at your teeming inbox, the only unfortunate side effect of your new position. But you've never been happier, and a hundred new unread emails never seemed so wonderful. The first time Jeonghan saw you in your new office, you were so giddy he thought you were coming down with something.

You take a hefty sip of today's coffee (ginger, molasses, cinnamon). On the side of the cup, the one you keep facing away from the door, reads SEUNGCHEOL and OAT, in loopy marker letters.

After you shook hands in the parking lot, you agreed to take it slow. You thought bringing everything to a simmer would cure you of your affection, but it wasn't even a month before Seungcheol was back in that same seat in your kitchen, eating the blueberry waffles you promised him.

But if slow meant long phone calls and the nervous twine of your hands after an ice cream date, then you think you like slow. You could do slow for a while.

He's taken to bringing you coffee in the morning. He claims it's your editorial right, but you think he just likes having an excuse to barge into your office. (And close the door behind him. And kiss you. But that's aside the point.)

Plus, Seungcheol's had plenty of legitimate reasons to be in your office. The newest one is the launch of Ask Sunny! , which you think is the best idea he's had since deciding to get you coffee every day. He spent the last few days campaigning to reuse his old alias, but you're pretty sure he was just looking for reasons to argue with you.

"Afternoon, boss."

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. You always seem to learn the hard way with Seungcheol.

He swaggers in, ear-to-ear smile on his face, before taking a seat at the designated corner of your table.

"I think I like this desk better," he says, folding at the waist so he can lean close to you. Instead of reminding him it's the same desk, you just choose to make space for him, you let him press his nose to yours.

"Friendly reminder we're at work."

"Everyone's at lunch, genius."

He interrupts you with just a touch of his lips, which should be considered no less than a war crime by now.

"You are the worst."

"Not what you said last night. Not even close." He places another wet kiss on your nose before sliding off the table edge to his feet. There's a horrible warmth in his eyes as he watches you very clearly remember what exactly he's referring to. (A wandering hand. A cherry. Dark hair, wound through your fingers). "Anyway, I've got serious problems to solve. Or should I say Sunny? I still think we should have gone with Samuel."

"Executive decision," you tease. "Now if you don't need anything, scram. Out of my office."

"Just wanted to remind you I made reservations for us at Avra today," Seungcheol says, lingering in the doorframe with the shit-eating grin he tends to sport nowadays. "I'll even let you order."

There's no fighting the familiar bloom of laughter in your chest. It boils up, sparkling and citrusy, as you roll your eyes and watch Seungcheol return to his desk no less starry-eyed than how he walked in.

If cooking is a language, then love is the words, and you finally think you're learning to speak them.

You open the email at the top of your inbox: Seungcheol's last draft of the article he never published. You urged him to let you consider it for the next issue, and he finally caved (although you're learning that he really doesn't take much convincing when it comes to you).

Eat, Play, Love: A Guide.

Maybe you'd put it through. Maybe.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

#mine #seungcheol #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol fluff #seungcheol x you #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #scoups x reader #scoups fluff #scoups x you #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol scenarios #scoups imagines

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lessi-lover · 3 months ago

Text

illicit affairs II l.williamson x reader

votes are in and it's romantic szn, this is as much as my tiny brain can handle rn enjoy x

★ illicit affairs II l.williamson x reader

you jumped and let out a yelp as you heard somebody rap their hand roughly against your front door, the familiar voice of your sister ringing through the entrance as she twisted her keys into the lock and popped the door open quicker than you could even get yourself off the couch.

"mil! i told you to return those keys last week!" you groaned in annoyance, snatching the silver piece out of her hand before she could slither it away and tucking it into your backpocket with a shake of your head. the older blonde giving you an amused look before she made her way to your kitchen.

"just let yourself inside, no worries! it's not like i was in the middle of something!" you muttered sarcastically, pushing the door closed behind you as you followed your sister who had apparently decided that she was now entitled to entering your home whenever she wanted.

"oh sis! how wonderful for you to invite me over for dinner!" she cheered, yourself surprised at her sudden appearance as she enfluged you in a tight hug. "hi mil." you wheezed, using your hands to push yourself further away as she restricted your breathing.

"how are you?" she asked, grabbing your shoulders in her hands as she stepped backwards. "i'm doing good, why are you here mil?" you laughed and she only confirmed your suspicion with the way she danced around or more like ignored your question.

"you've really made this place up haven't you?" camilla admired as she walked around your living area, pausing to take note of the time you had clearly spent cleaning up your apartment over the summer break. the small decorations and framed photos that littered your house catching her eye as she filtered through the living room.

the last time your sister had been over was when you'd just moved out your childhood home and the place was filled to the ceiling with unpacked boxes and unpackaged furniture, which meant she promptly left accordingly when she saw your pleading eyes for her to help you carry some heavy things up the front steps.

"thank you? what are you really doing here camilla?" you questioned as camilla took priority on your couch, popping her sneakers up on the sofa, before you could push the dirty soles off as you grimaced at how in a total of five minutes your sister had completely ruined what was meant to be a lovely afternoon at home by yourself.

"what? your favourite sister can't come over just to see you? i don't always want something, i promise you!" she frowned, looking at you expectantly as she patted down the spot next to her. "mhm okay." you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as you took the spare place on the sofa.

"first of all, you're my only sister. and second of all, you always want something from me, mil. spill it." your sister tutting as she batted her eyes in innocence, the girl notorious for always coming over to your flat with less than desirable intentions for things you most certainly were not in the right mind for to even entertain.

"fine i'll be honest. there's an event on at the sapphire and i planned to go with a friend from work but she messaged me saying she's gone down with the flu from the kids she was looking after and i need a fast replacement." the blonde rambled on, moving to sling her arm around your shoulder as you gave her an unimpressed look.

"and i thought it would be nice if you came with me instead?" she grinned, smiling as if you would magically agree to go to a bar you hadn't visited in years and in reason, squeezing your shoulder which only made you roll your eyes as you sat back up against the head of the couch.

"so let me get this straight, mil. you broke into my apartment to drag me off to some bar because your coworker went down with the flu and you have no other friends to go with?" you quirked your head in annoyance as all your sister did was smile and nod eagerly at you.

"pretty much, yeah!" she exclaimed, her smile widening as she rested her head against your shoulder. "you’re unbelievable," you sighed, running a hand through your hair as her eyes pleaded for you to say yes and you knew there was no point in arguing with your sister because history stands she always gets her way.

"come on it'll be fun! we haven't had a night out together in ages!" she said, flashing her eyes desperately as you shook your head knowing that she would get you down to the bar either way.

"fine, i'll come. but no funny business trying to set me up with any of your mates like last time. swear on it mil! " you yelled, pushing your finger into her chest in accusation at the last time she successfully got you out the house.

you let her know how much you appreciated her little dating experiment one last time as she crossed her fingers in the air in promise, your sister casually making her way to your bedroom before you could even register what you had agreed to.

as you walked her towards your room the blonde followed closely behind, already deciding which clothes she remembered you owned that she was going to rummaging through your closet to find.

"what are you doing, mil?" you asked, watching as she pulled out various pieces of clothing that you hadn't seen in ages, opting not to go to any clubs during the last few months and instead putting all your efforts into your new internship that you had moved down to london for.

"helping you find something to wear, of course," she said in an obvious tone, holding up different tops she had brought out from your wardrobe and holding them against your chest. you rolled your eyes as your sister continued to bring clothing piece after clothing piece off the hangers and carelessly throwing the ones she deemed 'not suitable' onto your bedroom floor.

"this would look great on you," she tried to convince you. holding up a tight black dress and a pair of ankle strap heels in her hand that you had probably not worn since you were out partying every free night in your first semester of college. "i can dress myself, you know. i'm not five anymore."

you sighed at her choice of clothing, flopping back down onto your bed when the dress in her arms and the determined look on her face didn't falter, only a few seconds later when the dress in her hands made its way to you as she tossed it over your face.

"great then if you're all grown up you can go put this on yourself and then we can go!"

"one strawberry daiquiri please," you ordered at the bar, tapping your phone against the pay machine as the bartender quickly got to work. giving a small smile to the man as he started making your drink you sat down on one of the stools, laying your hands on the table and immediately recoiling your hands from when you felt the stickiness of the counter surface.

"sure thing. you look like you could use something sweet tonight, darling." you nodded with a tight lip, keeping your smile friendly but small enough to signal that you weren't really interested in the man and that he better go try his unhandy pick up lines on another desperate girl tonight. besides he really wasn't your type anyway.

you slumped back into you seat, seeing the obvious guilt in your sister's eyes as she made eye contact with you from across the room. the guy she had met at the door had his arm slung loosely around her waist as they sat together in a barely visible corner by the window, the both of them clearly having had a few drinks and looked hazy as they spoke loud enough for you to hear.

looking around the crowded club although not one you had commonly visited before tonight you felt weirdly comfortable, but it still felt unusual to be back to the scene years later when during your college days you seemed to be here almost every night, chasing after your then boyfriend who came down with his close mates most free evenings.

that relationship had ended in shambles. leaving you with an all to bitter taste for the london nightlife which seemed to had stayed well and truly alive in your time away, as if time hadn't taken it's toll it seemed the same crowd was still hitting the club on a saturday like you could remember.

it was never nice to catch the person you trusted cheating on you only to find out from other club regulars that the affair had been going on for months and they weren't even aware that you were his girlfriend let alone that he had one to begin with.

the betrayal of the guy you had dedicated years of your highschool life to had cut you deep and even now you still found it difficult to fully immerse yourself in relationships that weren't purely just for sexual intimacy and rather deciding to relieve yourself with meaningless hookups and flings to save yourself the tears if somebody decided to break your heart again.

you took one more look at the guy your camilla was still talking to; his curt looks, arrogant smile similar to that of your ex and you couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy at how sure of herself your sister looked and how carefree she looked as she spoke to him.

the scars of your breakup were still fresh on your skin and looking at the man from across the room the memories of those nights spent trying to fix your irreparable relationship came flooding back.

the endless screaming matches, the tearful conversations, and the eventual breakup that had left you unable to feel the need for a relationship again.

"come on, can we dance?" you looked up to see camilla standing in your eyesight, you had clearly missed her walking over as you were so far gone in your thoughts.

the blonde was slightly out of breath and definitely a little tipsy, probably from the fact that as soon as you had entered the building she had been dragged off by the guy she had been stealing air time from for the last thirty minutes, you'd never seen him but he certainly seemed to know your sister.

"really, mil? you've just spent the last half hour with some guy and now you remember me?" you smiled in amusement, adjusting your position at the bar to properly tease the older girl as she almost knocked into the table when she moved closer subconsciously.

"could've sworn you invited me here yourself? or did i dream that?" you teased, poking your sister in the stomach as she declined the bartenders offer for another round with a curt wave of her hand. the blonde shook her head in determination as she continued to coax you out of your seat, her hand sliding around your wrist as she pulled you up.

"oh, come on, sis! it's just for a little fun! you can't spend the whole night sulking over your ex." she decided, grabbing your hand as you lifted the last remains of your drink to your lips and she pulls you away to the dance floor.

"leah you're being a stick in the mud! just go find a lay and quit sulking alone with a beer!" beth grinned, slipping her hand around her friends' ice cold bottle as she moved it across the table. "i was drinking that." leah seethed, giving the blonde a dirty look as her other friend, lia passed the pint back to the blonde with a small minded smile.

"besides. there isn't anyone here i want," she shrugged with a shake of her head. the blonde still not able to find a single person in the entire club that she wanted to take home with her, which was not a common occurrence she would find herself in.

the women kept looking more and more painfully straight the more time she spent in the bar and looking even lesser friendly than when she had first walked in.

and men she could quite easily call her mates all only interested in talking to her about football, which generally speaking was fine but the european champion was looking for any excuse to talk about something other than work, but it seemed she didn't have luck on her side tonight.

and it wasn't going to come any faster than her will to stay at the club for any longer as she continued to drink moodily in a booth behind the dance floor, the dance floor she would certainly not be hitting tonight.

admittedly it wasn't difficult for the english skipper to have a different hook up almost every night and it wasn't an unusual scene for her to have a meaningless hook up running out the back door of her apartment, heels in hand and a skimpy dress from the previous night pulled haphazardly across their chest as they tried to escape the discomfort after what would have been incredible sex had brought in the morning.

the blonde had clocked up quite the reputation at the small pub she and her friends were drinking at tonight and if it wasn't for her taken saturday nights she knows her free minutes would certainly be spent back at the bar with another random girl she hadn't even caught the name of hanging of her lap like every other night.

but something was off about tonight, as if the looks she'd received when her friends had entered the club were enough to tell her that she was known, and it probably wouldn't be as easy for her tonight as it had been the last.

beth leaned over to leah's side with a mischievous grin, her eyes trying to communicate with the blonde although she definitely could not understand what her friend was trying to say. the english woman gave her a raised brow, wondering what beth was up to as she cornered even closer.

the blonde leaned in even closer to leah, her breath fanning against her captain's ear as she pointed towards your hard to look at lonely self sat at the open bar. "what about that one? she's cute and alone and possibly waiting for somebody?" beth suggested, her voice dripping with intent as she nudged leah out of her seat with an insistent push that almost had her falling over.

leah followed beth's eyes, eventually taking in the sight of you sitting by yourself, looking ever so lost in thought as you traced patterns with your nails into the sticky counter beneath your drink, somehow entertained by the small indents that in made into the rough wooden surface.

"cmon. don't go fucking waitresses like usual, she's beautiful lee." beth pressured, nudging her friend when she tried to shrink further down into her seat.

"i don't know, beth." leah replied, glancing at the woman across the room. she really did think you were so gorgeous and maybe that was the thought in the back of her mind stop her from going up to a pretty girl like she usually would. "yes you are, she's exactly your type and she's all alone waiting for her charmer."

the younger blonde sighed, setting her beer down on the table in front of her friends with a resigned thud. "fine, i'll go talk to her," leah muttered, rolling her eyes at beth's triumphant smile and the way she wiggled her eyebrows in encouragement of the footballer finally getting up to talk to a girl like she usually would be found doing so.

straightening her jacket and running a hand through her hair, the blonde made her way over to you, her earlier moodiness dissipating as she approached you and could see your face clearer. noticing the distant look in your eyes and the way you seemed to be in your own world, not even glancing up when she stood in front of you.

leah cleared her throat to get your attention, offering a cocky smile as you finally looked up. "hey, i'm leah." she said, her voice dripping with confidence as she started a conversation you were clearly not looking for. "you're not a regular here are you? just coming down to check out the scene?"

you raised an eyebrow, barely hiding your disinterest in the blonde woman in front of you as she so easily read you like a book. "and if i'm not? do you know something i don't?"

leah leaned closer to you, her smile widening, her minty breath lightly fanning your skin. "just trying to figure out why a girl as gorgeous as you is sitting alone on a night like this one. it's not often I see someone like you in a place like this."

"well, aren’t you charming," you replied. your tone as cool as the drink in your hand. "but flattery won’t get you very far with me. i'm sorry but i'm not really interested." leah chuckled, her grin barely faltering at your words as she sat down next to you, silently signalling to the bartender for a refill of her empty glass, the man only nodding with a sneer as he watched her easily start a conversation with you.

"well, pretty girl." leah began, her eyes sharpened on your face as she tried to take in each any feature. "i promise you're not the first to underestimate how good i am and most of london can confirm that one for you."

"you’re not wrong, i've seen that you make your way around." you admitted, a slight smirk tugging at your lips despite yourself barely knowing anything but the girl's first name, you still found it humorous as she raised a brow in surprise.

"though i’m not sure your special charm is going to cut it tonight." you pouted demeaningly, watching as her jaw tensed and her eyes shifted cockily to her right.

leah tilted her head to the side, a smirk of her own playing on her lips as she shifted closer, her hand resting closely next to yours. "oh, is that so?" she gave you her own pout back, grinning when she watched your eyes swell in her direction again.

"well, you don’t strike me as a woman who turns down a good challenge. what do you say we test that one at home?" you eyed her skeptically, noticing the cocky gleam in her eye.

"are you always this confident at getting women into your bed, or is it just me?" you questioned, as the blonde's drink was finally read and she reached her hand over the bar to retrieve it from the bartender's hand.

"just you, darling." leah said, her smile widening as she finally slid her hand comfortably over yours and you let her lock your fingers together as she brought your entwined hands closer to her body.

"tempting offer." you smile, leaning back into the table and crossing your arms over chest. "but i’m not sure you’ve got what it takes to take me home tonight, leah." leah's eyes darkened, her grip on your hand tightening slightly as she leaned in closer, the warmth of her body radiating towards you.

her lips curled into a knowing smirk, her breath brushing your cheek as she whispered in your ear. “is that a challenge, baby? don't think i could handle you?” and you swore your heart may have fallen right there, her lips brushing against your ear as she pulled back to meet your reddened face.

you tilted your head slightly, eyes narrowing as you studied her face her piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through you, the slight tilt of her chin that hinted at a confidence you were sure had been built from countless nights like this.

there was something undeniably magnetic about her, something that made it hard to look away from her perfectly sculpted face as she stared hard, begging you to look into her eyes even as your mind screamed at you to keep your distance.

“maybe it is challenge.” you replied steadily, though you felt the faintest flutter in your chest that threw you off, a feeling you weren’t quite prepared for as she took your response as a means to keep testing the waters.

you pulled your hand away from hers, the loss of contact making you feel strangely lonely, but you quickly masked it by wrapping your fingers around your glass, bringing it to your lips to take a slow sip.

“so, do you usually get what you want?” you asked, your voice teasing, but there was genuine curiosity beneath it. leah’s eyes sparkled with that recent mischievous glint, and she leaned in just a little, closing the space between you and looking straight into your eyes.

“more often than not.” she said bluntly, her voice poisoning you a dare that you couldn't help but accept. “but i’m always up for a bit of a challenge. keeps things interesting.”

you felt your breath catch, the intensity of her gaze on your body making you lose your focus and you find yourself stumbling to answer back. “i bet it does.” you mumbled before picking up your glass.

leah’s eyes flickered to your lips as you drank, her gaze lingering on the way your mouth curved around the rim of the glass, and she flickered her eyes away when you looked back at her, a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by you.

“what do you do for work, pretty girl?” leah asked, her voice softer now, the cocky edge replaced by her genuine tone as she tried to make conversation with you.

she leaned back slightly, giving you space that wasn't nearly appreciated as much as she thought it was, in fact you missed the feeling of her touch on you from only a few moments ago when her hand was wrapped with yours.

“i’m in marketing,” you replied, your voice calm, though a small part of you wanted to reach out, to reclaim her hand and never let it go. you couldn't deny the feelings this mystery woman was making you feel since the moment she had sat down next to you.

“nothing too exciting, really. mostly just trying to convince people to buy things they probably don’t need.” leah’s lips quirked up in a small smile as she listened to you.

“sounds like you’re pretty good at it,” she admired, the blonde enjoying your company more than she initially thought she would. “i bet you can be pretty persuasive when you want to be.”

you couldn’t help but return the same smile, a low laugh escaping your lips. “i’ve had some practice.” you admitted, the relaxed edge creeping back into your voice as you allowed yourself to settle next to her, to let the conversation flow naturally even if you had some nerves.

“but i’m guessing you’re no stranger to persuasion yourself.” leah shrugged, “comes with the territory.” she replied, but there was something more beneath her words, something you just couldn't figure out.

“i play football," she told you, leaving out the part that she played for one of the biggest and most famous football clubs in europe and was a regular player for her country.

you found yourself studying her, noticing the subtle signs, trying to pinpoint whether she was interested in you, or if this was the same old ploy just to get you into bed with her. the way her shoulders were so defined caught your eyes, the slight marks on her hands, the way she carried herself. all the while, she watched you with curiosity, as if waiting to see how you’d react to being caught staring.

“football, huh?” you noted, “so that’s where the persuasion skills come from. contracts, trying to get the ball passed up the line, that sort of thing?” leah chuckled at your mocking words, her eyes narrowing playfully as she tilted her head in amusement. “something like that,” she replied.

“you know,” leah began, her voice falling lower, “this place is nice and all, but..” she trailed off, her gaze sliding over to the dance floor where people swayed drunkenly to the loud music, lost in their own world of liquid sourced endorphins.

“you want to dance?” you asked, trying to keep your tone casual, but there was no hiding the eagerness in your voice as you locked eyes with the footballer.

“something like that,” leah said with a grin, her hand reaching out to you again, fingers brushing against yours as she pulled you out of your seat, guiding you through the stream of drunken people.

as you found a spot among the other dancers, leah pulled you closer, her ands settling on your waist, the other still holding yours. the music thrummed around you, a steady beat that matched how rapidly your heart was pounding as she snaked her fingers into the cut at the back of your dress.

she was fucking intoxicating and you felt yourself drown in her scent as she pulled your face into her neck, swaying you to music that had slowed significantly since getting on the floor. you let the music guide you, the scene around you reduced to a blur of lights and sound and you ignored it.

leah’s fingers pressed gently against your back, her hands falling down to the curve of your ass as she grinned cheekily and kissed your cheek.

as the song reached its end, leah leaned in close to your face, her lips close to your ear, her breath warm against your skin. “want to get out of here, darling?” she whispered, the words carrying an invitation that sent a shiver down your spine as you thought about what the next few hours would entail.

you pulled back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation that you had read her wrong in the slightest way, but all you saw was that same confident look on her face, only this time her eyes were full of lust.

“yeah,” you breathed out, an excited smile tugging at your lips.

“take me home with you, leah.”

#woso x reader #leah williamson #woso #woso blurbs #woso community #woso fanfics #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson x reader #woso imagine

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hannieehaee · 1 year ago

Note

hi good morning! (or afternoon or evening)

how about a svt scenario thing where you’re an idol (and dating them) and you get injured by a crazy saesang that’s obsessed with your s/o?

basically, y/n is an idol in a popular group and at a fansign event, a saesang rushes towards her and attacks her, injuring her with smth (there’s blood) and vroom hospital etc etc. how would svt react?

idk this has been my brain-worm for the past few days

thank you 😊 ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

a sasaeng attacking their idol!reader gf

content: mentions of stalking, mentions of being attacked, mentions of injuries, mentions of hospitalization, reader is an idol, a lil angsty, etc.

wc: 1559

a/n: thank u so much for ur request! sorry for the delay hehe (these scenarios are assuming ur relationship is public knowledge btw <3)

masterlist

seungcheol -

no one had ever seen him this angry. even his members kept away from him upon noticing his furious demeanor after getting a call from your manager informing him that you had been taken to the hospital to tend to some bruises and scratches you had undergone after one of his stalker fans had quite literally jumped at you from across the table, having made themselves pass as your fan. would not comment on it publicly, simply choosing to cut his promotions short and taking a quick break to tend to you. the only thing to alleviate his anger would be your presence and knowing that you were now safe. would demand both pledis and your own company enforce better security, incredibly frustrated that you even got a single scratch on you due to their negligence.

jeonghan -

not being one to hide his emotions from fans, he would express frustration at it, mentioning it on live when consistently questioned about it. would state his disappointment, but would make it clear this was directed at fans who knew their actions were morally wrong. he would probably not do much about it other than make sure your security amped up, not wanting to get in the way of your own idol career or draw more attention to this, but having your security as top priority. would put extra focus in babying you and tending to you at any and every moment he was off work.

joshua -

he'd be very emotionally affected by it. you'd be able to tell by his quieted down demeanor after the incident that he felt put off by any public appearance, thinking that anyone around him could be a crazed fan who wanted to inflict pain on his loved ones. would continue schedules as normal, but his personality would remain tame for a while, while he recovered emotionally from the guilt he felt at indirectly putting you in danger. he'd feel extremely apologetic towards you, even if you told him you were fine and did not blame him for any of it.

jun -

his lighthearted demeanor would shift immediately. he would take a hiatus, taking you with him to china so he could have you to himself for a month or so. would not care about any repercussions to his idol career, considering your safety the top priority. would become serious for a while, only bringing back his loving and playful personality when interacting with you or any of his other loved ones. would never speak about this publicly once he came back from break, simply acting as if nothing happened. he would've had to demand both your company and pledis amp up any and all security for you the moment you came back from your own hiatus.

soonyoung -

the usually lighthearted and silly boy would turn stoic for a while. he'd never express his frustrations outwardly, but would now feel a constant sense of disappointment at both himself and at any crazed fan who would ever dare even think of putting their hands on you. would be super apologetic to you, begging you to not end it because of this incident. the only thing that would calm him down would be your reassurance that it'd take far more than one obsessed fan to drive you away from him. would dedicate all his free time to you and take on a more protective attitude towards you.

wonwoo -

would probably go on a short hiatus. you were one of the most important people in his life. he had kept the relationship secret as much as he could, but after dispatch outed you two as a couple, you had begun to receive more threats than usual. now not only from your own stalker fans but from his too. would be absolutely devastated he was the cause of your pain. he could never leave you out of his sight again, feeling an innate need to protect you. would stay gone and just be with you for a few months before returning to his idol duties, never speaking publicly about what happened.

jihoon -

pure disgust and annoyance. the same way he calls out sasaengs on live for pestering him with calls, he would bring this up too. saying that he's tried to ignore it but that some things go too far. would feel bad if any other carats felt uncomfortable by his scolding, but would feel so incredibly frustrated the love of his life was put in danger due to someone liking him way too much for safety. scared you might feel like this is too much to deal with, but would respect if you decided the relationship was just not worth the pain. would thank you immensely the moment you told him he's worth all hurdles, that you simply needed better security.

seokmin -

it was rare to see seokmin angry, and he had never been this angry. fans would be able to tell after the incident that his demeanor had shifted completely. would take him about a week or so to go back to his bubbly self while in public, having gotten the scare of his life when he got a call from your manager claiming that an obsessed dk fan had launched at you at a fansign, makeshift weapon in hand as they managed to mangle some of the skin of your arm before being swiftly taken away by security. he wouldn't go on hiatus, but he'd spend every passing minute with you as he apologized and reassured you no one would ever hurt a hair off your head ever again.

mingyu -

would also go on a quick hiatus. he hates calling out crazed fans, knowing it only incites them to do deranged things like this even more, being aware that they'll do anything to get a reaction out of him. so he wouldn't give them one. he would simply step back from idol duties for a while, joining you in your own hiatus as you emotionally (and physically) recovered from the attack. would try and give you an out, telling you that if dating him put you in danger then maybe you should reconsider your options, he would always love you but he would understand. would feel instant relief the moment you cursed him out, telling him a few injuries were not enough to drive you away. he'd swear to never let you out of his sight again.

minghao -

another member who would be extremely angry. would do his best to stand by you and show his support towards you even if it meant putting your relationship even more into the public eye. you would be his one and only priority. he would bring it up at some point in an interview or statement, airing out his frustrations at sasaengs who thought of him as anything more than an idol. would put a brake on fan-idol interactions even more now, now even toning down most of his fanservice to avoid fans getting the wrong idea that he'd ever look their way when he had you.

seungkwan -

just absolutely terrified. he'd never felt more fear in his life than the moment his manager informed him of the news that you were in the hospital due to one of his stalker fans attacking you. would feel incredibly guilty and beg you for forgiveness as he visited you at the hospital. the only relief he felt at the situation would be your insistence in telling him you were fine and that this would not break your relationship. he'd become overly attached and protective of you, demanding his own company to provide security for you, claiming that this was a personal issue and that he would not rest unless you were as protected as possible.

vernon -

would be brooding and cold for a while. he would've dealt with the situation behind the scenes, not wanting anyone to see his reaction, knowing that acknowledging the situation publicly would only cause more crazed fans to try and do the same. he'd back away from the public for a while, only participating in any mandatory schedules and even then he would keep himself hidden in the back as much as possible. would feel a little guilty for technically punishing all fans when it was only a few who acted like this, but would need some time to recover from having put the love of his life in danger.

chan -

this was brand new territory for him, so he would feel absolutely taken by surprise. he never would have imagined someone to try and come after the love of his life, much less under the claim that it was for his own good. no words could describe the guilt he felt at seeing you at the hospital, scratches in your face showing the damage the fan was able to inflict before security pulled them away. would curse at your security team, claiming this couldve been way worse, and that they risked your life. would also apologize for his part in it, knowing that if he was out of the picture this never wouldve happened. would take a short break from idol activities to spend a week with you holed up at a safe location, spending the entire time showing you how much he cared for you and how he would protect you from now on.

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic #seventeen #svt #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen oneshot #seventeen scenarios #seventeen reactions #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #svt reactions #svt scenarios #seventeen angst #svt angst

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reiderwriter · 1 year ago

Note

😝 brain rot from my character ai scenario… the team goes out to a bar to celebrate and you wear a tiny little dress (just to rile him up obvi) but you also end up attracting a lot of male attentionand he gets SO jealous and protective of you he’s like sitting off to the side just watching you flirt with everyone and the team is like “he looks like hes gonna explode wtf” and then the SMUT HES ALL “they can’t have you, you’re all mine” “you really like all the attention huh? i’ll give you what you wanted” OMG it’s making me crazy i hope i described it good enough 🥰🥰

A/N: Is it really a reiderwriter smut if I don't have to clarify that 'I got carried away' at some point in the authors note? No, it is not. Thank you for the request. My brain is now equally rotted, oops.

Warnings: complaints, dirty talk, semi public sexual activity, partial voyeurism, fingering, hard/rough sex.

You weren't even dating.

Which made the situation even more frustrating for Spencer, and even more exciting for you.

You'd always flirted with the man a lot, had been told multiple times to knock it off even after getting a little too close for comfort on a case.

But you couldn't really blame yourself on that one. You'd had to do a quick takedown at a dive bar, and you'd been tasked with pretending to be a touchy couple at the bar to block the back entrance at the staff entrance.

You'd draped yourself all over him, allowing yourself to get closer than you'd ever been before.

If you'd just happened to let your hands fall down to his crotch, it was pure coincidence. So was giving his obviously erect length a few strokes through his jeans as he sat staring at you like you were his last meal and he was back in prison.

Emily had to pull you aside after that one personally.

You knew she was protective of Spencer, seeing him as a little brother, but it seemed like she was more protective of you at that moment.

“Are you sure you know what you're doing?” She'd asked, waiting carefully for your answer before she said anything more.

Two could play at that game. “What is this concerning?”

“With Spencer.”

“I'm not sure what you mean, Emily.”

“Yes, you do. Listen, I don't care what you get up to in your personal life, but Spencer has a way of making others feel very… seen. He can get protective and pushy. And I just want to know you're ready for that, and you're not going to let it affect your work.”

“Is Spencer having the same talk?”

She laughed at that.

“Spencer? No. I already know it's going to affect his work, because it has since you joined our team. He still gets his job done, but I know where his priorities would lie if there were an emergency.”

You'd shivered at that and excused yourself.

If he was that obsessed with you, why had he not told you? Stepped over that line from friends to more than that?

You needed to force the issue, and you had the perfect opportunity when Penelope invited you out for drinks.

“Y/N! Don't go, it's Friday night, we-” she said gesturing wildly to the team gathered around you, “are going to a bar. No, you can't rain check either.”

“Can I at least get changed first?”

“You need to get changed. We're going to a nice bar, Y/N.” Running off again to grab the rest of your team members and force their attendance, you grinned after Penelope.

It was time to see exactly how focused on you Spencer Reid was.

And how willing he was to let you slip through his fingers.

An hour later, you were stepping out of your taxi, pulling your skirt down as you did. The short black dress had a terrible habit of pulling up your thighs to flash your underwear at anyone in a 10 foot radius. Usually, that bothered you, but tonight, you planned on using it to your advantage.

After all, you'd left out the underwear tonight for a reason.

Pulling your jacket around you tighter, you pushed the door to the bar open and scanned the room for your team members.

“Y/N, over here!” Tara called you over, nursing a beer. Luke sat next to her, Penelope on his other side, and Matt on hers and completing the group was Spencer Reid.

“Where are JJ and Emily?” You asked, doing your very best to ignore Spencer as you sat down next to him, practically falling into his warmth. You sat so close to him.

“At the bar. Emily is convinced she can flirt her way to a free drink, and JJ is convinced she cannot. The girl she's working on now has to be 22 at most, so it could honestly go either way.” Penelope answered, and you felt Spencer shift slightly beside you.

“Speak of the devil,” Luke said as the two women approached.

“Well? What's the result?” You grinned up at them, letting your head fall back against Spencer’s shoulder as you gently rested your hand on his thigh. He sat silently for a minute, not moving and just taking in the conversation.

“I've still got it.” Emily grinned triumphantly.

“Maybe I should give it a try. There are a few hot male bartenders tonight. Who knows, I might score more than just a drink.”

Spencer choked on the drink he was sipping as you spoke quickly, a few knowing looks passing between every other person at the table. You'd have to be blind to miss it. Or Spencer.

“Spencer, are you okay? You should be careful, I wouldn't want you to choke. That's how I want to end my night, but it's not for everyone.” That one earned you a few snickers from the others and a glare from the man himself.

“I'm fine, thank you, Y/N.” He smiled down at you and gave your knee a friendly tap that turned slightly less friendly as he pushed it further up your leg.

The others had since averted their attentions, moving their conversation onto other things, but you and Spencer were still stuck in each other's orbits.

Your heart beat faster until you were sure it could be seen, raw and fit to burst out of your chest. His fingertips brushed your hem. He was seconds away from realising that you were going to get the attention you wanted that night.

Slipping just an inch up the hem, he twitched almost imperceptibly as he searched for your panty line, brows knitting when he couldn't find it.

“What's wrong, Spencer? Searching for something that isn't there?” You enjoyed watching his frown deepen as he registered your words, but you enjoyed it even more when you gently pushed his hand away as you stood.

“Well, I need a drink. Let's hope I can recreate your success, Emily.” You said, finally pushing off your jacket. The dress may have been short, but it was also low cut, burning the candle at both ends as your breasts threatened to spill over with any particularly deep breath.

“Sweet lord in heaven! You didn't come to play tonight.” Penelope exclaimed, practically applauding your body as you twirled for her and showed off the form fitting dress, giggling all the way.

“You said it was a nice bar, Penelope. I'm hoping there are also some very nice men here, too.” With a wink, you turned on your heel and strode to the bar, making sure your hips swung seductively with every step.

You couldn't immediately give in and turn to see if he was watching you when you got to the bar, though, not willing to give him the satisfaction. You were doing it all for him, but you still didn't want him to know that.

It didn't take long for men to swarm you. They came one at a time, and you entertained them each as you waited for your unnecessarily complex cocktail order to be prepared.

In the 7 minutes you'd been away from the table, you'd been approached by three separate men. They all tried lines on you, gave you their numbers and tried their best to woo you, but with Spencer’s eyes burning across your body as you leaned against the bar, you really couldn't have cared less.

Still, you leaned in, giggled in the appropriate places, and took the numbers, knowing they'd never be called.

When your cocktail was finally ready, and the last one offered to fund it for you You finally felt a hand at your back.

“That won't be necessary, thank you.” Spencer ended the conversation, handing his own card over to the bartender as he kept his hand on your back, his body crowding yours.

The man walked away in defeat, and you turned on him, sipping your drink as you refused to move away.

“Now why ruin all my fun, Spencer?”

“You're really enjoying all this attention, huh?” He said, pushing your hair behind your ear as he leaned closer to you, his next word a whisper against your skin.

“I can see your pussy from all the way back there,” he said, tugging down your skirt slightly. You weren't surprised though simply taking another sip and maintaining eye contact.

“I know.” His hand, having slipped up to your waist, tightened as his gaze dropped to your lips.

“You want everyone to see your dripping cunt? Want to let all the men here take a turn trying to catch your attention so they can slip in?” His voice was low, practically a growl as he licked his lips.

“No. I wanted to see how long it'd take you to come over and do it. By my count, that was eight minutes, correct?”

“Good girl. Just remember that you're mine. I'm not letting anyone else have you.” Giving your face a gentle stroke, he let it trail down your body, subtly cupping and squeezing your chest on the way down.

“All of a sudden, I feel very tired, Spencer. Take me home.” He wasted no time, grabbing your hand and gathering you up, your jacket and bag collected from the desk as he gave minimal answers to the others as you departed. To their credit, they asked minimal questions.

The cold air hit you hard as you pushed the doors open again, but Spencer was unperturbed, pulling you over to his car silently, a strong hand on your shoulder helping you into the passenger's seat.

You dare not talk the entire drive to his apartment, so sure that any word from you would have him turning immediately to deposit you right back at the bar.

He didn't, though, but he also didn't look at you or touch you. You sat squirming at the heavy atmosphere, suddenly desperate to know exactly what thoughts were trapped inside Spencer’s impressive brain.

“We're here.” He announced, pulling up quickly and cutting the engine, climbing out in a hurry.

You fumbled with your own seat belt as he pulled your door open, catching you up in his arms as he closed the door behind you. You wrapped your legs around his waist as your arms wrapped around his neck, letting him carry you up the stairs to his apartment.

His lips didn't meet yours until the door was firmly closed and locked behind you, and even then, he didn't immediately dive in. He out you down, and a touch of disappointment flooded your body as he completely entangled himself from you.

It dissipated completely when his hand wrapped around your throat.

“Let me be clear, Y/N. You are mine. If you want attention, I will give it to you. If you want to choke on something, I'm more than happy to provide it. If you want to dress like a little whore, go ahead, but don't forget who your sweet little cunt belongs to.” His fingers tightened with each word as you gasped for air, back resting on the nearest wall as his body pressed up along your own.

“Do you understand?” He asked, and you nodded repeatedly, fast and desperate.

“Good. Now, ass up on the bed. I'll meet you there.” You practically sprinted to the room in question, slinking up onto the bed. He said ass up, but you hesitated slightly as he quietly shut the bedroom door behind you, just long enough to earn a slap on your ass as he finally returned to your side.

“You have to listen, Y/N. You wanted this, so you have to listen nicely.”

“I'm sorry, Spencer, it won't happen aga-” He stole the end of your sentence as he slipped his fingers into you, gently working the two longest ones up into a frenzy as he finger fucked you.

“Sorry, what was that? I don't think I quite caught your words.” You could only moan in reply as you buried your head in his pillows, ass pressing back into his fingers to help him get deeper.

“So needy. Look at this little black dress. You knew this was going to happen, right?” A third finger slipped inside you, and you screamed out in pleasure as he continued using you.

“Burying your head isn't going to work, Y/N. Your cunt is answering for you.”

You heard the rattle of his belt unbuckling as his fingers finally slipped out, the emptiness only a relief for a second before his cock was hitting deep inside of you.

Thoughts escaped you as you finally got what you'd been begging for for weeks. His every frustration was pounded into you as he tugged at your hair, pulling your torso up so he could hit even deeper.

Pulling back your head with a hand on your throat he laid a barrage of kisses across your upper back and shoulders, making sure to bite and suck and nip as his spare hand toyed with your nipples, pinching and pulling.

In a second, you reached your climax, not having the breath left in you to let him know before you tightened on his shaft and let your body fall limp under his hands.

“I'm going to mop up our cum with this dress, Y/N, and then I'm going to make you put it back on.” With a final grunt, he pulled out, jerking his cock through his release as he shot his load right over your pussy lips.

He collapsed on top of you, and you finally gave up your last bit of strength beneath him, enjoying the pressure of his weight pushing down on you again.

“Thank god that worked,” you gasped, catching your breath. You smiled as he flipped you over and pulled the dress off your head, true to his word.

“What worked, Y/N?”

“This. You don't know the lengths I'd have gone to to get you yo finally fuck me if this hadn't worked.”

“But suddenly, I'm curious, and I have all the time in the world.” You laughed lightly but snuggled into his chest again, meaning to sleep.

“Unless you want to get dressed again now…?”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction

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mionemymind · 6 months ago

Text

Chapter 3: Choosing for You

My Rival Series

Series Summary: The time where Y/n Y/l/n and Wanda Maximoff were academic rivals that fell for each other.

Chapter Summary: The competition is here. Who will be the winner?

A/n: This was a long chapter, honestly might rewrite it, but here it is with all its mistakes and glories. And I'm sorry if you've asked to be tagged and wasn't included in this post, I'm posting this from work because I promised to give y'all something. (Gif credits to @elizabetholsens)

Warnings: Rivals to Lovers, Obvious Feelings, Stubborn Reader, Cursing, Alcohol, Mentions of Puking, Memory Loss, Panic Attack

Word Count: 7.2k

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

Fall Semester - Freshman Year

“Why does winning matter so much to you?” Winning hardly had rewards in life. Sure, there was sometimes money involved on the line but other than financial gain, winning was mainly there to feed the ego. For Natasha, she never viewed Y/n as someone that cared about being number one in life. Based on the few phone calls she overheard, the university felt like a getaway from troubles at home. So why did Y/n even want to win?

The brown eyed girl sat in confusion. Her pencil was still as she wracked her brain for an answer. By all means, winning is fun. Back in high school, Y/n would naturally win things that being number one felt like home at that point. But having moved on from that mentality, winning wasn’t quite the same in Evergreen University. Well, it’s not like she had a chance to feel it when Wanda Maximoff was around.

“If I’m being honest…I don’t think I’ve ever worked for a win in my life before.” The two locked eyes as Y/n softly confessed what was long on her mind. She placed her pencil down and gave Natasha her undivided attention. “Studying has never been my thing before up until now. Don’t get me wrong, I quite hate it, but it feels different now. Like if I just beat her once, then that high will be like nothing ever before.”

“Does she really challenge you that much?” The question sunk into Y/n’s brain and into her deeper subconscious. She sat quietly, overthinking her answer.

“I think…she’s the only one that ever challenged me at all.”

Competition Day - Spring Semester - Junior Year

‘Why does winning feel so wrong?’ Y/n looked in the mirror, splashing small bits of water on her face to help wake herself up. Rolling her neck, she could feel how stiff her bones were from last night. Unfortunately, the bus was no help at all, only providing mild comfort on their four hour journey.

Stepping out the bathroom, Y/n wore the tightly pressed and cleaned uniform as Wanda started her speech for the group. “I want to thank you all for joining us today at this competition. For some of you, this is your first time ever attending the conference while for others, you are returning. Regardless, you’ve all earned your spots on this team, so congratulate yourself for that.”

A couple of applauses were heard as Wanda smiled at the team. She briefly glanced to Y/n who was sitting all the way at the back of the bus. “I know that this bus is carrying some of the brightest minds that Evergreen University has to offer. Without a doubt in my mind, I know we can win this competition.”

Y/n looked away to the view of the hotel where the conference took place. The turmoil in her gut was hard to ignore as she focused on other things besides Wanda’s eyes. ‘Winning is a must. If I want to come back to her here, then I need to win.’

“However, winning is not always the priority. Overall, I’ve been more than happy to see everyone grow into their strengths and even improve your weaknesses. Your efforts have been highly noted by both of your captains.” Y/n looked back at Wanda, her stare as confident as ever.

“We want to thank you all for all the nights, practices, and energy you’ve committed to be in this competition.” Wanda looked over as the bus entered the garage of the hotel. “Okay, everyone come in for a quick send off.”

Everyone gathered into a huddle, placing their hands in the middle. “On three - one - two - three - Evergreen! Fight! Fight! Fight!” Their hands lifted into the air as Wanda looked at Y/n with a determined smile.

‘I’m going to win.’ The brunette thought as she stared into those brown eyes, but little did she know the costs of this win.

The hotel was massive. It was honestly a surprise at how many schools can fit into one place. Some had to fly in, having been more than five hours away. The group followed Wanda to the selected tables meant for Evergreen University.

“Break into your groups, Y/n and I will be investigating the brackets to see who we will be versing first. We have about an hour before round one is officially called. If you need to change or use the bathroom, this is definitely the time to do so. If you have any questions or concerns, please let Y/n and/or I know immediately.”

Doing as told, the members immediately broke into their four person group and discussed strategies for round one. When no one came up to ask any questions, the pair walked off out of the conference room, and into the large hall that had many posters hung up with all the different brackets.

There was a small but comfortable silence as Wanda walked slightly ahead from Y/n, focusing on finding out who they were versing first. While Y/n was also thinking of the competition, she wondered if they were ever going to talk about last night.

Walking up to the first bracket they could find, Wanda took a picture of it and sent it to the math club group chat for everyone to see. “Princewell University, Maroon State College, and Gale College, not a bad start. Looks like we’re going to easily make it into the second round.”

Since Y/n was unable to sleep last night, she made use of her time by looking over the bracket. Going over the many possibilities, there was still a high chance of her group making it to the top five. Round one was thankfully full of easy opponents having judged their previous matches with other schools.

“I agree. Looks like our main trouble is with Harford University. But they’re all the way at the otherside. I’m hoping Legacy College takes care of them so we don’t have to,” Wanda comments. She turned to face Y/n, taking a good look at her clean uniform and brushed hair.

“I need you to be on your A-game today.” Unsure of where Wanda’s seriousness was coming from, Y/n nodded in understanding. “If you can give me that, I’ll overlook this morning.”

Puzzled by her statement, Y/n asked, “What are you talking about?” Wanda crossed her arms, trying her best to be level headed at the moment.

“You wreaked alcohol. Last night was a supposed to be a get together, not an opportunity to get drunk.” The judgment coming from Wanda’s tone felt like a slap in the face as Y/n took one step back.

“Are you kidding me? I took one drink. I wasn’t the one that was drunk last night. Are you seriously remembering the same night as me?” The small moment with Wanda was all that Y/n replayed in that moment.

‘Apologize and I’ll forgive you for everything - apologize and I’ll let go of this whole feud.’ Whether Y/n was going to loudly admit it or not, the small ounce that she saw of Wanda’s true personality changed her view of the brunette. Even if the conversation was small, even if Wanda didn’t hear her response, even if it was a drunk confession, Y/n was going to cling to it.

Wanda was always the girl that was number one but in that small moment, Wanda was just a girl who wanted to win for the sake of not disappointing her father. Because God, how could someone ever be disappointed in Wanda Maximoff? And how could they not see just how amazing she was?

But as Wanda rolled her eyes, and hardened her stare, Y/n knew none of that moment mattered to Wanda, not when her green eyes still showed some form of hatred. “I remember last night clearly. Everyone in the group arrived and managed to say check in with me. You were the only one in the group that I didn’t even get to see. Once it was late, I went back to my dorm and slept. But it’s obvious why you avoided me - you were too busy drinking rather than focusing on the competition.”

“That’s not-”

“I don’t want to hear your explanation. Your team deserves a good leader and if you can’t provide that, I’ll make sure that math club will be looking for a replacement captain next semester.” The pounding in Wanda’s head was hard to ignore as she walked away from Y/n, not even bothering to hear her side.

‘Focus. Everything will be alright if you just focus.’ The ringing in Y/n’s ears was louder than the judge in front of her. The question left his lips almost slipped past the girl but thankfully her teammate, Luke, was paying attention, easily answering the question.

“Another point for Evergreen University, which solidifies their victory for this match!” Cheers erupted from the crowd as each group got up, giving the other members handshakes for the great match.

‘I can’t fucking focus.’ Y/n wore a fake smile as she congratulated the other captain on the team, quickly walking off the stage. Ever since her interaction with Wanda, her nervousness and anxiety came back in full throttle. Her mind went from completely tired to panic. And while her drive to win increased, it came with overthinking as well.

“That was a great match everyone! I’m so proud of you all for being so great for these four rounds that I haven’t had to worry one bit.” Well Y/n did worry, just not for her team’s sake. “I’m going to go ahead and let the staff know about our victory. In the meantime, go ahead and relax at our table. After the fifth round, let me know if y’all want snacks. I can go ahead and purchase them for everyone.”

“Thank you Y/n. We appreciate it!” Luke stated, he was a returning member of the competition, one that Y/n knew well. Letting the group walk away, Y/n finally brought her guard down as she walked out of the conference room and to the direction of the staff booth.

‘I can’t believe I fucking froze.’ Y/n knew the question was for her, yet she had to rely on her team member for something she could’ve easily answered. Wiping her frustrations off her face, Y/n tried to compose herself before she approached the staff.

“School, team, and placement?” The lady wore rectangle shaped glasses. She offered Y/n a kind smile, ready to write the results.

“Evergreen University, team two, and we won our match.” Y/n peeped her name tag, Laura, as she wrote down the results.

“Looks like you’ll be versing Apollo College next in conference room seven.” Laura handed Y/n a slip of paper with the information before calling next.

Shoving the paper in her pocket, Y/n walked past several conference rooms, their doors open for anyone to watch their matches. None of them interested her, but her voice certainly did. Stopping at the entrance of the doors, Y/n watched Wanda flawlessly answer the question.

The bright light focusing on her group amplified her natural beauty. Y/n could pick up on every single detail, something she already knew like the back of her hand. Her jaw clenched as she noticed Wanda's smile, the same type of smile she had when she got hundreds on tests.

The anger inside Y/n manifested once more. She could legitimately feel herself start to boil the more she stared at Wanda. It was dangerously coming close to the anger she felt when she lashed out at Natasha that one night.

Clenching her fists, Y/n walked away from the match, unable to stand Wanda any further with thoughts of winning in her mind.

‘You’re making mistakes.’ Wanda stood in the crowd with her arms crossed. The displeased look on her face was hard to miss as she witnessed Y/n make her third mistake of the match, causing another precious point to be missed. Her brain rushed through many thoughts of disappointment towards the girl she used to hold to a high regard.

‘This isn’t like her.’ But the frown on Wanda’s face deepened, did she really know Y/n at all? Yes, she can admit that Y/n was smart. Smarter than a lot of people at their university. But other than that obvious characteristic, Y/n was admittedly someone she only knew at surface level. They’ve hardly spoken outside classes or math club. Essentially, she was just a stranger that was smart.

Shaking away the sadness that was snaking through her, Wanda watched as Y/n sat back in her seat.

The shame that Y/n carried on her shoulders felt massive along with the anxiety that continued to paralyze her more and more. The brown eyed girl was certain of her answer, so when the judge loudly announced that she gotten it wrong, embarrassment flooded her senses knowing that Wanda was in the crowd, silently judging her every move.

It all came down to the final question of the match. Whoever answers correctly will have to verse Wanda’s team. Luke, once again, got up, ready to answer the question. All eyes were on him besides Wanda and Y/n.

As the two finally locked eyes, Y/n couldn’t help but drown further in Wanda’s rage. ‘Forget everything I ever said - I do fucking hate you, Wanda Maximoff. And I hope you never forget that.’

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

“We need to talk.” Celebrations for Evergreen University were deaf to Wanda’s ears as she held Y/n’s wrist. Quickly, she led them out the crowd and through the near empty hallway outside the conference room. Dropping her wrist, Wanda stood there fuming with anger.

“What was that?” Y/n didn’t want to speak, unsure of what would be the ‘correct’ choice of words for the brunette. And by the looks of it, nothing was going to satisfy her. Choosing to be silent anger Wanda ever further.

“This isn’t the time to be childish - you’re making mistakes and if it wasn’t for your team, you wouldn’t have had this spot in the finals.” Y/n clenched her jaw as she bit her tongue. Sure she made mistakes, but it hurt Y/n to realize that Wanda didn’t even care for the ways she did contribute to the team.

Mistakes were permanent for the girl that was always perfect. That was something Y/n realized now more than ever.

“Can you not let go of three mistakes, Captain?” Y/n continued to stare off at the other side of the hallway, refusing to make eye contact with Wanda. Her words sneered off her mouth, feeling disgusted at the way Wanda ridiculed her every move.

“Un-fucking-believable. Dean Holloway was right.” At the mention of the Dean, Y/n’s blood ran cold. Her eyes locked with Wanda’s, as the brunette stood there. “You take everything as some type of joke. And to think I stood up for you.”

Y/n’s mind scrambled on what possibly happened between Dean Holloway and Wanda. ‘Does she know about my scholarship?’

But why on Earth would Wanda assume such things if she knew about her scholarship? Pressing for more information, Y/n asked, “What did he say?”

Wanda rolled her eyes. ‘Of course that’s what she would focus on rather than her own mistakes.’ Looking at the time, there were twenty minutes left before the final. The brunette should have been using this time to help practice with her team, yet here she was arguing with Y/n.

“Last week,” Wanda sighed. This all felt pointless to admit but she felt that Y/n needed to know. Maybe this could be what straightened up her act. “Dean Holloway asked me to reconsider your place in this competition.”

“What?” Y/n took a step back at the confession, feeling more hopeless at how rigged everything was. ‘How could he do this to me?”

“I told him that I could trust you - that you were the only person besides me adequate enough to lead the math club. Somehow, he managed to let me know that you were slipping in classes. No longer being at the top.” Wanda looked at Y/n. She focused on all the minor details of the face that haunted her mind. But upon seeing how hurt those brown eyes looked, Wanda couldn’t help but falter slightly.

“I wanted to believe that it was all wrong, but now…” Y/n silently pleaded as her mind went into overdrive. Couldn’t Wanda see how innocent she was? How she had been studying day and night for weeks just to make it another year at Evergreen? Couldn’t she see that this was all for her?

“I think we should go back to our groups. We need to prepare for the final. But Y/l/n…after this competition, we might have to reconsider your place as captain for math club.”

How cruel the world must be for the universe to deal Y/n such a bad draw? And how awful it must feel to know that Wanda was the one that delivered the final blow?

‘I have to win for me.’ Water dripped down Y/n’s face as she stared at herself in the mirror. There was five minutes left before she was expected to take the stage. Currently, Y/n was in the bathroom, hoping to subside the panic attack that was itching to come out.

‘Even if the school doesn’t want me, even if Wanda doesn’t want me, I want this more than anyone.’ Gripping the counter for stability, Y/n slowed her breathing down, hoping it would be enough. She wasn’t going to let the world decide her fate even if it had cheated her of a fair opportunity.

“Welcome everyone for the final match for the annual math club state competition. I’m thrilled to announce that this year’s top two teams both come from Evergreen University!” Applause rumbled throughout the large conference room as the rest of the school's watch in anticipation.

Wanda sat in her seat, overthinking her conversation with Y/n earlier. ‘Did I go overboard?’ Sneaking a glance at Y/n, it was hard to get a read of what the brown eyed girl was thinking. ‘Whatever, she needed to know.’

Pushing her thoughts to the back, the brunette focused back on the competition. It was finally her turn to go up as well as Y/n’s.

“Please find the inverse of the following equation.” Like a switch, everything in Wanda’s mind grew silent as she focused on the question on the screen. In seconds flat, she hit the buzzer to submit her answer.

“And the correct answer choice was…C, point goes to team # 1.” This was Wanda’s element - this was her reason for being. Glancing at Y/n, Wanda knew her purpose. She was number one and god forbid anyone that stood in her way.

The competition went by like a blur. In the first quarter of questions, Wanda’s team led with a gap of seven points. However, after a couple small mistakes by her team members, Y/n’s team was able to catch up and shorten the gap.

Right now, there are only five questions left. The score remained tied as Y/n tried her best to remain perfect. If things were to continue the way they were, the last question would determine the winner.

Before she knew it, it was finally her turn. Standing up to take the podium, Y/n glanced at Wanda accidentally locking eyes. ‘I will be the one to defeat you, Maximoff. I will make sure of it.’

Fall Semester - Freshman Year

“I’ve never seen you study so much before. It’s kinda freaky.” The two roommates sat around the small circular table in the middle of the room, enjoying a couple of drinks and snacks. Natasha begged for Y/n to stop for at least a small break, having missed talking to her roommate.

“Trust me, I hate it just as much as you do.” Y/n stretched her legs at her sat position. Rolling her neck around, a couple of pops and clicks could be heard.

“Why do it? Your grades are fine the way they are.” Y/n looked back at the pile of books on her desk. She never really recalled studying this much before during her high school days. Heck, she’s been able to get by this whole time just by how naturally smart she was. So when she looked back at Natasha, there was this ‘ya know’ look in Y/n’s eyes. “Does it have to do with Wanda?”

Y/n smiled at the mention of the brunette. It was odd at how many classes they were in together even though their majors were entirely different. There was something about Wanda that caught Y/n’s eye. She didn’t quite know what it was and didn’t quite want to delve too much into it.

“And if it does?” Y/n sipped on her drink, a smirk on her face as she avoided Natasha’s question. The red head shook her head, grabbing a chip.

“Well - you speak of her like she’s a God.” Eating a couple more, Natasha watched as the glimmer in Y/n’s eye brightened every time the brunette was brought up. Like the simple mention of Wanda could make Y/n smile instantly.

“Wrong, Wanda’s not a God. Gods make mistakes,” getting closer to Natasha’s face, the red head could smell the faint of alcohol on Y/n’s lips, “and Wanda Maximoff does not make mistakes.”

Y/n leaned back, still drinking the rest of her drink as Natasha looked at her roommate with a puzzled look. “Whatever you say. Just try not to make this a habit now.”

Y/n shook her head, feeling optimistic that she’d beat Wanda soon enough. Probably in the same semester. “I won’t. Promise.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, for the first time in our state’s history the competition’s fate lied in the last question.” The crowd applauded for the accomplishment as the judges beamed in smiles towards Evergreen University. “.As your judges, we believe this calls for a special problem. We’ve rewritten the last question to make it a more challenging problem.”

“With one point in the lead, if Wanda answers the question correctly, her team will solidify the win. If Y/n answers the question correctly, this competition will proceed to overtime.”

Y/n and Wanda stood at their podiums, anticipation both killing them. “Here is your question.”

As the screen showed off the problem, Y/n could feel herself standing tall as she looked over the problem. It was a multistep calculus problem that involved finding the inverse of a 3x3 matrix. Essentially, a problem that would require two pages of work just to find a solution. And by the looks of it, Wanda was already finished with the first quarter of the work.

Calming her breathing down, Y/n cleared the noise from her head. She looked back at the problem, digesting all of what it told. ‘This is just another problem, Y/n.’ Thinking lightly back to the days where math was just a fun activity to do, Y/n finally smiled, remembering the feeling where math naturally came to her.

Letting the feeling sink in, Y/n started to solve it. The crowd waited with whispers and talks of who was going to win. Many people in the crowd believed Wanda would secure another victory as she did in the past. Very few people cheered for Y/n, simply wanting to believe in the underdog.

A few minutes later, Y/n approached the final bits of her answer, immediately eyeing the answer choice on the screen. Her heart skipped a beat realizing that she could do this - that she could win.

Before she could reach out for the answer, Wanda had buzzed in first with her choice. Suddenly, everything inside Y/n shut down as she saw Wanda smile once again. It was that infamous smile that she grew so used to.

‘This can’t be it. This can’t be the end.’ Feeling herself lock up again, Y/n didn’t dare to look at the screen, hoping to save some of her dignity that was barely left.

Believing the world to be crashing in front of her, she failed to realize that Wanda had made a mistake. The screen glowed in bright red as her answer choice was incorrect. “Y/n, looks like the question is left to you. You haven’t locked in your answer, so what will it be?”

Y/n looked up, unable to digest that Wanda actually messed up. The Wanda Maximoff made a mistake. Fighting back the smile on her face, Y/n reached out for the correct answer choice, her finger tips grazing answer choice B.

The smug look on her face was hard to miss. Everyone on her team knew they would come home with the victory. Wanda’s team sighed in defeat knowing that Y/n would answer correctly.

So why did everything change when Y/n glanced at Wanda? Why did her heart hurt at the sight of Wanda spilling angry and frustrated tears? Why did her breathing stop? And why did all thoughts consume her?

Wanda never cried or at least in front of Y/n or anybody. She was always the strong and confident girl that knew every answer for every question. She walked like she was untouchable. So how did she mess up?

‘Please stop crying,’ she thought. Her heart constricted knowing she was the reason Wanda was crying. Yet every ounce of her brain yelled for her to press the damn answer, to finally prove to Wanda that she could be defeated, to finally get the win that she had been craving for since freshman year.

So why couldn’t she just fucking press it? Looking back at the crowd and at the answer written down on her paper, her free hand crumpled the sheet as her heart overtook what her mind pleaded.

Feeling like time stopped, Y/n held her breath when those green eyes locked with her. ‘I want to win…I want to stay…but at the cost of this…this isn’t a win.’

Beyond logic and reason, Y/n pressed her answer. Confetti blew in the air as the judge announced, “And the winner is team # 1 with Wanda Maximoff as their team captain. Congratulations to Evergreen University!”

Regardless of what Wanda had ever done, said, or thought, Y/n knew that today was all because the school wanted to so badly pin Wanda against her. But Y/n finally knew better. This will not be the day she wins. This will be the day she was finally okay to be second to Wanda.

Many cheers and laughter filled the bus as the group celebrated the Evergreen University win. Wanda had been smiling so hard since the award ceremony that her cheeks started to hurt.

As she looked over the trophy, her eyes couldn’t stop looking at the sleeping figure near the back of the bus. ‘I almost lost it,’ Wanda thought. It was unlike her to make a mistake and if she was being honest, she didn’t know what to blame.

As much as she wanted to overlook her work, she wanted to leave that mistake in the past and enjoy the win. But as she kept looking back to Y/n, who hadn’t said a word to her since the final match, Wanda couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong.

Regardless, the drive back to Evergreen was filled with joy as Y/n finally slept after a long exhausting day.

Finals Week - Spring Semester - Junior Year

Wanda loved winning…but lately, it had a sour taste in her mouth. Finals week came in full swing, giving zero time for Wanda to dissect this weird feeling in her chest. She had helped some of her friends and classmates with studying, making her even more busy than usual.

By the time she was done with tests, the sour feeling still sat in her chest. With only two days left, Wanda couldn’t help but lose some sleep over this feeling. Why was winning suddenly so bad? When did it become something she felt guilty for?

Subconsciously, her mind gravitated towards Y/n. In her dreams, the moment before Y/n answered the final question replayed constantly. It was as if her mind took a vivid recording of the whole interaction. And as she replayed the moment she locked eyes with Y/n, Wanda couldn’t help but feel like the trophy wasn’t meant for her.

Of course she downplayed the scenario, believing that this was another mistake that Y/n had made for that day. And the words of Dean Holloway, this was something Y/n never took seriously. So why did she vividly remember how Y/n’s eyes looked the moment she had chosen her answer? Why did Y/n look so accepting of defeat? Why was there no anger or thrive behind them?

And the more she thought, the more she realized how little she saw of Y/n during the whole week. Friday, the last day of the semester, came around. During the test, her mind suddenly diverted to her. So when Wanda looked up and found Y/n in the crowd, she couldn’t help but want to talk to her, to see what exactly happened in that moment.

Was it something she made up in her head? Was she feeling weird for actually making a mistake in front of people? Was this blown out of proportion?

Regardless, Wanda didn’t dare describe this feeling as part of missing Y/n. Cause if she had, maybe she would have realized sooner that winning felt wrong this time. Because maybe, just maybe, it had pushed away the person that actually understood her better than anyone else.

Last Night - Spring Semester - Junior Year

Y/n Y/l/n,

We regret to inform you that your scholarship has been revoked for the following 2019 fall semester. This decision was not made lightly as the board is aware of the accomplishments you’ve brought to Evergreen University. Nevertheless, the requirement to place #1 in the most recent STEM competition was something we could not ignore.

We do hope you decide to enroll for your senior year. For further information on financial aid or loan applications, please visit the Bursar’s office.

Dean of the College of Arts & Sciences

Cedric Holloway

Evergreen University

The letter sat on the Y/n’s near empty desk as she continued to pack in preparation for tomorrow. It was the last night on campus for every student. While many chose to celebrate it with a party, Y/n chose to spend it alone.

The silence of her room provided some comfort as she cleared her bookshelf. “Why must I have so many books?”

While Y/n never imagined this would be where her college career with Evergreen ended, she certainly never regretted her choice. Then again, she hadn’t been home in forever, so that may change soon once she goes back.

Looking back at Natasha’s fully furnished side, Y/n could feel some guilt rising to her chest as she hadn’t broken the news yet to her best friend. Not wanting to burden the red head with a sad night, Y/n remained silent, hoping tomorrow would be best to break the news.

As for Y/n’s group, none of them were particularly angry about her mistake. Everyone tried their best to cheer their captain up, providing some comforting smiles and words. None of it truly mattered though. This was Y/n’s choice to make and she fully knew the consequences of it.

So for the first time in a while, Y/n was actually alone and not studying. That was until she came. Wanda stood in the hallway, thinking of how she would talk to Y/n, to hopefully apologize. She carried the trophy that was mailed in from the conference, one that actually had her name engraved on it.

But the trophy felt heavy and awkward in her hands, but it was the closest thing Wanda could think of as a conversation starter. Pushing her anxieties away, Wanda walked to Y/n’s dorm, surprised that the door was actually opened.

The first thing she noticed was the pile of boxes that almost blocked the doorway. Looking past it, Wanda couldn’t help but notice how bare Y/n’s side looked.

“What are you doing?” Y/n jumped from the corner of her room, hand on her chest.

“Jesus Christ, Maximoff, can you give a girl a warning?”

Wanda placed the trophy in the hallway, and walked around Y/n’s room, not caring for an invitation inside. Thinking back to the dorm setup, Evergreen University typically had students stay in the same dorm assigned to them from freshman year all the way to junior year. During senior year, students would be upgraded to bigger dorms.

“I thought you couldn’t transfer dorms till senior year was closer?” Wanda turned around to face Y/n, the empty side didn’t make sense as juniors typically left their items alone throughout the summer.

Y/n’s eyes glanced at the letter on her desk. “I’m moving to a new scenery.” She picked up the box with her knick knacks and placed it on top of the letter, hoping Wanda didn’t notice. The brown eyed girl leaned against her desk. She tilted her head noticing the shiny object in the hallway.

“Is that the trophy?” Wanda looked back, almost forgetting what she came here to do. She walked back to the hallway and grabbed the trophy. Their fingers brushed as Wanda handed it to Y/n. “Wow! It’s…it’s really beautiful.”

Y/n rubbed her thumb across Wanda’s name. Wanda Maximoff 2019 Champion. “Congratulations by the way. Sorry I wasn’t able to say it back on stage.” Y/n handed the trophy back to Wanda. If the girl was paying attention, she would’ve noted the odd look Wanda gave her.

Something was different and Wanda hated it. Winning always gave her a high but something about this interaction increased the bittersweet feeling in her chest. “What dorm hall are you relocating to?” Wanda placed the trophy on Y/n’s desk. “I could help you out if you need it.”

Already ready to help out, Wanda lifted the box of knick knacks, her fingers brushing over the letter. “Wanda-,” Y/n startled herself, not expecting to nearly yell at Wanda, “I- I -”

No words left Y/n’s mouth as those green eyes stared back at her. Suddenly, all those times where they yelled in each other's face came to mind. How close were they to ever…?

Y/n sighed, there was no use hiding from the truth now. “I’m actually going back home.” Wanda placed the box back down, still not understanding why Y/n’s things were packed. “I’m-”

Y/n scratched the back of her neck, avoiding Wanda’s stare. “I’m transferring to Langford University.” An eerie silence settled in Y/n’s room. So when Y/n got the courage to look back at Wanda, she hadn’t expected the teary eyes and offended look on Wanda’s face.

“You’re transferring? Why?” Moving off the desk, Y/n sat on her bed as Wanda leaned back on to the desk. “It’s - complicated. I really don’t want to go into it.”

Wanda’s hand balled up into a fist. The lack of details pissed her off. “You’re seriously not coming back?” Wanda hated how bitter everything tasted. The sight of her trophy pissed her off even more.

Y/n opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out. She didn’t know what to say. She was leaving what she called home for the past three years. Not only that, she was leaving the girl that has been there since her first day. What could she even say?

Before she could admit anything, Y/n’s phone rang, breaking the tense atmosphere. “Sorry, let me take this real quick.” Y/n walked out to the hallway to answer her phone.

Wanda sighed with her head hung low. What was she going to do now? Being #1 was something her parents always pressured her to do. But ever since she met Y/n, #1 was something that motivated her to get out of bed and start the day extra early. Meeting Y/n meant countless hours studying just to make sure she knew the lessons by heart. Meeting Y/n meant her life revolved around beating the girl in every single thing. And as harsh as it sounded, it was the only way Wanda knew to get closer.

She turned around and glanced at the open box. There was a various amount of figurines, crystals, and journals thrown in. Wanda picked up a green crystal, one that almost matched her eyes. She remembered the day back in freshman year where Y/n had admitted she recently got into collecting crystals. Wanda thought at first it was a waste of money until she stopped by a local shop.

The red head could see why it was intriguing to buy them especially when you believe the auras and specialities that a certain rock can bring to your life. So in secret, Wanda bought a sphere of rose quartz and placed it in her room. She didn’t notice anything different in her life but then again, all her thoughts already surrounded Y/n.

Wanda looked back at the hallway and could hear Y/n still talking on the phone. It felt wrong to steal, especially since that was a no no in the crystal community. But the idea of Y/n leaving her without a single thing to keep for herself felt cruel. So when she slipped on the necklace, as if it already belonged to her, she could feel her heart skip a beat at the thought of Y/n giving it to her.

Wanda tucked the crystal under her shirt when her fingers brushed the letter once more. The school logo printed on the top right called her name. It felt wrong to intrude, but the more she reminded herself of the situation, the less she cared about her morals.

Gently sliding the letter from under the box, Wanda quickly read it. Eyebrows furrowed, Wanda read “We regret to inform you…”

Y/n shuffled back into the room causing Wanda to straighten up. “Sorry about that. I need to get Natasha. She’s stuck at some frat party without a ride back home.” The brunette crumpled the piece of paper and tucked it into her pocket. Y/n was too distracted to notice. “Again, I’m really sorry but congratulations on the win Wanda.” Y/n looked at Wanda with the most sincere eyes. “Incase no one has told you, I’m really proud of you.”

With one last look, Y/n left her dorm, hoping the Wanda would be decent enough to lock it up for her. And all Wanda could focus on was the sound of her name leaving Y/n’s lips. ‘You never call me Wanda.’

‘Like hell I’m going to let this happen.’ Wanda stormed into her father’s office, knowing he would be working another late night. The clear warm glow from his room indicated that he was there.

Storming through the doors caused him to look up from his computer, clearly unexpecting guests at that moment.

“Give her scholarship back.” Wanda slammed the letter onto his desk, crossing her arms hoping to show that she wasn’t messing around. The brunette couldn’t think straight about anything after she fully read the letter, and by now, she didn’t know whether to strangle Y/n for not telling her or for her father to even approve such decisions.

“This decision was not made lightly.” Wanda could read past her father’s sentence and she was not going to take no for an answer.

“Then clearly you’ve made the wrong decision.” Eric sighed knowing just how stubborn his daughter was. It was unfortunately a trait she got from him. Knowing fully well just how smart Wanda was, explaining this decision was going to be a disaster and a headache away.

Looking past the letter and into his daughter’s eyes, he’s never seen her be this angry. Sure they’ve had arguments, but they’ve subsided ever since she started to attend college. Eric was hoping it was because Wanda was getting older and more mature.

But as she stood there, eyebrows furrowed with a frown on her face, it felt like she was 16 all over again. Not wanting to beat around the bush, Eric figured to cut to the chase.

“She’s a threat.” He didn’t like to admit it, but there was hardly anyone on campus that could match his daughter’s intelligence. This was something Eric wanted to keep. But the more he noticed Y/n move up on the Dean’s list, the more he feared Wanda’s spot would be threated. While he was confident in his daughter’s ability, he simply wanted to keep her spot safe. And that meant dealing with Y/n.

“She’s my equal.” All the guilt from the competition finally made sense. And as more things continued to click, the more Wanda stood in horror at the things she said to Y/n. This was all starting to become a nightmare, one that Wanda prayed to go away. But the look on her father’s face pissed her off even more. “If you don’t, I’m transferring. And there’s nothing you can do that will stop me.”

Giving him no time to respond, Wanda walked out of the office. There was no time to think about her ultimatum, not when all she could think about was Y/n.

‘Say something to her, Wanda, for fucks sake.’ It was finally the last day of the semester. Every student was mandated to leave by a certain time. While there was a large crowd of kids with their backpacks and suitcases, all Wanda could focus on was the goodbye happening between Natasha and Y/n.

The brunette had stayed up all night figuring out ways to get Y/n’s scholarship back. At one point, she even considered paying for Y/n’s tuition herself if it meant getting her to come back. But her father would immediately block her allowance if he caught wind of this.

So far, she hadn’t gotten a response back from him. ‘Maybe he needs more time.’ But time was running out as Natasha helped Y/n with the last box. Percy was already in the driver seat, ready for the long drive back home.

She could overhear their goodbyes and that Natasha would visit soon to hear the full story. But still, Wanda stood paralyzed, unable to move. ‘What if she doesn’t want to see me? What if I was too mean to her?’

And as Y/n got into the car, waving her goodbyes, Wanda stood behind the tree, clutching on to the only thing she had of Y/n. Tears quietly fell down her cheeks, a lingering question on her mind. ‘Did I push you away when you needed me the most?’

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