cabaretyun

He liked his routine; it ensured him that his world would continue to go round as he woke up to fresh scratches on his back, and sore muscles that were worked out in the fields and in his bed with you. So, if he wasn't in the town hall right now, he could be hearing that little whine you make when he sinks into you nice and deep, your pretty nails clawing for mercy while you take all of him like he knew you could.

But instead, here he was, the dirt on his cowboy boots scuffing the old wood floor as he sat in the uncomfortable folding chair provided by the assistant to the mayor. His jeans covered the expanse of his thick thighs, his flannel stretching across his chest as he folded his arms with a furrowed brow. He watched as the mayor tried to placate the postman and the grocery store manager, the two grown men fighting over the location of the mailbox in front of 'Gyu's Grocery Store', and Woozi could feel his jaw tense.

This was a stupid meeting. It was the same meeting they always had once a month, and it had nothing to do with him or the farm.

And it's just as he begins to grind his teeth in annoyance that he feels you nonchalantly place your thigh against his.

The town meeting required everyone in Silver Springs to attend, and because the town wasn't big at all, everyone who wasn't a child attended the small town meeting. Nothing really exciting happened in Silver Springs; everyone pretty much knew everyone else since birth, and therefore, the only new bit of drama that could unfold was at these types of events.

Hence why Jeonghan had an amused grin playing on his lips as he shared a thing of popcorn with Joshua, the owner of the only candy shop in the town center.

Jihoon was a quiet man; he wasn't a man for displays of affection in these types of situations where anyone could see him, so when you touch him - his breath stills. He knew he loved you; it was a feeling etched in his bones, the same type of knowing he got when he could look at the clouds for a minute or two and know there would be a storm later in the evening. It's ultimately how his entire body hums alive when you give him the simplest touch. Your knee knocks into his knee, and it feels like electricity shoots through his veins.

You're sitting right next to him in the same type of folding chair, wearing your pretty little summer dress, which you made from scratch, and you had paired it with some little heels to match. You're a complete contrast to him. He's got dirt and grass stains smudged onto his jeans and boots, a simple flannel for a shirt, and his old black cowboy hat resting on his lap. If anyone walked in and didn't know who Woozi was or you, they'd never guess you were his wife.

I mean, you don't even spare Jihoon a glance when your thigh presses into his, your bare skin rubbing against the rough material of his jeans while the mayor demands the postman to sit down. You simply fold your hands in your lap, head raised tall, an aura of elegance coming from you. You looked perfect, but maybe Woozi was just biased.

The town meeting goes by quickly after that; Jihoon doesn't focus on the same monologue everyone gives once a month. Instead, he chooses to focus on the way your bare thigh feels against his. That your pretty little heels are next to his dirty cowboy boots, and if he moves, your perfect put-together look would be ruined.

His mind wanders.

His fingers twitch.

And when the meeting comes to a close, he doesn't hesitate to grab your hand in his. He holds you firmly, guiding you through the thick crowd as you two make your way to his red truck. Again, the contrast screams in his head. His eyes were watching you as he helped you inside his truck after opening the door for you, noticing how you stood out compared to him, and he made it halfway home before he finally couldn't take it anymore.

The truck pulls over onto the gravel road, bouncing you a little in your seat before he turns the truck completely off. When you realize you are somewhere on Woozi's farm, you try to figure out how far the Big House is. There's so much land he owns, and it's dark out, so you're not entirely sure where on the farm you both are, but it doesn't matter when he's calling to you softly.

Jihoon coaxes you closer with an outstretched hand, his fingers curling to beckon you near as he says, "c'mere." He's not asking, and you don't hesitate. You easily slide across the bench seat of the truck until Jihoon pulls you himself, his patience running thin as he brings you onto his lap directly.

You can feel the buckle of his belt against your pelvis, his jeans rubbing against your inner thighs as his fingers dig into your waist. It's cramped, but you've never felt more comfortable than right here as he looks up at you. His hat is tilted back, his hair almost falling into his eyes, as you rest your hands on his chest.

The air is charged with tension, your breath stuck in your lungs before Woozi breaks the silence. "I fucking hate those meetings."

It's unexpected, and it jolts you into laughter, your lips pulling up in an amused grin as he deadpans you. He meant every word, and you know he did.

"I'm serious. They wasted my time, and they wasted yours." He grumbles, and your shoulders shake as he leans back in his seat, the movement making you grind against his lap, and it quietens your giggles. "Could spend my time doing better things."

You know what he's hinting at, and you know you're not in public, but your eyes still flicker from window to window of the truck before you meet his eyes again. You notice the way his eyes have darkened, his lips parting as a soft pink dusts his cheeks with color. "Is that so?" You muse, your heart rate picking up pace as warmth pools between your thighs. "And what would that be?"

Your husband doesn't answer you; he pulls you into a kiss to show you. His warm hands are holding your lower back to keep you close, and he kisses you like summer rain, slow and steady, like he's got nowhere else to be. His hands move up your back and up to your face, tilting your head back so he can begin his trail of kisses down your neck, stopping in spots where you moan sweeter than before. And you're unsure how you end up on your back, splayed out on the bench seat of the 1970s boxed truck he drove, but Jihoon is fitting his hips between your legs like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle.

His denim jeans rub deliciously between your plush thighs, and your dress gets flipped up high enough for him to pull your panties down. You're just thankful that the windows are cracked because otherwise, you were pretty sure the windows would be fogged up by now with the way he's got you gasping for air.

When Jihoon's calloused fingers find your pretty pussy soaking wet and needy, he's got the top of your dress already bunched at your waist, his tongue laving over one of your nipples as you moan in pleasure. "This is what I ought to be doin'," he mumbles against the curve of your breast, his teeth nipping the supple skin as he swirls his thumb around your puffy clit. You make a keen whine, jutting your hips with a jolt that makes his smile grow. "Should be pleasing my wife, taking care of her. Isn't that right, my love?"

He doesn't expect an answer from you. Not when he's filling your sweet pussy with two of his fingers, stretching your gummy walls open as he sinks his digits to the knuckle.

You take him easy, already soaking wet for him, like always, and Woozi goes back to sucking your nipple into his mouth. He thrusts his fingers into your drooling cunt like he wasn't pulled over by one of the fields he owned, curling them just right, and your head swims with desire. He takes in the hitch in your breath, the way your legs fall open wider, your knee knocking into the dashboard of his truck as you take another one of his fingers, and the heart in his chest grows warmer.

"You take me so well, Peach." Woozi praises, and he looks between you two to see how glistening wet you make his fingers. "Should just have you like this all the time, wrapped around me, and making those sweet noises just for me." The sound of your pussy becoming wetter fills the small space, and your nails dig into his biceps, your cheeks flushed as he curls his fingers again and again.

He grazes the spongy spot that makes you see white, and your entire body tenses as you moan loudly for him. "Right there, oh! Right there!" You babble, and Woozi thinks about the contrast again. How pretty and put-together you were at the town meeting, and how ruined you are now.

Your dress is bunched up around your waist. Your pretty tits are exposed to his hungry eyes, and your sweet pussy is slurping on his fingers, begging for more, while he is still fully dressed. The power imbalance is unable to be hidden in Woozi's eyes, and his cock was hard and heavy in his jeans, wishing to be buried deep inside your drooling cunt as he got you rolling your eyes to the back of your head. His cowboy boots leave dusty footprints on the inside of his driver's side door as he brings your orgasm close, but he couldn't care less because after a few more strokes to your g-spot, he gets to see you like this: disheveled, holding onto him like a lifeline, and a complete mess as you cum with a cry of his name.

You tremble underneath him, your pussy spasming around his fingers while you gush hot and sweet, bucking your hips like you can't control them yourself. And Woozi's chest warms with pride, his fingers working between your thighs to fuck you through it, prolonging your high as your eyes glaze over in ecstasy.

When your tremors subside to little twitches in your thighs, he leans back, slipping his fingers from your sopping cunt with a satisfied grin. He keeps eye contact with you as he licks his digits clean, groaning at the taste of you, and murmuring, "sweet as a peach," while you try to blink away your bleary vision. "I think this was better than any town meeting."

And you can't disagree when he's unbuckling his belt, moving to shove his jeans down so he can get his cock free.

The weather is perfect today on the farm. It's clear skies and a sweet breeze that make the rows and rows of trees sway in the wind gently; the green leaves do a little shimmy before settling back in place, and you stand in your kitchen barefoot.

Normally, you'd always be dressed down to the kitten heels at the very least. Your wardrobe is usually picked out the night before, matching the perfectly fixed hair that you take your time to do every morning, but today is different. You are off today, not needed in town after your assistant threatened to lock the doors to your shop if you tried to come in. Minghao was like that, a sharp eye that meant well, and you were the kind of boss who didn't know what an off day meant until it hit you. So, after some whining from you that your assistant easily blocked, you were hung up on and left to your own devices.

But now what?

You're still in your pajamas, which consisted of a shirt of your husband's and little ruffled shorts you hand-made yourself, and your hands rested on your hips as you tried to figure out what to do for the rest of the day.

Your husband was long gone by now, somewhere on the farm working hard; he always got up before the sun did, and you would wake up to a pot of coffee waiting for you, still hot on the kitchen counter when you eventually made it downstairs.

That's what you gravitate to first.

You see the new mug set out on your kitchen counter; today it's shaped like a cowboy boot, and you fill it up with coffee Woozi left on. This was your routine. Woozi made coffee, something he desperately needed to start his day, and he made enough for both of you as he picked out the mug he wanted you to use for the day.

The first sip warms you entirely, making your lips curve into a soft smile as the taste of coffee and creamer swirls along your tongue. You're feeling more awake as you lean your hip against the old counter, your eyes flickering to the window above your kitchen sink.

You look out the window, ready to enjoy the view, when you spot your husband a little bit in the distance. He's on top of one of the big tractors he owns, tinkering on it as one of the dogs you two own zooms around it, making your husband shake his head. You don't have to be close to know he's smiling, and you can't tear your eyes off of him.

He's in his normal uniform: denim jeans, a plaid flannel, and a black cowboy hat. He's got the sleeves of his flannel rolled up to his elbows, and you know that even with his hat, he's got to be sweating. The summer hadn't turned unbearable yet, but it was still hot to be out there for long periods of time without any shade.

And you're just thinking about making him some lemonade or a snack when he's suddenly coming through the kitchen door, making you blink in surprise. You hadn't realized you were so lost in thought, but it seems you surprise Woozi just as much as he does you. He falters in step for a second, taking you in slowly, seeing your bare legs and feet as you hug the cowboy mug to your chest. You would normally be gone by now, halfway to work, but with your day off, you aren't.

You twist your body to face your husband, leaning back into the corner of the kitchen counter as he keeps eye contact with you. His eyes flicker, and it's too fast for you to try and read the emotions, but you watch as he silently opens the door of the fridge, grabbing a cold water bottle before he copies your stance - leaning back on the kitchen table, facing you, as he crosses his feet by his ankles.

His eyes stay on yours as he takes a moment to speak up, choosing to instead open the water bottle with an easy twist before bringing it to his mouth. Your eyelashes flutter as he takes a drink, a brief memory of last night flashing through your mind, and you're feeling more than envisioning his mouth sucking on something else that makes your thighs clench together in need. You watch his throat work, drinking in the water while your eyes wander down his body.

His flannel hugs his torso, stretching over muscles built by long days of hard labor, and you can't help but appreciate it. His thighs fill his jeans, and his forearms flex as they cross at his chest - and you're all but salivating at the mouth for your husband.

"You doin' work from home today?" He asks, breaking the silence and pulling you from your wandering thoughts. You shift from one foot to the other, not knowing that you were driving him insane by being in just your pajamas and a little messy hair. He wanted to bend you over the counter, spread your thighs, and tell you how much he needed to relieve some stress. How one of the tractors started acting up, getting on his nerves, and only your pretty pussy could help him get through the rest of his day - but instead, he does his best to restrain himself. He quirks a brow in your direction and watches you lick your lips before answering.

"No, I uh, took the day off." His eyebrows raise more at that, and he taps the empty water bottle against his bicep in thought. He doesn't know if he really could be productive today when he knows his wife will be inside all day, wearing his shirt, and hardly anything else. "But it could give me time to catch up on some personal work," you add, and Woozi stays quiet.

In the Big House, your home, Woozi had made sure you had your own office. A place where you could bring work home, or create on your own when you had the time. But you were always busy with something, especially since you were the main seamstress in town, and therefore, you hardly ever had time to create your own work.

Another beat of silence stretches between you two, and eventually Woozi nods his head to himself, standing straighter as he clears his throat with a little grunt. "Well, maybe I can join you for lunch if I can fix the tractor in time."

You knew your husband well enough to know that he wasn't a man of many words; he showed his affection through actions, and you knew that he'd do his best to find time to see you, and it made your heart flutter as he pushed off from the table. He seemed to hesitate again, just briefly, before he took two big steps toward you. When he was close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from his body, his hand reached for your face, pulling you half-way until his lips barely brushed yours.

It made you gasp, your eyes widening as your cheeks flushed, and you felt more than you saw, his lips curving into a knowing smirk. He hummed softly, and your lips tingled before he finally gave you a kiss that made your head spin. But as soon as he kissed you, he was pulling back, his tongue licking over his bottom lip as he cleared his throat like he was restraining himself. "Good morning, by the way."

And then he was gone, back outside with your two dogs at his heels while you slumped into the kitchen counter.

How were you supposed to be productive today after that?

Three hours later, you give up trying to work from home entirely when you're too distracted by your husband working outside. Your office faces the East, filling the small room full of fabrics in a warm glow, and giving you the perfect view of your husband riding the tractor he fixed. He's going up and down in the field to your left, and you're going insane alone with your unfinished projects.

Even from where you stood in the Big House, you could see that more buttons had come undone on his flannel, exposing his skin to the sunlight, and leaving you in a trance that makes you shake your head literally. You only got like this, dazed, with your husband; you were usually more composed, focused, and a little cold out in public. You owned and ran your own business, all from money you had earned through hard work, and it had taken years to get where you were now.

You had finally started becoming a recognized brand that was highly respected, and it was because you could remain composed, level, and meticulous in everything you did.

That's why no one would ever believe you if you told them you were in the kitchen making homemade lemonade as an excuse to see your husband instead of working.

You were still in your pajamas, your ruffled shorts hidden under your husband's old t-shirt as you added water to the pretty pitcher you had been gifted for your wedding. All the lemons you had stored on the kitchen counter had been juiced, and your cheeks were flushed from the silliness you felt by doing this. You could just go outside and call him over. You knew he'd drop everything, but you had no reason to interrupt his work. So, you didn't stop your lame excuse and grabbed the sugar from your pantry to stir in with your water until the lemonade was as sweet as the lemonade you could get from the state fair.

Once you were satisfied, you poured a tall glass with ice full of your lemonade before you ventured out the sliding glass door in your kitchen. Your stomach flipped as you realized you had no shoes to wear that wouldn't get ruined by mud, and you decided to carefully shake out your husband's extra pair of cowboy boots before you stepped in them.

The boots were old, worn, and dusty, but it was all you had, even if they didn't go with your outfit and they felt a little big to be walking in. Nevertheless, you were determined, and with the glass of lemonade in one hand, you stepped off the porch in search of your husband.

Luckily, it was not too hard to find him; you only had to glance at the field you last saw him in before you saw the barn door open in the distance. He must be getting ready to saddle one of the horses, and the thought alone made you walk faster so you wouldn't miss him.

The red barn was one of the bigger ones on the farm. Jihoon had four in total, not including the Big House, and they had been on this land long before he was even born. They had withstood rainstorms, snow, and a flood back in the eighties, and the goal was that they would be here long after him. Some paint peeled now and then, and Woozi would have to hire contractors to come look at a leak in the roof soon, but most of the time, it was the sanctuary he gave himself in between tasks for the day.

Amongst the stalls for the horses, and the extra bales of hay in the corner, the barn also housed all the gear he needed to saddle his horse or brush them after a long day, and a little workbench he was currently leaning against to give himself a small break. He was hoping to finish early to see you back home sooner, and he had been so lost daydreaming about you from this morning that he hadn't noticed you hesitantly walking in until you were calling for him softly.

"I made lemonade."

Woozi blinks; his flannel is fully open now, and he catches the way your eyes flicker down to the lines and ridges of his abs as you come to a halt a couple of feet away from him. His lips twitch, an amused grin almost showing on his face as his dark eyes move from you standing there like his greatest temptation and the cup of lemonade in your left hand.

"You made lemonade?" He mused, and he leaned further back against the workbench, allowing his flannel to fall from his sides. He can see you shift from one foot to the other like you were unsure of yourself, out of your element, and it's then that he realizes you're wearing more of his stuff than before, and the sight of it makes his cock twitch in delight.

"Yeah, I uh," you lick your lips and trail off because your mind is wandering south just like your eyes. You briefly wonder what it'd feel like being bent over the desk he's leaning on, and your thighs squeeze together pathetically in response. "I uh, thought maybe you'd be thirsty."

Thirsty. Jihoon nods to himself, agreeing he's thirsty, but not for your lemonade.

He stands up, slow and confident, loving that you made this excuse to see him, and he walks closer with deliberate, languid steps. His pretty wife, it seems, had been thinking about him as much as he has been thinking about you all day today. And when he finally takes your cup from your hand, he's all but backed you into one of the haystacks with a knowing smirk that makes your breath hitch in your throat.

"You're right," He hums and keeps eye contact with you as he sets the cup to the side on an adjacent haystack. His hands find their way to your waist, slipping under his shirt to touch your hips without anything in the way, and the feel of his calloused fingertips against your smooth skin makes your eyelashes flutter. "I am thirsty," he says it low and deep, and you're clutching onto his biceps as he lifts you to sit on the haystack with ease.

From this height, your hips are the height of his chest, and your gasp echoes as your husband pulls your ass to the edge, his eyes sparkling while heat pools in your stomach.

"You gonna let me fix that, my love? Let me have a taste after working so hard in the sun today." His words make your heart pick up the pace, stuttering in your chest, and you find yourself nodding dumbly as his fingers hook into your ruffled shorts and panties.

He drags the two pieces of clothing down until they are balled up next to the useless cup of lemonade, and then he's pushing you back gently, forcing you onto your back as he manhandles your knees to your chest, exposing your pretty pussy to the open air.

It should be embarrassing how wet you already are, and how much more of your slick seeps from your puffy folds when Jihoon moans. He hasn't even done anything but stare, watching how your sensitive clit glitters with your juices as he stands over you. "Always so good for me," he praises, and you're unable to speak when he dives right in.

His hot tongue is thick, and the wet muscle laps up your slit like you're his favorite meal. And maybe, it's because you are. His fingers dig into the fat of your thighs, keep you spread open, and his nose buries itself against your clit as he slurps obscenely, letting the noises echo in the big barn. It's dirty how he has you, with your ass hanging on the edge of the haystack as he messily makes out with your cunt, but you've also never been more turned on.

Your hands scramble to hold onto something, anything, before you bring his face closer to your pretty pussy, your hips rocking up to match the filthy thrusts of his tongue plunging into your sopping cunt.

The familiar heat in your stomach swirls tighter with each sloppy shake of Jihoon's head between your plush thighs, and your cries resonate in the tall barn louder, mixing with his lovesick groans. "This is just - hah - what I needed-" He confesses, and you feel his hand leave your thigh before two of his fingers stuff your cunt with a sticky squelch. Your eyes swirl, and your jaw drops, and Jihoon dives back in, sucking your clit into his mouth with a precise curl of his fingers that makes your ears ring.

Stars burst behind your eyelids, bringing your orgasm closer, and your whimpers turn more wrecked as he focuses on the soft spots inside you that have you thrashing underneath him.

"You don't even know how much I wanted to fuck you when I saw you this morning." His words come out between his tongue lapping on your pulsing clit, and the deep plunges of his thick fingers inside your pussy. His lips and jaw are dripping with your arousal, and he's only more determined to make a mess out of you as he keeps talking you through it. "Just - ngh - wanted to bend ya' over our kitchen table, see if your pretty pussy was still molded to m'cock from last night."

Your gasp comes out choked, and your gummy walls tighten around his three digits, squeezing him in pulses as your orgasm crashes through you suddenly. You cry out his name when you cum, and Jihoon replaces his fingers with his tongue, slurping your slick while his thumb rubs sloppy hearts into your clit, fucking you through it with a happy groan. He rides out every wave of your orgasm until your noises come out silent and you're oversensitive, weakly pushing on his head to let you go.

When Woozi finally listens, he places a sweet kiss on your trembling thighs before he stands back up from his hunched position. Your arousal coats his nose, lips, and jaw with a glittering shine that has your cheeks blushing a darker shade, and the pleased smirk he gives you when you lie there boneless has your pussy fluttering with new tremors.

You watch him lick his lips before grabbing your forgotten lemonade. He makes sure you're watching as he takes a sip, sighing in contentment before he gives you a teasing wink. "Sweet, but you're sweeter."

When the leaves change colors in the fall, the farm changes with it. It'd been an annual event for the pumpkin patch to be held on your husband's farm. It'd been the designated place for generations, so as the spooky holiday neared, your work balanced between running your business in town and creating side projects to decorate your land for the town to enjoy with their family and friends.

The usual staples would be provided, like bobbing for apples, hay rides, pumpkin picking, and a corn maze that you were determined to make spooky enough for the teenagers when they came during the evening. It was always like that: kids and families came during the day for wholesome fun, and then teenagers and young adults came in the evening for date night and scares. You were proud to be a part of this tradition, and the whole town helped, so it wasn't just on you and your husband's shoulders.

Mingyu, Seungcheol, and Dino came early to help your husband set up tables, guide food trucks to a clear field, and put up structures that you had painted the week before. Seungkwan supervised not only the kids' activities because he was everyone's favorite school teacher, but also the rest of the town on what their job was and how to do it properly. He had muttered to you that otherwise no one would do it right, and it made you hide your grin behind your hand as he sauntered off to find Vernon, who was supposed to have the raffle tickets for the prizes that would be won later.

You had felt like you had been pulled in every other direction putting this whole thing together, and it also felt like you had hardly seen your husband unless it was across the way, and he was busy with another task with one of the boys. You'd catch him lifting hay bales, muscles flexing under the autumn sun, before someone would come to talk to you about an activity, distracting you from your view of your man, and when you looked back moments later, he'd be gone. The moments seemed to build as time went on, and before you had realized it, hours had passed, and the kids and families were gone, while the evening rolled in with the next wave of people.

Eventually, you'd find yourself back inside the Big House, which was off-limits to others but your husband and you, and it was your solace as you leaned on the kitchen sink with a heavy sigh. The kitchen window gave you a view of adults mingling around, laughing and talking, and you felt satisfied with how the event turned out, even if you were tired and missing your husband more than usual. The last time you had seen him, it was just before four in the afternoon, and Seungkwan was hosting the last kids' bobbing for apples activity with you right next to him.

Your eyes had wandered from Seungkwan's dramatic flair on how to actually bob for apples to the tractor dragging the hitched trailer full of families, your husband being the person behind the wheel as he drove it around for everyone.

Jihoon had his black cowboy hat tipped back, his posture relaxed and confident, and the urge to kiss him consumed you so suddenly you felt frozen. You couldn't keep your eyes off of him, watching as he drove nearer, and as if he could feel you staring, his head turned, and his dark eyes caught yours like two magnets snapping together.

With one look, your breath caught, your cheeks flushed, and Jihoon's lips curved up in amusement. When he was close enough, he tipped his hat to you nice and slow, a teasing smile dancing on his face as he murmured, "My love," before driving by. It was just two words, but it was enough to make your tummy flip and your neediness grow as Seungkwan redirected your attention to the kids who were clamoring to bite one apple from one of the five barrels in front of them.

You had spent the rest of the day in a daze, your eyes glossed over with very little attention span, and you hadn't even realized you were no longer alone in your kitchen until your husband spoke up.

"My love," those two little words snap you from your wandering thoughts, and your head turned to look over your shoulder towards your husband, who was wearing the same teasing smile as before.

When you realize you're finally alone with him, your body moves faster than your mind, and you're not hesitating as you pull him into a kiss that makes his warm hands squeeze your hips with a groan. You take charge of the kiss easily, nipping on his bottom lip with your teeth as your hand snakes down his chest to the waistband of his jeans. You make quick work of his belt, sliding his zipper down and unbuttoning his jeans until they bunch at his knees with an eagerness that makes his head spin.

He lets out a strangled noise when you pull back from his kiss just enough to see his eyes swirl, and his cheeks darken with a blush. His hat is tilted back, his eyebrows are furrowed, and his cock is growing a tent in his boxers as your palm rubs against it, squeezing him through the thin material that separates him from you.

Precum oozes from his tip, staining the fabric enough for you to see, and your smile is all seduction as he holds onto the kitchen counter tightly. "Were you missing me, too?" You asked Jihoon with a flutter of your eyelashes. You've taken to stroking him through his boxers, circling your thumb around the tip until heat ached down to his lower stomach. His abdomen tensed, his knuckles whitened, and your husband looked too good being this wrecked over a few tugs of your hand.

"Baby-" His moan came out desperate, his hooded eyes never leaving yours as his hips twitched under your hand. "Fuck, yeah- ngh - missed you s'much." Your touch became firmer as he stuttered through his words, and your hand moved underneath the waistband of his boxers to feel him hot and pulsing under your palm.

The mere touch of your hand made a whine slip from his lips, and his head tilted backwards as you used his precum as lubricant to tug on his cock. Obscene "schlick!" noises resonated in the kitchen as the event happened just twenty feet away outside your kitchen window, and your husband's head began to fill with nothing but the way your hand felt around his cock, and the pretty smile you gave as the wet repetitive sound of your hand pumping deliberate strokes grew more frequent with each squeeze you gave to his tip.

His hips moved in tandem with your hand, thrusting his cock into your tight grip, and just when he thought you couldn't get any hotter, you're sinking onto your knees between his spread legs.

His cock is heavy, weighing down from the amount of blood that rushed south to it, and his tip is cherry red with need. The sight of him, hard, pulsing, and leaking gooey precum profusely, has your mouth watering, and you're only able to give him a cheeky wink before his vision swims, and your warm mouth swallows his tip with a satisfied moan.

"Oh fuck," his curse comes out choked off, and his muscles flex as the coil of pressure in his abdomen tightens to an overwhelming tremor. His breath leaves his lungs, and your mouth slides further down his cock until his hand comes to twist in your hair. He doesn't pull you off or guide your movements; he just uses it as a hold to keep himself grounded as your mouth slurps his cock all the way down to the base.

Your nose brushes the trimmed hair on his pelvis, and his balls tighten with each wet, slobbery bob of your head. The slippery friction of your warm mouth leaves him gasping for air as you take him all the way down your throat before going back up to swirl your tongue around his tip. The sloppy sucks of your lips wrapped around his shaft increase, your pace picking up, and his hand on the back of your head gets heavier with each filthy "gulk!" your throat makes when his cock stuffs it to the brim.

After a few more bobs from you, he can't take it anymore, and he holds your head still, his hips rolling forward on their own accord as he takes over. The pleasure became too much, and your eyes watered as he fucked your mouth, your name coming out as a thankful chant. When he looked down at you, his eyes were blown wide, glossy like your lips, and the sight of you blinking up at him as you let him use you was enough to make the pressure building inside him burst.

His hips jutted forward, his thrusts stuttering into an erratic rhythm as his eyes squeezed shut so tightly that colors exploded behind his eyelids. Your name tore through his throat, raw and undone, echoing in the room as a mix between a broken sob and a gasp. All of his muscles locked up, his hand keeping your head down on his cock, forcing your throat to swallow around his thick length as his tip twitched with the first wave of his release.

His thighs trembled, and he fought to stay upright as you sucked on his sensitive tip until you had swallowed every last drop of his cum. Your tongue massaged the pulsing veins down his length, and when the waves of pleasure began to subside, you finally let him go with a wet "pop!"

Your tongue licked your lips clean as he slumped into the kitchen counter, out of breath, and you stood up slowly, getting onto your tiptoes as you gave him another slow kiss, letting him taste himself on your tongue. "I missed you." You murmured against his lips, and his fingers curled into your dress tighter, bringing you closer.

The coldness that creeps in, foreboding the coming of winter, brings slower work for Woozi; by this point, he's moved his cattle from one area to the next, and he's prepping the old land they were on for better growth for next spring as he manages the shorter days with less sun.

He's still busy almost the entire day, but with it being the colder season, he's able to finish up earlier with fewer tasks needing his attention, which allows him to have dinner with you on a four-day regular basis, an upgrade to your normal two- to three-day dinner dates.

You two work in tandem to cook a home-cooked meal, provided by his hard work, whenever you can, and while you insist on cooking, he insists on setting the table once he's finished with work for the day. The routine is simple: you arrive at the Big House around five-thirty like usual, and immediately get to cooking, and once Jihoon comes in for the day, you're usually half-way done with dinner to allow him to wash up and set the table in the meantime. You two don't really talk as much during this time; you know your husband isn't much for talking unless necessary, so you're not prepared when he comes in a little later than usual and sets his black cowboy hat down on the kitchen counter without so much of a glance.

His walk is heavier than usual, his eyes set on you as you stir the pasta you had made in the pot, and a shiver runs up your spine when you meet his dark eyes. "I just need to make the salad, and dinner should be ready," you say, and you mistake the hunger in his eyes for food. You don't know he's had a rough day, that every little thing seemed to go wrong, and he had pent his frustration in a slow swirl that tightened up like a rattlesnake's tail that jittered in warning before striking.

The silence hangs heavily between you both, and you could feel the air shift, electrifying the tension, and you had made the fortunate move of flipping the stove top burner off before you spoke up again.

"I just need you to set the table-" you are unable to finish your sentence before your husband reaches for you. The rattlesnake struck, gripping you with strength that made you gasp as you were whirled around the kitchen until your chest met your kitchen table. The wood table was cold against the little slip dress you had worn to work. The thin material hugged your body, stretching tight when Jihoon manhandled you to bend over the table, and your arms were behind your back before you could say his name in alarm.

His one hand holds both of your wrists in a taut grasp, and another gasp leaves your glossy lips when his cowboy boot kicks your legs open wider. You can feel his hips against your ass, his buckle digging into the end of your dress, and your cheeks flush as you feel his cock is already hard under his fitted jeans. "I'm going to fuck you." His words come out confident, a sureness that makes your pussy clench in anticipation, and you're rewarded with a roll of his hips as he continues to talk. "And you're gonna cum on my cock twice before we have the dinner you've made, okay?"

You're pinned to the kitchen table, his jeans rubbing against the back of your thighs, and your panties are soaked, sticking to your folds as you nod your head quietly. You can hear him huff a little laugh, smug, and his hands tighten around your wrists as he flips your dress up, dragging your panties down just enough to give him access to your pretty cunt.

You expect him to be rough, to take you right then and there, but instead, he's much worse. He's a tease.

His thick fingers find your clit with ease, and your arousal drips down his digits as he strokes your nub with light touches. His denim jeans are tight over his wide thighs, and they are keeping you in place as he teases your cunt with slow caresses. He winds you up with knowing accuracy, rubbing sloppy hearts into your clit until your cunt is all but weeping slick down your trembling thighs.

The room fills with the wet sounds of your cunt, and your breathy moans, and Jihoon lets out a sigh like this was exactly what he needed. His eyes can't stop staring at your quivering pussy, the way your hole flutters as he plays with you, dragging his fingers through your dripping folds, teasing your entrance before going back to your pulsing clit like he knows you could cum from just this.

And you could; he's had you do it before, stroking your clit until you were throbbing around nothing, begging for his cock before you orgasmed with a cry of his name.

Tonight, he's too tense to have that happen again, and just as your hips are tilting back, pressing back onto his fingers with a wiggle that says you're about to cum - he stops. With one hand, he unbuckles his belt, shoving his jeans sloppily down to his thighs, before he grabs your ass with a heavy hand. His cock aligns with your entrance perfectly, and the fat, blunt head of his cock is dark and leaking with his precum, coating your pussy and making your head spin with lust. You're just about ready to beg for him to move when he pushes his hips forward, sheathing his cock inside you in one full thrust.

Normally, your husband has you cumming on his fingers and mouth a few times before he gives you his cock, but tonight, he takes you like you're his personal cock sleeve. He holds your wrists in one hand behind your back and your hip in the other as he drags his heavy cock through your gummy walls, pushing out loud moans from your glossy lips each time he fills you to the hilt.

The table digs into your hips as his balls smack into your clit with little 'plap, plap, plaps', adding to your pleasure as he uses you hard and fast. You can only tilt your hips up to take each thrust with a whimper, your pussy slurping his cock deeper with each clap of his hips meeting your ass. The orgasm that builds in your stomach develops hotter with each stroke he gives, and you're rendered to a babbling mess as your pussy slobbers his cock with another wave of your slick. "Oh! Yes, yes, just like that!"

You barely hear your husband scoff, a smug smirk dawning on his face as he hooks your knee up onto the table. The new angle has him plugging his cock deeper into you, and your tongue lolls lewdly in response. "Just like that?" He croons condescendingly. "Yeah, you like it when I fuck my frustration out on you? Hah, look at you - you're soaking me."

Your legs tremble, and his thrusts pick up pace, bringing drool to the corner of your mouth as he reaches under you to find your puffy clit. He rubs the pretty nub with quick and mean circles, and you're unable to warn him fast enough before something snaps inside you. Your orgasm bursts like the wail you let out, and your cunt spasms into a vice grip around his cock, pulsing in tremors that make Jihoon's hips stutter.

"That's it, let it all out for me, Baby." He praises, and your pussy quivers as he keeps rubbing your clit, his thrusts growing harder as he changes his pace to fuck you deep and slow. He makes you feel every inch plunge through your gushing channel, until you're realizing just how much of a mess you've made. You can feel your cum drip down your thighs, and your cheeks flush as your second orgasm builds quicker than the first.

"Ji-Jihoon! It's too - ngh - too much! M'gonna - oh fuck, fuck," Your moan turns into a squeal as your body locks up; you've barely stopped the trembling in your thighs before you're gushing for the second time. Your stomach tightens, your pussy clamps down on his thick cock, and your vision darkens as he smacks your clit with his wet fingers.

You think you forget how to breathe, because one moment your vision blackens, and the next you're gasping for air as Jihoon curses behind you. "Fuck, you're perfect." You can hear his teeth grinding together, and your pussy is still milking his cock through your orgasm when you feel his cock swelling as he cums. Every inch of his shaft rubs your sensitive walls deliciously, and you can feel every spurt of his cock filling your cunt with his cum as he groans loudly behind you.

His hips grind into your ass, his cock painting your pussy white, and it's then that he finally lets go of your wrists. You feel your arms drop to your sides while he rubs his hands down your back, keeping you stuffed with his cock and cum as he praises you. "You did so good for me, my love; you made such a mess- even squirted for me." He sighs blissfully, and your cunt squeezes his cock instinctively at his words.

You're pretty sure your pasta was cold now, but you couldn't care less; you felt warm and satisfied as your husband rubbed your hips and back with deep circles, praising you with more compliments as you lay boneless over the kitchen table.

There are only a few days Jihoon takes off from working his farm. If he had it his way, he'd work even on his birthday, but you'd never allow that. You always claimed that the ranch could handle one day without him, and one small finger from you pointed at his chest with a determined glint in your eye had him shutting up any protest as he hung up his hat for the night, following you to bed as you slowly led the way with an enticing sway of your hips.

But old habits die hard, and Woozi wakes before the sun does. His eyes flutter open, and the first thing he notices is that your soft body is tucked into his as your leg drapes over his hip. It's quiet, the stillness before the dawn, and your little sleepy noises that you huff into his neck make his heart warm all over. It was always hard to leave you in the mornings, even when his body moved on autopilot.

Mornings were definitely not in his favor; his eyes could barely stay open as his hair jutted out every which way, and the only balm he gave himself was by making a strong cup of coffee to start his day. As the coffee dripped into the pot, he grabbed two mugs out of habit, one for himself and the other chosen specifically for you. Today, he chooses a pink one dotted with tiny red hearts all over it just for you.

When the coffee is done, the sky has barely changed color; it's still dark, but the first glimpses of it lightening up are seen just behind the mountains to the East, and he takes his cup of coffee onto the back porch.

Your porch wraps around the entirety of the Big House, but Woozi likes to stay on the back half, looking over all the land he worked hard to maintain. Two of the red barns are back here, and the chicken coop is around the corner, so as everyone sleeps, he sighs and leans his hip into the porch railing as he finally takes his first sip of coffee for the day.

He drinks his coffee mostly black; the bitterness shoots through his veins, waking him up faster, and his brows pinch as it warms his body over the cold morning air. Usually, if he were working, he'd drink his first cup of coffee just like this. He'd take the brief moment of quiet before grabbing his second cup to go as he headed out to check up on all the animals. He only allowed himself two cups of coffee; otherwise, his body would get too jittery, his brain would drift, and the urge to "fuck all" and find his wife would be too unbearable to resist. Essentially, nothing would get done but you, so he had to have some restraint as he would call your two dogs to follow him on his heels.

But none of that matters today, though; it's his birthday, his wife was naked in his bed upstairs, and when he finished his first cup of coffee, he planned to celebrate with his head between your thighs, waking you up with the warmth of his tongue to start your day off right.

The thought alone makes him smirk to himself, his cock growing in his jeans as he daydreams, and he's so lost in his own world he doesn't hear you until you're setting your pink mug of coffee right next to his on the porch railing.

"I woke up alone."

Your statement comes out quietly, calmly, and his dark eyes shift to the right, widening when he sees you standing there still as naked as he had left you. "Baby, it's cold out here-" His body fully twists in your direction now, and his eyes can't help but dip and follow the curves and lines of his pretty wife as you give him a knowing grin.

"-then warm me up, cowboy. Make up for the fact you weren't in my bed this morning." Your little nickname was always an inside joke between you two, something you called him just to rile him up, and his plans to take you on the bed fly out the window entirely. A grin tugged onto the edge of his lips, matching your own, and his hands grabbed your waist so fast that you let out an involuntary yelp as he pulled you into him.

Your cold skin hummed with renewed heat as his hands rubbed down your back, and your moan got swallowed by his lips when he kissed you like there wasn't enough time in the world. He could feel your perky nipples against his chest, the goosebumps that ran down your arms, and the smile you two shared as he licked over your bottom lip before pulling back. "What are the magical words?" He teased low and deep, the morning raspiness in his tone making your thighs squeeze together in anticipation as his hardening cock pressed against your hip.

It was unfair how easily he could make your head clouded with lust, and your nails lightly scratched down his sides to provoke a little inhale from him as you watched his pupils blow wide with hunger. You leaned up, brushing your lips over his, and smiled at the tingling you felt all the way down to your toes. "Happy birthday, my love."

Jihoon groaned, and you laughed as you two were brought down onto the floor by him. He didn't bother even making it inside with you as his body covered yours, right there on the back porch, and his hips slotted between your legs as he squeezed your ass playfully. His head dipped down, and his teeth nipped the curve of your neck, bringing another round of giggles from you as he spoke into your ear with an affectionate scoff. "I was looking for, please, Darling, not some cheesy happy birthday." He huffed, and an adoring pinch to your side made your hips buck up into his.

Your pussy slid up his jean-covered bulge, and both of you groaned as his own body reacted to yours instinctively. Every time your hips rolled, his hips responded, grinding into your exposed cunt, dragging the seam of his jeans over your pretty clit until your arousal seeped onto the front of his jeans with a darkening wet patch.

You were so pretty, lying underneath him, dry humping him out in the open, and he knew he was going to take you right here in the cold early morning, but before Woozi could pin you down, your knees pressed into his hips, and your body used his weight to roll you two around until you were on top.

Your weight settled back onto his lap as he found himself lying on the creaky wooden floor in surprise, and your hands rested on his chest as your hips swiveled again, grinding over his lap as he held onto your waist with a moan. "Birthday boys don't need a please; they just need to be good and take what they're given." Your husband's head fell back, exposing his neck, and your smile turned a little condescending as you looked down on him. "Now, are you going to let me ride my cowboy, or what?"

Jihoon gave a short, jerky nod in consent, his vision blurring a little as his cock pulsed in need from your words. He barely made out the two coffee mugs still steaming on the railing before you made quick work of his jeans, unbuckling his belt, and sliding his zipper down. He helped you shove his jeans down to the middle of his thighs with his boxers, and you were already soaking wet as you leaned up on your knees to reach back for his hefty cock.

There is no prep, no teasing, just your hand guiding his cock to your entrance, and then your pretty pussy engulfing his shaft inch by mouth-watering inch with such warmth that his tongue slaps the roof of his mouth as his eyes roll back in pleasure.

Your pussy creates a filthy and sticky squelch from the breach of his cock stretching you open, and you can feel every thumping inch of his cock rub deliciously along your gummy walls as his weeping tip reaches places you didn't even know existed as your ass finally meets his hips in one swift swoop. Fuck, this was Jihoon's favorite position for a reason, and it shows when your head falls back and your eyes cross lewdly from the feeling of him stuffing you full.

Each time your hips slam down, driving his cock deeper into your wet heat, dirty "plap, plap, plaps!" resonate in the open air as your skin smacks into his. Your gyrations only got nastier with each twist of your hips, and the feel of his plump cock swiveling around inside you so deliciously had his jaw gritting, his muscles straining, as you rode him like he was a prized bull.

This was heaven, and he says as much as his eyes fixate on your bouncing tits, your face showing him the fucked-out expression he loved seeing you wear when you got cock drunk. One of his hands displays his fingers over your ass, squeezing the soft flesh as his other hand snakes up your curved back, bringing you lower until his lips could wrap around one of your perky nipples.

He sucks with a hard pull, and the new angle has his cock drilling into your sweet spot like a bullseye, making your entire body jolt as he bucks his hips upwards to meet your movements. An adorable "ah!" shrills from your gaping mouth, and your legs burn as every inch of your velvety walls gets massaged by his thickening shaft.

You were being fucked, and your brain lags the information that you weren't in control anymore, even if you were on top. Woozi's hand slips between your two sweaty bodies, his fingers spreading your puffy folds open even more, and you're babbling in desperation as his teeth graze your nipple with a grin. "Wait! Wait- I'm-" Your words slur, and Jihoon can't help but place a mean smack on your clit, splashing your juices across his fingertips as his other hand held your hips in place.

"So gorgeous," Your husband praises, and your cunt drools at the feeling of his cold wedding band on his left hand rubbing against your hot, pulsing clit in beckoning swirls, smoothing the harsh sting he gave your little nub seconds before.

You're not sure if it was the way he used his wedding band against your quivering cunt or the way his cock continued to bruise your g-spot with a mean accuracy, or if it was because he was looking at you like you were the greatest gift on this earth, but your orgasm slams through you suddenly, knocking every last thought from your brain as his lips crash into yours.

You feel your cunt gush all around him, splattering your juices, and his fingers make quick, swift smacks onto your pulsing clit until you're squirting hard, crying into his mouth as his tongue licks over yours with a deep groan.

When you finally pull away, Jihoon is chasing after your lips, and your pussy is still spasming through your orgasm as your slick spreads across his lap every time you fucked yourself down on his hard cock. You can barely see Jihoon's lovesick grin on his face behind your teary eyes, and his voice sounds as wrecked as you feel when he rasps, "Such a messy wife I got, huh? Squirting all over me."

Your pussy clenches wantonly, milking his weeping cock pitifully, and Jihoon's balls tense, his pupils dilating into hearts as you look at him with glossy eyes. You don't have to speak for him to know what you're wanting, and the two of you roll around again until your husband is pushing your knees to your chest, forcing you into a nasty mating press.

Maybe taking the day off for his birthday wasn't that bad after all.

The sun provides a welcoming warmth across your face as you lean back on the peach tree in April. Your chin tilts up, and your eyes close, basking in the sun's rays of spring while the green leaves cover you with partial shade. All the peaches look ripe and juicy, and a few of them are piled to your left on the blanket you're sitting on, and you can't help but think about how the past year has flown by so quickly.

You'd gotten married, built your business up even more, and had fallen for your husband more and more each day that passed. Your lips pull up into a sweet grin as you think about it, and you open your eyes just enough to glance down at your lap.

Jihoon's wearing the same type of flannel he wears almost every day, along with his worn jeans and dusty cowboy boots. The only thing missing is the black cowboy hat that he took off so he could lay his head across your lap. He had placed it by your foot, your legs stretched out over the picnic blanket, and your fingers scratch his scalp in soothing swirls, making his lips part as he exhaled a long, happy sigh.

You two had been sitting here for over an hour now, taking in the cool breeze, the green leaves surrounding the beautiful peaches, and the warmth of the sun. You're pretty sure your husband could fall asleep like this, and the thought brings a giggle that makes him barely crack his eyes open with curiosity. "What's so funny?"

Your head shakes, and his eyebrow quirks as your fingers swirl through his dark hair, combing through the long strands that now reach his shoulders. "Nothing, m'just thinking." Your left hand rests on his chest, and your wedding ring shines as you move your right hand from his head to grab one of the peaches you two picked together earlier.

Jihoon doesn't try to pry any further; instead, he watches as you take a bite of the plump fruit, the juices coating your tongue with sweetness that makes your smile grow until he can't take it any longer and he reaches for you. You've barely swallowed your bite before your husband's leaning up and bringing you down for a slow kiss, curling his tongue over yours to taste the same sweetness you just experienced.

He cups the back of your head as his tongue licks over your mouth, kissing you with a softness he only reserved for you, and your head slowly begins to fill with cotton.

When he pulls back, his forehead leans against yours as you two catch your breath, and his nose nudges yours softly. He's smiling, pulling you into another kiss that makes you melt into him, and the both of you sink onto the blanket under the big peach tree as he mumbles across your lips, "I love you."

He repeats the three words like a mantra, kissing down your neck as his hands worship your body, taking his time to show you how much he means it.

And while your husband makes his way south, sliding your dress up your soft thighs, your smile feels permanent - your love overflowing your heart as you say it back, taking over his chants as he places the first kiss on your inner knee.

"I love you, I love you, I love you."

대박 - you made it to the end!

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He stops right in front of your chair, blocking the sun, a breathless, boyish grin plastered on his face.

"Having fun just watching?" he teases, his voice a little raspy from yelling over the music. He leans down, pressing a deliberately cold, wet kiss to your cheek, leaving a damp patch on your skin.

You swallow hard, your eyes involuntarily darting down to the way the wet cotton traces the definition of his torso, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Your heart does a sudden, violent flip.

"Yeah," you manage, your voice a little tighter than usual as you look back up into his dark eyes. "A lot of fun."

He chuckles, entirely oblivious—or maybe entirely aware—of the effect he's having, before being dragged back into the chaos by Seokmin and Mingyu. But for the rest of the afternoon, no matter how loud the guys got, your eyes keep tracking that damp white shirt.

Hours later, the villa finally went quiet. The guys crashed in their respective rooms, exhausted from a day in the sun and a heavy dinner.

You're sitting on the edge of the bed in the room you and Seungcheol share, the cool air conditioning humming softly in the background. The door clicks open, and Seungcheol walks in, freshly showered and wearing nothing but a loose pair of gray sweatpants. His hair is damp again, but this time it smells of the villa’s sharp, clean soap.

He lets out a long sigh of relief, stretching his arms over his head before looking at you. "Man, I love them, but they are exhausting. I'm so glad we finally have some quiet—" he stops mid-sentence, noticing the way your gaze was fixed on him. "What?"

"Nothing," you say quickly, but your eyes betray you, tracing the lines of his chest and stomach, the memory of the wet t-shirt still burning into your mind.

He moves closer, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. The air in the room suddenly feels thicker. "No, it's not nothing," he says, his voice lower now. "You've been looking at me like that since this afternoon. Ever since the pool."

Heat floods your cheeks. You open your mouth to deny it, to say something, anything, but he's already closing the distance between you. He kneels in front of you, his hands resting on your knees.

"Tell me," he murmurs, his thumbs stroking slow circles on your skin. "What were you thinking about?"

You swallow, your breath hitching. "The... the wet t-shirt," you admit, the words barely a whisper.

His smile widens, a flicker of pride and amusement in his eyes. "Just the shirt?" he pushes, leaning in until his lips are just a breath away from yours. "Or what was under it?"

You let out a shaky breath. "Both."

"Good," he whispers against your mouth before finally kissing you. It isn't soft. It's deep and hungry, a kiss that's been waiting all day to happen. His hands slide from your knees up your thighs, pulling you to the very edge of the bed.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathless. He looks at you, his eyes dark with a question he doesn't need to ask. You answer by reaching for the hem of your own shirt and pulling it over your head in one smooth motion. His gaze drops, and the last of the playful energy in the room evaporates, replaced by something much more intense.

"Much better," he breathes, leaning in to press a trail of kisses down your neck, his hands exploring the newly exposed skin of your waist and back.

"Cheol, the guys—" you start, your head tipping back to give him better access.

"Don't care," he mumbles against your collarbone, his hands moving around to your stomach, tracing the edge of your shorts. "Let them hear. They should know what happens when my girlfriend comes on a trip with me."

You can't help the small laugh that escapes, but it's quickly cut off by a gasp as he lifts you effortlessly, moving you further back on the bed and hovering over you.

He looks down at you, his expression a mixture of adoration and raw desire. "Now, where were we?" he asks, but he doesn't wait for an answer before leaning down to kiss you again, slow and deep, while his hands work to remove the last barriers between your skin and his.

His thumbs hooks into the waistband of your shorts, dragging them down your legs with a deliberate slowness that made your breath catch. The fabric whispers against your skin before being discarded onto the floor. The cool air of the room is a stark contrast to the warmth of his body, and you shivered, though not from the cold.

Seungcheol’s eyes followed the path of his hands as they travels back up your legs, skimming over your knees, your thighs, settling on your hips. He watches you, cataloging every tiny reaction—the way your stomach tightens, the soft sigh that escapes your lips.

His touch is reverent, almost worshipful, as he leans down to press a kiss just below your navel. Then another, lower still, on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You tangle your fingers in the damp hair at the nape of his neck, a silent encouragement.

He responds by parting your legs gently, settling between them, as he looks up at you. "I'm okay with you screaming for me, baby," he murmurs, his breath warm against your most sensitive skin. "But if you really need to muffle your screams, we can use your pretty panties." he says before he hooks a finger into your panties, pulling them down your legs. "Love eating you out," he confesses, his voice vibrating against you. He then dives in, eating you out like a starved man.

"Cheol," you gasp, your back arching off the bed as he set a devastating rhythm.

He's relentless, using his tongue, his lips, every part of himself to push you higher. He eats you out with the same focused intensity he applies to everything else, as if making you fall apart is the most important thing in the world. One of his hands slide up your body, finding yours, and your fingers lace together, a grounding anchor in the sea of sensation he's creating.

The sounds you're making are uninhibited now, soft cries and gasps filling the quiet room. You can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your stomach, a delicious, dizzying spiral. "Cheol, I—"

"I know, baby," he mumbles against you, not stopping. "Let go. I've got you."

His words are the final push you need. The tension snaps, and pleasure crashes over you in a blinding wave. You cry out his name, your body shaking as he works you through it, drawing out every last bit of sensation until you're limp and breathless on the bed.

He kisses his way back up your body, pausing to lavish attention on your breasts before finally reaching your lips. The kiss is slow and deep, tasting of you and him.

When he pulls back, he's smiling, a soft, triumphant look in his eyes. He's still wearing those damn gray sweatpants, and you're suddenly overwhelmed with the need to get rid of them.

"You're still wearing too many clothes," you whisper, your hands sliding down his back to the waistband of his sweatpants. He lets out a soft hum of approval as you tug them down, freeing him.

Your eyes widen slightly at the sight of him, hard and ready for you. You wrap your hand around him, stroking him slowly, watching as his head tips back and a low groan rumbles in his chest.

"Fuck," he breathes, his hips bucking slightly into your touch. "Keep doing that and this'll be over before it starts."

You smile, a slow, satisfied smirk. "We can't have that, can we?"

With a strength that never fails to surprise you, he flips you over, pulling your hips up until you're on your hands and knees. He runs a hand over the curve of your ass, a low, appreciative sound in his throat.

"Seungcheol," you breathe, pushing back against him.

"I'm right here, baby," he murmurs, positioning himself at your entrance. He pushes in slowly, a shared gasp filling the room as he stretches and fills you completely. He pauses for a moment, giving you time to adjust, before starting to move.

The pace he set is deep and deliberate, each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you that makes your toes curl. The sounds of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your moans and his harsh breaths.

"God, you feel so good," he grits out, one hand gripping the headboard for leverage, the other splayed across your back. "So fucking good."

You can't form words, can only push back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. The bed's rocking beneath you, the headboard hitting the wall with a soft thud, thud, thud that's a perfect counterpoint to the rhythm he's setting.

You bury your face in the pillows to muffle your cries, his hand skimming up your spine. "I know you feel good baby, but don't forget to breathe," he says, leaning down to press a kiss between your shoulder blades. "I want to hear you."

You turn your head to the side, taking a deep, shaky breath. "Harder, Cheol," you manage to get out. "Please."

Your plea seems to flip a switch in him. The careful control he's been exercising shatters, replaced by a raw, primal need. With a guttural groan, he tightens his grip on your hips and drive into you, the force of it stealing the air from your lungs.

The pace is punishing, a relentless rhythm that has the headboard slamming against the wall with a new, desperate urgency. The sound is loud, unmistakable, and a tiny, hazy part of your brain hopes the villa walls are thicker than they seem. But the rest of you, the part being utterly consumed by Seungcheol, doesn't care at all.

"That what you wanted, baby?" he rasps, his voice straining with the effort. His hands move from your hips, one wrapping around to find your clit, the other tangling in your hair, gently pulling your head back. "You wanted me to fuck you so hard the whole house hears?"

"Yes," you choke out, the word almost unintelligible. "Yes, Cheol, don't stop."

He growls in response, a low, possessive sound from deep in his chest. He doesn't stop. The pressure on your clit is perfect, circling in time with his brutal thrusts, and you can feel yourself hurtling towards the edge again. Your knuckles are white where you're gripping the sheets, your entire body wound tight with anticipation.

"I want you to come for me," he commands, his breath hot against your ear. "Come on my cock, baby. Let me feel you."

His words are your undoing. The world splinters, your vision going white as your orgasm rip through you. You scream into the pillow, your body convulsing with the force of it, your inner walls clamping down around him.

He follows you over the edge seconds later. With a final, deep thrust, he buries himself inside you and come with a hoarse shout of your name. His body shudders against yours, and for a long moment, the only sound in the room is the ragged sound of your breathing as you both come down from the high.

He collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms and spooning you from behind. He's still inside you, a warm, heavy weight that's surprisingly comforting. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your shoulder.

"You okay?" he murmurs, his voice rough and spent.

You hum contentedly, wiggling back against him. "More than okay," you whisper, turning your head to look at him. His face is flushed, his hair a mess, and he has the most ridiculously satisfied smile on his face.

"Good," he says, kissing you softly. "Because I'm not done with you yet."

And the moment the words leave his mouth, you both hear a banging on the door.

"For the love of God, will you two please shut up!" came Joshua's muffled, but very annoyed, shout from the hallway. "Some of us are trying to sleep!"

Seungcheol just laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that you feel in your own chest. He pulls the covers over both of you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Next time, we get a private villa," he whispers. "No friends."

STUPIDITY KNOWS NO BOUNDS

You swear your boyfriends are stupid. You've always known that when boys get together, their intellect goes down by quite a bit but witnessing it in action… is a whole other story.

Minghao and Hansol came as a pair. It was rare to find one without the other and in the underground racing world, they were known as the deadliest and fastest duo there ever was. Sure, they were different in many ways — their unique styles in fashion being one of them — but if there was one thing that the both of them loved and shared, it was the thrill of the game. Hence, it wasn't that surprising when rumours started spreading that they also shared something — or someone — else.

Minghao's been on the tense side recently, having made a few minor mistakes in an underground race that he partook in a few days ago. To anyone else, it would've been fine but you know your boyfriend and Minghao is a perfectionist, through and through. He still won the race but you knew that those mistakes were tugging at the back of his mind every time he spaced out when he was home. Hence, he needed an outlet, which so happened to be you.

He mentioned this to you before during one of your solo dates, but your presence has a way of making everything calm. You just have a way to make everything feel easy and his mind that normally races with a hundred and one things, just quietens when he's in your comfort.

However, Minghao wasn't the only one feeling off this week.

Hansol is normally really easygoing. In the time that you've spent dating the two of them, you realized that nothing really phases him and he always thinks with his head, not his heart. However, you know that he's been having trouble with his cars and he's had a few shitty days of bad races on the other side of town. Hence, he needed your comfort just as bad as Minghao did.

This lead to the two of them almost fighting for your time. Normally, you thrive a little on it, loving the effect that you have on them but as the tension kept building over time, you knew that it would eventually overflow if they didn't talk about it.

And overflow it did.

It was a small glare here and there, the atmosphere being a little tense in the room if you weren't there but then it started to get a little more intense when they started to talk to each other with clipped tones over a tiny mistake or two.

You were worried but you knew that they won't get physical with each other because no matter how angry or upset they were with the other, they both were aware and rational enough to know that violence was never the answer.

Racing on the other hand… was a free game.

Which leads you to this moment where you are sat next to your childhood best friend, Joshua who also owns part of the underground street racing scene.

"This is so stupid." You mutter under your breath. Joshua gives you a side glance before smirking as he leans back in his chair.

"The racing or the fight?"

"Both." You scoff, rolling your eyes as you cross your arms, your eyes fixed on the monitor that has a multi-camera view for you to see the route plus a tracker on both cars to see who finishes first.

Joshua fixes you with a familiar intrigued and mischievous look. "And here I was, under the impression that they agreed to not race on the same track after what happened two years ago."

You grimace, remembering the reason for that decision. It involved you as well but it was more of a rational decision than an emotional one, a just in case if you will. It was a particularly bad and memorable race for the both of them. You remember waiting in the stands, your anxiety through the roof as the cars revved their engines to start. There were six racers that day, your boyfriends occupying two out of six of the slots. It had started raining while they were waiting for the race to start and although that normally makes the race more interesting as winning is more dependent on the driver than the car, you had a bad feeling in your gut.

Minghao and Hansol had assured you that they would be fine, the two of them giving you a kiss before sliding into their respective cars but, you still felt uneasy. You watched with Joshua from the main room (being both their race engineers) as they sped away, the ache in your chest getting more tense as they went sped down the narrow and wet roads.

It was during the second lap where you noticed something wrong with Hansol's car, causing your heart to drop further in your stomach as you radioed it in. Due to the rain though, the connection was particularly bad which meant that Hansol had trouble hearing you and by the time he connected what you were trying to tell him, it was too late.

His brakes stopped working and his car skidded straight into one of the barriers that was setup, knocking him unconscious. As if it couldn't be worse, you weren't able to convey the information to Minghao, causing the man to crash into the other side of the barrier a few meters away, just to avoid crashing into Hansol.

You felt your heart break as you immediately collapsed into Joshua's arms when you witnessed the crash from the screen in-front of you as you broke into a fit of sobs. Minghao made it out with a minor concussion and a few scratches, having already been prepared for the worst of it but Hansol on the other hand, was unconscious for a day in the hospital.

You refused to leave his side, no matter how much Joshua and Minghao tried to convince you, as you blamed yourself for this happening. If you had just pushed a little harder, convinced them a little harder about the bad feeling in your chest, maybe this wouldn't have happened.

Thankfully, you woke up the next morning with Hansol's arms wrapped around you, accompanied by his soft snores in his hospital bed. You cried tears of relief that woke him up, blinking blurrily at you before he gently comforted you, assuring you that it wasn't your fault.

When Minghao came in a few minutes later, having gone to get the three of you breakfast and saw you in that state, it only took a shared glance between your boyfriends for them to come to the consensus that the they weren't allowed to participate in the same race anymore. One of them always being by your side just in case the worst happened.

However, you guessed that rule went out the window the second they started yelling at each other in a quick fit of anger after you stepped out to do some grocery shopping for the two of them, only settling it when one of them suggested to race.

"I guess men's intellect and common sense really take a toll when they're together." You deadpan, letting out a frustrated sigh.

Joshua feigns hurt. "Hey!" He pouts. "You can't stereotype all men like that."

"I can when you and Jeonghan display the same exact energy when you guys are together."

"Aww and here I was thinking that I was your favourite, sweetheart." You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you glance behind you, seeing Jeonghan walking into the control room, dressed comfortably in a plain white tee with a bomber jacket, jeans and a beanie.

"I'm pretty sure Hao and Non will physically beat you up for even suggesting that, Hannie."

The older man sends you a smirk. "They don't have to know, sweetheart."

"You're dreaming if you think you're her first choice after us, Hyung." Minghao says, his voice crackling as it came through the control room speakers. "I also advise that you tone down on the 'sweetheart' calling, she's known as 'Rookie' and only 'Rookie' to you."

Jeonghan's mouth twitches as clicks his tongue. "Point noted, geez. Don't need to put your claws out." He teases, his hands raising in mock surrender even though Minghao couldn't see him. "Such possessiveness."

You roll your eyes before dishing out the headsets for both the men beside you to connect them to their respective drivers. When they had agreed to do this race, you immediately opted out of being a race engineer for either of them because you didn't want to get in between whatever this was (even though you were already in between it). Hence, you called your two older confidants to give the callouts and to make sure your boyfriends were safe, no matter who won the race. All the radios were connected to one singular channel but you think that each of them having their own space would also be good because that might help to resolve whatever was going on.

Or at least you hope it would.

You grab your own headset, placing it over your head before switching everyone to the general channel with the click of a few buttons on the control panel.

"Test, test. Can everyone hear me?" You ask, slightly adjusting your headset mic.

"Loud and clear, Baobei." Minghao's voice says first making you smile.

"Yep." Hansol clicks his tongue as you hear a little bit of shuffling. "Crystal clear, Angel."

You smile fondly to yourself before you purse your lips and look at the track.

"You know you both don't need to do this." You whisper into the microphone, gnawing at your bottom lip as you try one last time to convince them out of this. "We can talk it out here right now and then go home."

You feel Jeonghan and Joshua exchange a few glances behind your back but you try to ignore them and focus on what your boyfriends are going to say.

"We're already here, Baobei." Minghao says, trying to keep his voice light and airy so that you don't worry. "You also dragged Jeonghan and Shua Hyung here to help us so we might as well make the most of it."

"He's right, Angel." Hansol's voice cuts through and even though you can't see him, you know that he's nodding his head. "We promise we will be safe, we just need to settle this and this is the best way to do it."

Minghao lets out a hum in agreement, making you sigh as you pinch the bridge of your nose. You want to yell at them or tell them off because you can think of a hundred other ways to deal with this without either of them getting upset by the end of the night or in any injuries but, they're too far gone to listen.

"Okay." You steel your emotions, the tone of your voice going neutral. "Ground rules." You say, adjusting the mic once more as you spare a glance at Jeonghan and Joshua. "I want a clean race, you two. You two can shit talk each other as much as you want but if there is any sign of cheating, the two of you are sharing the couch till I say so."

The protest of your sentence is immediate. "What?!" They both exclaim.

"Baobei, you can't be serious." You roll your eyes.

"I am serious, Xu." You chastise, hating everything about this race. "If any harm comes to either of you that is inflicted by the other, I will be pissed."

The line goes quiet at that the tone in your voice indicating to your boyfriends that you are indeed not joking. "Moving on." You say, clearing your throat as you grimace, looking at the route that they chose.

V8.

You don't know whether it's ironic or poetic.

The race starts off with an uphill zigzag path, followed by a ton of different eight round bends that really test a street racer's skill and ends with what everyone calls the leap of faith which is a downhill slope that is so steep, it feels like you're taking a leap of faith.

You describe the course to your boyfriends — even though they probably know it by heart — before setting the race rules. "As you both are aware, there are ramps around as well as shortcuts but use them safely and at your own risk. Shua and I went through just now to remove debris because no one has used this course in months…" You click your tongue. "so, take everything with a pinch of salt and be careful."

"Jeonghan and Joshua are here to assist you guys with route guidance and route guidance only. They are not allowed to tell you how close the other is because that's F1 and we don't run motor sports here."

That gets a soft chuckle out of the four men with you as your lips twitch, a ghost of a smile wanting to form.

"Any sign of a Jump, will be considered a false start and the other person will be automatically considered the winner. Lastly, and because I need this fact to be drilled into both your heads, any sign of foul play, I'm calling the race off and both of you are sleeping on the couch. Understood?"

The line is silent for a little bit, making you slightly annoyed as you clear your throat. "Understood?" You ask again, your tone reflecting seriousness.

"Yes." The two of them reluctantly murmur out.

You lean back in your seat with your arms crossed. "Good." You say. "I'll start the countdown."

You click at a few of the buttons on the dashboard as you peer at the time.

11:39pm.

You let out a slow exhale, hoping that this race will end before twelve before you flick the starting switch for the countdown lights.

Red light illuminate the track as you peer at the two cameras beside you that show both your boyfriends in their respective cars.

"I love you both." You whisper out. "Please be safe."

The two of them simultaneously eye the camera that's in their cars as they give you a smile.

"We'll be safe, Angel." Minghao nods, echoing Hansol's sentiment.

"Regardless of the outcome of this race," Minghao starts, leaning in closer to the camera. "We both love you and each other very much, Baobei."

You should feel a little more reassured after Minghao says it and Hansol nods, but you can't help that same uneasy feeling in your gut and chest that something was just about to go wrong. However, you know that both of them are far too deep into this to stop now.

You close your eyes to steel yourself as you let out a slow exhale before you nod at the two older men beside you before you flick the second switch that officially starts the race.

A steady beep rings out through the speakers before the lights change to yellow as Minghao and Hansol rev their engines, which seem to charge your body as well, the antipation of the race leaving your body on edge. "Ready. Get set…"

Your adrenaline rushes and your heart pounds in your ear before the light switches to green and the resounding beep rings through the speakers.

"GO!"

The effect is immediate as your boyfriends speed down the zigzag paths, making you hold your heart race as you watch them from the monitor in-front of you. You silently tune Joshua and Jeonghan out as they advise your boyfriends, having been amateur street racers long before them and just watch the cameras as you will your heart to slow down.

They will be fine. You internally tell yourself as you gnaw on your bottom lip. Right?

You lean back into your seat as you close your eyes, letting the engines roar in your ear as you sigh.

It either ends really well or really badly.

THE EGO FUCK UP

Two laps in and everything is smooth so far. You wince every time one of them makes a risky drift or takes the shortcut that you aren't sure is cleared or not. You had to have lost around a decade of your life just sitting here and watching your boyfriends eagerly battle it out in cars.

"Your drift there was a little risky, wasn't it, Hansol?" Minghao's voice rings out in the joint channel as he smoothly overtakes the younger man. You spare at a glance at his monitor, grimacing as you see Hansol's jaw clenching as he lets out a dark chuckle.

"Just learning from your drift a round ago, hyung." Hansol says coolly. "I need to learn from my seniors, don't I?"

Minghao's face doesn't change but his knuckles turn white at Hansol's words, making you sigh as you click the button that deafens them from the three of you.

"It's going well so far." Joshua gently says, giving you a smile.

You scoff, shaking your head. "If you call the name-calling and insults that rile them up even more and make them reckless, 'going well'." You sarcastically quip, raising your hands to make quotation marks. "Then, yeah! It's going great!"

The two older men share a look as you sink further into your chair, the build-up of anxiety getting a little too much for you.

"Rookie." Jeonghan gently calls, giving you a comforting squeeze on your arm. "Did you try telling them how you feel about all this? I mean, you basically have a free card that you can pull in a few minutes."

You glance at the clock.

11:55pm.

You sigh, shaking your head. "I don't even know if they remember." You admit quietly. "They've been talking about this stupid competition for the last week and whenever they spend time with me, it's to rant about the other one and I'm genuinely so sick of it."

You watch Jeonghan and Joshua share a look before the younger of the two scoots his chair over to tug you into him, letting you rest on his chest. You lean into your childhood friend who is like a brother to you. "What if they actually forgot, Shua?" You ask quietly, your voice cracking slightly.

You feel Joshua sigh underneath you. "I'm sure they didn't, darling." He assures quietly as he presses a kiss to your temple. "They love and adore you too much."

"You can say that again." Jeonghan says with a playful scoff. "Do you not remember your big birthday bash two years ago where they rented out the whole go-kart place with arcade machines?"

You bite back a fond smile as you recall that, you offhandedly mentioned once that you were a big fan of surprises during one of your movie nights with them. You didn't notice it then but they had shared a glance when they heard about it and just started surprising you with things whenever they could.

A bouquet of your favourite flowers here and there. Sometimes they saw a book that you have on your 'to be read' and immediately bought it for next day delivery. They also loved to buy you little trinkets that reminded them of you to put in your display shelf (which is running out of space) in your gaming room.

The biggest surprise was the one that Jeonghan had mentioned where you confided in them that you wanted to try an arcade and go-kart place because you never had the chance to when you were younger. Being the overachiever boyfriends they were, they got you a two-in-one with all your friends.

The two older men beside you were right, there is no way that they don't remember. They hadn't mentioned any plans yet but that was normal if they were planning on surprising you again this year.

You peer upwards at Joshua offering him a soft smile before you do the same with Jeonghan. "Thanks guys." You softly say. "I needed that."

Jeonghan gives you a genuine smile as he ruffles your hair. "We always got you, Rookie. Don't you ever forget it."

Your smile grows wider at his words before something catches your attention from the corner of your eye.

You immediately sit up and stare outside the control room windows to see that it had started pouring. The uneasiness in your gut flares as you gnaw at your lips, looking as the rain hit the control room windows. You dial back into the call with Minghao and Hansol.

Your head spins as you go back into race mode, moving both boys back to the their respective calls with the older ones. "Check tire and car condition with both." You command, making the two older men nod before unmuting their headsets to talk to their respective drivers.

You monitor the route as the rain continues to pelt down heavily. You tune out the men beside you as you switch between the cameras that are left on their respective route. Your eyes flit around the screen as you flick through each camera scene. You let your eyes linger for a few moments to see if there's anything out of the ordinary before repeating the process with the next one.

All is good till you reach camera eighty-four that is right at the last infinity bend. You were about to pass it over when you notice one of the trees swaying a little too much to the side. Your eyes narrow, your finger twitching as it hovers over the microphone button to pull all of them into the collective call.

The tree stops swaying making you breath a sigh of relief before moving your hand from the button. However, your heart stops when you notice something rolling from the corner of your eye. Your eyes immediately flick to it to see a boulder rolling down the nearby mountain. Your blood runs cold as you watch it knock into the nearest tree, breaking it and causing it to tumble down onto the path that both Hansol and Minghao are racing through.

Your adrenaline surges as you press the button, bringing everyone into the general call. The call immediately fills with overlapping conversations from both groups. You vaguely hear them talking about different strategies but you couldn't care less, more worried about the blockage in the road.

"Boys!" You interrupt, immediately halting all the conversations. "I need you both to slow down right now."

There's a brief period of silence before they both immediately start protesting. Minghao is currently just slightly ahead of Hansol, trying his best to not block him.

"Rookie." Minghao calls, his voice serious. "What is it?"

"There's a blockade on the road so I need the two of you to pull out now." Your boyfriends go quiet as soon as you say that, their focus still on the road but you watch as they contemplate your words, as if they are trying to find a workaround to what you are saying.

Your eyes flicker between both the screens as your patience starts to wear thin, your anxiety shooting through the roof. "Hello?!" You ask, your tone one of panic. "Did you guys not hear what I just said? There's a blockade in the middle of the road that the two of you are going to crash into—"

"How big is the blockade, Rookie?"

You freeze upon hearing Hansol's question cut through your panic.

"I beg your fucking pardon?" You blurt out, unable to stop yourself as you feel your blood start to boil.

"The blockade, baobei." Minghao affirms but this time with the loving nickname, as if it could placate you from the annoyance you're starting to feel. "How big is it?"

"You guys can't be fucking serious." You answer, your fists slowly clenching on the desk as you feel your anger rising with each word they were saying to you. "Turn back, right now. I'm being serious."

You watch the gears turn in your boyfriends heads before Hansol speaks. "Hyung." He calls, completely ignoring your earlier sentence which makes your heart drop. "How far till blockade and how big is it?"

Joshua looks between you and Hansol's face on the camera footage in-front of you before his eyes flicker towards the route map where time to impact is stated.

Five Minutes.

"Shua." You warn, your tone wavering as you stare at him with a pleading gaze, hoping that he will back up your decision.

"Hyung." Hansol tries again as he takes the lead from Minghao who lets out a groan of frustration, his palm smacking the steering wheel as he watches Hansol pull ahead by quite a bit.

"Hyung." Minghao tries this time. "Time to impact so I know if I can overtake?"

Jeonghan hesitates, watching your head whip to him as he contemplates whether he should tell your boyfriend.

"Hannie." You warn before turning back to your boyfriends.

"Xu Minghao. Chwe Hansol." You warn as you stare at the time until impact on your screen. "If the two of you do not turn your cars around, there will be consequences."

Three Minutes.

"Rookie, we're in too deep to stop here." Minghao sternly says as he changes gear and tries to overtake Hansol.

Your heart lurches as you see how close the cars come to knocking each other. The rain pelts down harder and the road narrows as they round the last bend, meaning they were only a couple of kilometers away from the giant tree that's blocking them.

"Hyung." Hansol presses harder, his grip on the steering wheel tight as he tries to fight of Minghao's advance. "Time to fucking impact!"

Joshua stares at you, almost stunned that the two hopelessly in love men were not listening to you. Your boyfriends in the car start to overlap their yelling, demanding that their race engineers tell them the time from impact so that they can plan accordingly while you sit there, your face pale as your palms begin to sweat.

You're speechless as you watch them still fight it out despite all your words, your heart racing as you watch them get closer and closer to the thing that will be the death of both of them.

One Minute.

"Fuck it." You hear Minghao whisper before he reaches over to turn off the camera in his car. You watch from the monitor as he speeds ahead, causing Hansol to immediately break, to slow his car down before he hits the other male.

"Hyung." Hansol yells. "The fuck are you doing?"

"Winning." Minghao says smoothly as you hear him shift his gears before seeing the car speed up on the monitor.

"Mother—" With that, Hansol also turns off his camera meaning that the three of you are blind to the egotistical drivers that are down there on the track.

"What the fuck are you two doing?!" You exclaim, standing up now as you slam your hands on the desk, a last ditch effort to get the two of them to turn around. "Please." You plead into the microphone, your eyes getting slightly watery as you watch them get closer and closer to the tree.

"Fifty seconds." Joshua whispers as you fumble with the dashboard in-front of you, flicking through the different cameras there till you found one that showed you exactly where they were on the track.

When you find it, you hit a few more buttons to trigger the path following on the device as you watch the cameras change in-front of you to follow your boyfriend's cars.

They ignore you, still swapping positions with each other as you feel like throwing up, the anxiety in your chest getting too much as you watch them get closer and closer to the tree.

"Guys." You sob out, nearly begging at this point. "Please turn around."

"Thirty seconds." Jeonghan says softly, making you slam your fist against the desk as you watch the distance between them and the tree. You wonder why they're doing this, why they are silent and it hits you like a ton of bricks.

You heart races. They're wearing you down, wanting you to crack and tell them the impact timing because they know you care too much about them. You feel your heart crack as you watch them go down the road.

"Fifteen seconds." Joshua says, his voice in a slight panic as he stares at you.

You angrily wipe your tears away. "Fuck it." You mutter before putting your microphone closer to your mouth. "Ten seconds, blockage is the same size as the fucking truck we saw yesterday."

You sniffle, pushing down a sob. "Good fucking luck." Is the last thing you venomously whisper before you tap out, not wanting to see your boyfriends risk their life for some fucked up competition.

You rip the headset off and slam it down onto the control room dashboard making the two men beside you jump. Without wasting another second, you pick up your things before picking up and walk out the door. Joshua recovers first and is quick to follow, ripping off his own headset to chase after you as you try not to angrily break down.

You don't make it very far as Joshua catches up to you with his significantly longer legs. He pulls you into him with ease as you try to wrestle out of his grip, needing to get away for your own sanity. You're fighting a losing battle as he tugs you firmly into his chest and wraps his arms around your center to keep you from leaving.

When it becomes clear that you aren't able to break out from his grasps, you break down into it instead. Joshua's hand runs through your hair, soothing you as you sob into his chest, feeling all the tiredness and overwhelm that you've been struggling to keep at bay for the last week or so.

"I hate them." You whisper into his chest. "Why are they so fucking stupid."

Joshua sighs as he presses a kiss to the top of your head as he moves his hand to slowly run up and down your back. "Ego, darling." Is what he answers after a couple of seconds. The two of you don't say anything else after that, Joshua letting you focus on regulating your breathing so that you stop crying.

Stupid fucking ego.

The two of you stand like that for a while, Joshua letting you take as much time as you need as your breathing starts to even out. You both hear a scuffle of footsteps, making you lift your head from Joshua's chest to see Jeonghan with his hands in his pocket.

"Are they okay?" You whisper out, unable to help how much you care about your idiotic boyfriends. Jeonghan gives you a weak smile before nodding.

"They both reversed and took a shortcut a couple of metres back." He shoots you a sympathetic look. "The race did end in a tie though."

Your heart drops.

A fucking tie.

All that for a fucking tie.

You close your eyes, a heavy sigh already building in your throat. This couldn't be worse.

The loud sounds of engines revving and drifting makes the three of you turn to the entrance of the outdoor carpark. The lights make you wince as you squint to see your boyfriends arriving. They don't bother to park and just turn off their engines before getting out of the car.

You expect them to walk straight to you first but Minghao instead slams his car door shut hard and walks over to Hansol, cornering him to the side of his car.

"What the fuck was that there at the end, Chwe?!"

Joshua and you blink at the sight as Jeonghan grimaces, remembering how they almost ran each other off the road at the end there.

"Driving, Xu." Hansol replies, his tone dry and pointed as he shows no sign of remorse. "But I could ask you the same for what you pulled at infinity turn forty-eight."

Minghao's jaw clenches. "Watch your tone, Chwe." He venomously seethes, jabbing a finger into the latter's chest. "You forget that I'm the older one here."

"I don't fucking care." Hansol bites back, grabbing Minghao's hand tightly. "Your recklessness nearly ran both of us off the fucking road."

"You did the same fucking thing towards the end there, Hansol."

"Well, like I said, I'm learning from my senior."

Minghao scoffs before leveling Hansol with a glare. "Well, let's fucking go again then." Minghao says as the younger one folds his arms. "If you are that good of a driver and you learned everything from me, you should be able to beat me without the fucking helpline of the tree right?"

"Oh that's easy." Hansol says, a smirk on his face from riling up the older man. "At the end, you wish you had the fucking helpline of the tree as you did today."

You see Minghao fume as Hansol gets up in his space. He shoves Hansol backwards and opens his mouth, ready to tear him a new one.

"Both of you, shut the fuck up!"

The two men immediately freeze, hearing you yell at them before turning to face you, their faces a little pale.

You, on the other hand, are fuming.

"Are you two even listening to the words coming out of your fucking mouths?" You ask, your eyes stinging with hot tears. "You both tried to kill each other out there!" You angrily brush at your eyes as Joshua gives your shoulder a squeeze, trying to ground you.

"Breathe, darling." Joshua whispers into your ear as you glare at the two boys you love so much.

"I told you both that this was a fucking stupid idea and you two wouldn't even listen to me! Your girlfriend that's been with you both for the last three years." You shake your head, your words getting softer and softer as you stare at them, slightly defeated. "You both didn't need to settle this on the stupid track. The three of us talking it out would've solved everything but no."

You glance between the two of them. "The two of you needed to show the other that you were better and broke the promise that you made to me two years ago. Is proving your worth to each other that important?"

Hansol and Minghao share a look before Minghao steps closer to you cautiously.

"Baobei." He softly calls out as he reaches for you. "We didn't mean for this to happen."

Hansol nods, also trying to get closer. "We're sorry that we got angry at each other and for the race. I swear when we do it again tomorrow—"

You bitterly laugh as Joshua's hand tenses on your shoulder, sensing the oncoming rage. "Tomorrow?" You ask softly.

"Yeah, when we actually can find a winner."

Joshua internally sighs as his grip on your shoulder tightens, hoping that it will help to ground you so that you don't unleash fury on the two men in-front of you. His hope however, goes down the drain when you break out of his hold.

"What the fuck is wrong with you two?" You lash out, the tears flowing freely down your face from how angry you are. The two men are stunned again as they stare at you before you toss your hands in exasperation. "I'm fucking done." You say as a laugh with absolutely zero humour escapes you.

"If the two of you race again tomorrow." You fix them with a hard stare as your heart breaks with the next words that come out of your mouth. "I'm done with you two."

Before either of them could even process what you meant or stop you, you turn on your heel and walk off. It takes one look from your childhood best friend to understand what you need as he gives you a small nod before taking your hand into his and walking off with you to his car. Joshua tosses your boyfriends a look of disbelief before shaking his head at them.

Hansol and Minghao just watch as you get into Joshua's car and leave, speechless and unsure what they did wrong. They fix each other with a look as Jeonghan stands there, looking at the two of them in utter disbelief.

"What just happened?" Are the first words out of Hansol's mouth as he stares at Jeonghan, hoping he knows the answer. Minghao, on the other hand, runs through every possible scenario in his head.

Jeonghan lets out a scoff at the clueless expression on both their faces. "You two are really stupid, you know." He deadpans out, making the two look at him a little more exasperatedly.'

He sighs, realizing that he needs to spell it out for them. "Both of you need to put your fucking egos to the side for second and look at what just walked away from you." He points towards where you and Joshua were. "That girl has been so patient with the two of you for God knows how many weeks, listening to the two of you argue while trying to be the middle ground for you both. She's been dividing her time, without any regard for herself and her well-being and she even let you both proceed with this stupid race despite her begging you not to do it."

Jeonghan shakes his head. "You guys claim that she's the best thing to have ever walked into your lives but because of this stupid fucking race, the two of you forgot the one thing that you promised to continue doing despite however much you were angry at each other." He pins them with a hard gaze. "Both of you broke your promise of remembering important dates."

Hearing that, Hansol immediately pulls out his phone before looking at the date for today.

12:48am on the 29th of June.

Hansol feels his heart shatter as he lets out a wrecked gasp, the date finally clicking in his head. "Hyung." He calls out to his counterpart who looks at him as Hansol shows him the screen. Minghao's face pales as it clicks into his head, his heart dropping into his stomach as his mind races.

Jeonghan watches the two of them go through mixed emotions and the five stages of grief before sighing.

"You two better find a way to fix this." He softly says. "If not, you're going to lose the most important person in your lives."

You can't remember the last time you've felt this empty. After Joshua took you to his place last night, he immediately sprinted to his closet to pull out your favourite hoodie of his and a pair of sweatpants that you left the last time the two of you had a sleepover. He ran a bath for you before he ushered you to it, wanting you to relax as much as possible.

When you had enough of the bath, you walked out of the bathroom to see that Joshua had ordered all your favourites. Stir fried mala sits on the table alongside your favourite bubble tea order as he gives you a smile.

You had given him a look of surprise, knowing how he felt about such an unhealthy combo. He just gave you a simple shrug and responded with a soft, "Figured we could use it today."

Those words alone were enough to cause your eyes to water as your older brother figure immediately plated you a plate with all your favourite ingredients. He passed you the bowl before putting on 'How to Train Your Dragon'. The intro of the movie plays as you leaned against his sofa, staring at the bowl of mala with a frown.

"Do you think I was too harsh on them?" You ask which makes Joshua stop eating, his food halfway to his mouth. He fixes you with a soft look before shaking his head as he places his chopsticks back onto his bowl.

He makes you look at him. "Darling." He softly says. "They were being absolute idiots. You had every right to act the way that you did because they hurt you with their actions. If you didn't stand up for yourself back there, they would've continued acting like that and you were doing what was right for yourself." He fixes you with a look.

"If you didn't do that, I would've probably done it for you anyways."

A soft watery laugh escapes you, which makes a small grin tug on Joshua's face. His hand goes to ruffle your hair in a very elder brother way before he gestures to the food in your hands. "Eat." He softly says. "And watch the movie, we're missing the best part."

You give Joshua a small smile before you nod and scoop up a spoonful of mala to eat. You turn your attention to the movie but you can't help the feeling of emptiness in your chest as you do. You love your boyfriends, you really do but they really hurt you and you couldn't help but feel less important to them. However, you couldn't bare the thought of having to actually break up with them. You loved them, you were sure of that. They filled your life with so much joy that you can't imagine dating or loving someone, the way that you love them.

Yet, on the night where they were supposed to treat you like a queen, ringing in your birthday, you spent it on your best friend's floor with a broken heart.

You sigh as you shake your head, your recollection ending as you stare at the ceiling in the guestroom of Joshua's house. You contemplate just staying in Joshua's house the whole day but you immediately push that thought aside because it's your birthday, you should do something you want to do instead of rotting in your best friend's house.

Luckily, Joshua shares the same sentiment as you.

"That's an amazing idea, darling." He says as he packs a tea to go for you as you're finishing up the special birthday breakfast that he had prepared for you.

Bacon and pancakes with a side of orange juice.

You had smiled when you first saw it, it was a childhood favourite of yours and it definitely brightened up your day just a little more.

Joshua walks over to you, placing the thermos on the table. "You did say you wanted to finish up the car before August so that you could show it to your parents when you go back and see them."

You swallow your last bit of food before nodding, a small smile on your face.

"It's a good distraction for sure." You say quietly as Joshua gives you a sympathetic smile. He glances at your phone that had been laid flat on the dining table.

He raises an eyebrow at it, "They haven't tried contacting you at all?"

You spare a glance at it, the pit in your stomach deep as you shrug. "I don't know." You answer honestly. "Put it on do not disturb as soon as I came here last night." You shake your head. "I don't wanna hear any of their half-excuses at the moment."

Joshua gives you another sympathetic look before reaching over and squeezing your hand. "Well," His tongue darts out to wet his tongue. "Happy Birthday, Sweetheart."

You give your older brother figure a small smile before he leans and gives you a kiss on the top of your head. "I should get going." You say softly, standing up. "Before the calvary arrives because they think they've given me enough space."

Joshua lets out a soft chuckle at your use of words as you give him a quirky smile. You slide your phone into your back pocket as you sling your bag over your shoulders. Joshua stands up with you as he holds your thermos of tea.

"Let's get going then." He says, giving you a smile as he opens the front-door for you.

FIRST MEETINGS

Joshua drops you off at your workshop before he presses a kiss to the top of your head and speeds off with the promise of seeing you after he finishes the errands he needs to run. You bid him goodbye before digging through your bag for the keycard to your garage.

A beep is heard before you push the door open and breathe in the smell that you've grown up with your whole life, your body immediately relaxing at the familiar comfort.

While Minghao and Hansol seek the thrill of the drive, you prefer to know the ins and outs of the machine. You had always been in love with cars, your dad being one of the main engineers for street racers back in the day. You always hung around and helped him grab his tools, your eyes wide with awe as he always manages to find whatever was wrong with the car.

Hence, he trained you for it, letting you take care of the workshop every other day so that you get some hands-on experience. Funnily enough, that wasn't where you met Minghao and Hansol.

It was one of the slower nights in the workshop. You spun on one of the chairs in the garage as you tossed a wrench up and down, your boredom reaching a new high. You almost fell out of your chair when your phone rang, piercing the silence.

"Shua?" You asked, a little confused as to why your best friend was calling you.

"Hey, you busy?" Joshua asked as his background noise booms in the background.

You winced a little at the loud sounds. "No, but where the hell are you? Why is it so noisy?"

Joshua ignored you, telling you that he was going to send you an address and to be there as soon as you could before he hung up the phone. You stared at your phone, bewildered as you wonder what the hell was going on.

You sighed before you made your way to lock up. If there was one annoying thing that your best friend knew how to do, it was to entice you enough that you'd drop everything to see whatever he was doing.

You get out of the car and stared at the underground racetrack with a confused expression on your face. What the hell was your best friend doing here. You walked through the different areas, taking in all the details of the place while keeping a keen eye out for your best friend.

"Darling!" Your ears perked up as you turn to the source of the greeting. You smiled to yourself as you saw Joshua jog to your side before he pulled you into a tight hug. "You made it!"

You scoffed. "You knew that I would come, Shua." You flicked his forehead. "Don't act all surprised now."

Your best friend let out a yelp from the pain before a pout appeared on his lips as he rubbed the spot you just flicked. "You hate me." He whined out, making you scoff.

"If I did, I wouldn't have locked up the shop early for you, dummy."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Joshua's face as soon as you said that statement as he feigned sentiment. You rolled your eyes before you grabbed his hand. "C'mon, show me whatever you want to show me." You muttered, which made Joshua let out a breath of a chuckle before he dragged you away from the current area.

"Why are you at a street racer course anyway?" You asked, raising an eyebrow at your best friend.

"Well, I own this establishment." Your jaw dropped open as you stopped walking, jerking Joshua back a little. He glanced at you, a confused expression on his face which meets your shocked one.

"You own an underground street racing establishment?" You asked, repeating the words slowly as if you had hoped that the words become more believable if you did.

Joshua chuckled at your expression and nodded. "Yep." He said, popping his 'p'. Without another word, he dragged you off towards God knows where as if everything was now suddenly clear.

You rolled your eyes at your best friend as you give up, letting him drag you wherever because you would have an easier time getting answers when Joshua was not so tunnel-visioned on where he wanted to go.

He dragged you through multiple crowds before the two of you appeared in-front of the VIP section. The security guard gave him a once over and a nod before letting the two of you into the closed off section.

"Shua!" A voice boomed over the music, making the two of you whip around to see a man with a leather jacket and jeans on, with a beer in hand. "Was wondering where you hurried off to."

The man glanced at you before a smirk appeared on his lips. "Well, well, well." He whistled out. "Looks like you brought a new friend."

Your best friend let out a scoff before he tugged you closer to him. "Out of your league, Jeonghan."

The man, Jeonghan, feigned a flabbergasted gasp as he placed his hand on his chest. "Ouch, Shuji." He muttered, a fake pout on his face. "Way to hurt a guy, why don't you."

Your best friend rolled his eyes before he said your name to the man in-front of you. "This is Jeonghan."

Jeonghan's expression did a full 360 as he gave you a smirk and a small salute with a wink. "Pleasure to meet you, sweetheart." His eyes twinkled with mischief. "I wonder why Shuji has been hiding you all this time."

"Probably because she's uncomfortable with you calling her sweetheart, Hyung." Your ears perked at the new voice that caused goosebumps to appear on your skin. You turned to see lanky, tall man, who was leaning against a nearby wall with blonde hair and a pair of sunglasses on the top of his head. He donned a white sleeveless shirt that effectively showed off his tattoos that dotted his arms and a pair of dark brown cargo pants with some timberlands.

He eyed you, making your pulse jump at the intensity of his gaze, feeling slightly warm under it. He was definitely one of the most attractive men that you've ever seen. Jeonghan scoffed, shaking his head as a ghost of a smile lingers on his lips.

"Minghao." He greeted, raising an eyebrow. "Where's your counterpart?"

Minghao doesn't answer at first, his gaze unwavered from your figure which makes you fidget slightly, a little exposed under his gaze. He noticed, his lips pulled up into a small smirk before he looked at Joshua and Jeonghan, acknowledging them for the first time since he had arrived.

"Hansol went to grab the two of us a drink." He answered easily before he pushed off the wall and made his way over to you.

"Are the two of you not racing today?" Joshua asked with a raise of his eyebrow. Minghao nods at that.

"We are. Hansol's just grabbing us some sparkling water before we have to head for the drive."

He stopped walking as he reached your side, his gaze calculated as he stared at you.

"Minghao." He said after a beat, reaching out his hand for you to grab. You blinked, a little stunned by how forward the handsome man was being before you took his hand into yours as softly replied with your name.

Minghao's lips quirked a little when he noticed your cheeks heat up as he tested how well your name rolled off his tongue. The air felt a little charged and dangerous as he held your gaze, your heartbeat in your ears before he pulled his hand back when someone held out a drink for him.

Everyone's gaze fell on the newcomer who made your breath hitch. There stood a man with the most gorgeous face and mullet that you've ever seen. He was dressed comfortably in a sleeveless ripped hoodie with ripped skinny jeans and a pair of gloves on.

"Ah, there he is." Jeonghan said, his gaze twinkled with mischief as he looked between you and the boys. "Hansol, meet Shuji's best friend."

Hansol's eyes pierced through your soul as he gave you a once over, just like Minghao had done before he held out his hand for you to shake.

"Pleasure to meet you." You felt hot under their gaze as you muttered the same, shaking the man's hand.

Jeonghan clapped his hands. "Right, not to be the weird party pooper here." He said cheekily, causing your cheeks to heat up more as he gave you a wink. "But I think our racers need to get to their starting positions and we should probably head up to the main control booth.

Jeonghan hooked an arm around Joshua's shoulders before he dragged him a little, making Joshua lose his grip on you. The older man gave the three of you a look before he dragged your best friend with him, despite his protests.

"Come find us when you're done, sweetheart." Jeonghan threw back to you with a shit-eating grin on his face. You silently cursed the man that you just met as you felt the heat of the two good-looking men's gaze on you.

You turned to them, a timid smile on your face as you shifted uncomfortably.

"Is this your first time at an underground race?" Hansol asked, noticing the minor fidgeting you were doing. You let out a nervous breath of a laugh as you nodded.

"Is it that obvious?" You wondered aloud as you eyed the two of them. A faint smirk appeared on Hansol's face as he nodded.

"Just a little, you look a little out of place." Your heart stuttered at that as you frowned.

"Like I don't belong?" You asked.

"Like you're a little too innocent for the likes of this." Minghao answered before he took a sip of his drink. The low rumble of his words made your stomach flutter as you willed for the heat on your cheeks to disappear.

"Is that a bad thing?" You asked, your voice soft as you peered upwards at the two of them.

The two shared a glance as you watched a common understanding pass through the two of them before they turned back to you as Minghao shook his head.

"Not at all, Baobei." He said, leaning in closer. The nickname made your heart stutter as Hansol leaned in as well.

"Just means we got a thing or two that we can teach you, Angel." The double meaning of his words and the low rumble of his voice made your stomach do flip flops as they stared intensely at you, making your knees feel weak.

A sound was heard from the speakers before you could even reply, which effectively broke the spell and hold that the two of them had on you. They glanced at the speaker.

"Well," Minghao drawled out. "That's our cue."

Hansol nodded as the two of them took a step back from you. "Will you cheer us on?" Hansol asked making you blink at them as they stared at you in anticipation.

"Probably." You answered. "I mean the two of you are the only drivers I know." You blurted out before even having the chance to stop yourself.

Minghao's smirk grew as he gave Hansol a look.

"Good." He said before he reached out and gave your hair a small ruffle. "Let's keep it that way."

You swear your heart skipped a beat or two after he said that as Hansol fixed you with a smirk. "See you after the race, Angel." He sealed off his sentence with a wink. "Can't wait to get to know you better."

With that, they left you standing there, a little dumbfounded as they prepared for their race. You stayed glued to the spot for a few minutes before you shook yourself out of it and composed yourself as your thoughts raced.

You had no idea what you had just gotten yourself into but as you recalled their faces through your mind, you bit back a grin.

What was the worst that could happen?

KISS AND MAKE UP

You don't know how many hours you've spent working under the hood of your dream car but when you pull yourself out from under it and actually check your phone after wiping your hands on the washcloth, it's already 5pm.

You sigh before you let your eyes drift lower to stare at your lockscreen. It's a picture of the three of you during one of the first few underground races after the three of you made it official. You feel your emotions get stuck in your throat as you see the big smile on your face as Minghao and Hansol just stared at you, a soft and fond smile on both their faces as they looked at you instead of the camera.

You feel your heart clench as you contemplate checking your notifications. You sigh before you turn off your 'do not disturb' and let the notifications roll upwards.

62 Missed Calls from Hansolie <3 48 Missed Calls from Hao <3 22 Unread Messages from Hansolie <3 24 Unread Messages from Hao <3 296 Unread Messages from 'The Reason We Drive'

2 Unread Messages from Hannie 1 Missed Call from Shua 1 Unread Message from Shua

You sigh, placing your phone back face down onto the desk as you smack your face lightly. "Get it together." You mutter to yourself. The amount of time you spent here really did help to clear your head but with all the muck and grease over yourself, you really need a shower before you even think about answering any of those messages.

You huff before pushing yourself off of the desk and tidy up your workspace before going to the washroom to take a shower, the dirt and grime making your skin crawl. You step out of the shower in a pair of ripped jeans, a fitting top with a windbreaker and sigh, feeling a lot more refreshed.

You walk back to your workshop, using the towel to dry off the remaining bits of water in your hair when you freeze, noticing the door to your garage open. You frown, recalling that you had shut the door behind you because you remember hearing the magnetic lock click in place after you did.

You slowly creep to the workshop as you hear some shuffling inside as well as some soft voices. You peak your head through the door before your heart stutters. Out of all the people you were expecting to see, Hansol and Minghao leaning against your workshop table, talking more than they had in the last few weeks, wasn't one of them.

"What the hell." Are the first words to leave your mouth, which alerts the two men who whip around to see you standing there, looking super confused.

The two man immediately scramble to stand up as they give you a nervous look, fidgeting every few seconds. You eye them skeptically as you slowly walk into the workshop, the towel still in your hands as you glance between them.

"How did you get in here?" You ask, a small frown on your face as you scrunch your eyebrows. "Better question, how the hell do you guys even know about this space?"

The two share a glance as you cross your arms.

"We might've dropped by Shua Hyung's house." Minghao admits, scratching the back of his neck. You raise an eyebrow at that, urging them to continue.

"We might've begged him to tell us where you were and when he wasn't looking, stole the keycard for your workshop." Hansol finishes.

Your eyes narrow. "How did you even know that keycard was for here?"

Hansol lifts up the keycard and stuck onto the card was a label which had your name and garage behind it in a cursive font. You roll your eyes. Of course your meticulous best friend had labeled the keycard so that he wouldn't forget what it was for.

The workshop has always been a sacred place for you, you never really told anyone about this place since your father had given it to you and it was a place for you to come to when you needed some sort of escape.

Joshua was the only one who knew about it because he had dropped by many times when the two of you were younger and after your dad had given it to you, it felt right to give him a keycard for access at all times.

"Well," You huff, unable to escape the inevitable conversation anymore. "You guys found me. I'm fine and you guys can go now." You try to step around them to retrieve your things when Hansol reaches out, gently grabbing your hand.

You've always been a little weak to either of their touch so it's no surprise when he's able to easily pull you back to stand in-front of them. You internally curse yourself for being a little easy but you still refuse to meet their eyes.

"Baobei." Minghao softly calls, ducking his head a little to try to meet your eyes. You stubbornly look away, making the older man sigh. "Can you look at us, please?" He softly begs, his tone sounding a little exhausted, almost as if he didn't sleep well.

You refuse, gnawing on your bottom lip which makes them change their strategy.

"Angel." Hansol starts, fidgeting with his hands. "We're sorry."

You stare at the floor as he continues. "We were stupid and let our egos get the better of us because we were frustrated at ourselves. We didn't mean to take it out on each other and more importantly…" You feel Hansol grab your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "We didn't mean to take it out on you."

You purse your lips, still refusing to answer as you feel Minghao approach you before he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest as his head sits on your shoulder.

"We're also sorry for breaking our promise to you, to keep you happy and to always remember the special days. Even though we didn't mean to forget, it's no excuse because you mean the world to us and we're sorry that we didn't listen to you."

You feel Minghao brush a kiss to the side of your neck, causing a shiver to run down your spine. "Please forgive us."

You internally sigh before composing yourself as you pull out of their grasps to fully look at them. "It really hurt when the two of you wouldn't listen to me." You softly say as you fidget with the zipper of your windbreaker. "It felt like nothing I said mattered to you guys and I was just a personal comfort thing for both of you. It was like I didn't actually matter in this equation between the two of you when we're supposed to be in a relationship together."

You feel your eyes start to prick with tears as you sniffle. "It felt like I was just walking on eggshells in my— our own apartment, the one place that I am meant to feel the safest and I… I grew tired of it." You glance between the two of them as you watch their faces crack, the guilt in their eyes evident. "I was only there when you needed someone to rant to or someone to affirm what you guys were angry about. Neither of you asked me about my day or even cared enough to see if I had eaten. Even when I was tired, I still felt like I needed to cater to you two because I love you both so much and seeing you both fight really broke my heart."

You see their hands twitch, especially Hansol's, who wanted nothing more to reach out for you, to comfort you, but they were waiting for you to finish, not wanting to interrupt you.

"I don't really care that the two of you forgot my birthday." You admit softly, taking a step closer to the two of them. "I just didn't want you to get hurt because I love you both with everything I am and I can't imagine my life without the two of you."

As soon as you finish your sentence, Hansol is up from the desk and he all but tugs you into his warm embrace, his breathing a little shaky as his whole body wrecks with emotions.

"Angel." He softly breathes out into your ear, his voice shaky and soft, as if he was scared that you were going to disappear if he spoke any louder. "We're so sorry. We didn't mean to make you feel like you needed to take on the weight of the world. It was stupid of us and we were only thinking of ourselves and we know that it's no excuse but we want to make it up to you, please."

You bit the inside of your cheek, to will the tears that dot your waterline to not flow over as you breathe in Hansol's comforting woody scent before you smell a hint of an earthy light scent as Minghao wraps his arms around you as well, placing a soft kiss to your temple.

"He's right, Baobei. You have every right to be angry with us and you should care that we forgot your birthday. It's the one day where we're meant to celebrate you. Not that we shouldn't celebrate you everyday anyway, but it's the one day where the universe blessed us with you by bringing you into this world. We can't imagine not having you in our life and we're sorry that we let our ego get the better of us. We shouldn't have fought over who is more worth your time but be grateful that you choose to spend your time with us and love us despite how flawed we both are."

You peer upwards at the older man who gives a soft kiss to your forehead. "We love you." Minghao says, his voie barely above a whisper as he pulls back from you and gets on his knees, making your eyes widen as Hansol does the same.

"Please forgive us."

You glance between the two of them on their knees for you as a bewildered giggle escapes you as you smile at them, wiping away the tears in your eyes.

"You're both idiots." You say as you reach for both of them to tug them up. "Please get off the floor."

A ghost of a smile of relief lingers on Minghao's lips as he shakes his head. "We can't." He says, tugging you closer to the two of them, which makes a surprise giggle escape from your lips. "You need to forgive us first, Baobei." He says, bringing your hand to his lips as he brushes a kiss onto them.

Hansol nods, as he places his hand on the back of your thigh, making you squirm a little as he looks up at you. "Please say you forgive us, Angel."

You glance downwards at them as you realize the position that the three of you are in. Heat pools on the underside of your belly as you see the way that they catch on too, their eyes darkening beneath you.

You swallow before feigning a ponder, trying to keep your heart from racing. "Well…" You drawl out as you look between the two of them. "Maybe the two of you should show me how sorry you are." You softly say, letting your eyes pierce into theirs as you watch their pupils dilate slightly. "Then maybe, I'll forgive you."

There's silence for a little bit as they share a glance before they turn back to you with a smirk on both their faces.

"With pleasure, Baby."

Those are the last words that fall from Hansol's mouth before your boyfriends move. Minghao stands and pulls you into a searing kiss that elicits a gasp from your lips, making him groan as he slides his tongue into your mouth. Hansol, on the other hand, moves his hand upwards and under your shirt before he pushes himself up slightly on his knees to be able to kiss all around your stomach.

You feel yourself getting wetter at their touch as they continue to overstimulate you with their touch, each making your knees weaker and weaker. You let out a whiny moan as Hansol starts to tease your nipples, pushing your bra upwards for easier access. Minghao bites lightly on your bottom lip, making your mind blank as he continues to kiss you as if you are providing him with the oxygen to breathe.

Minghao pulls away, pressing two chaste kisses on your lips as the two of you catch your breath before your boyfriends move you towards where your car is. Hansol rips the canvas off of the car and lets out a low whistle as he catches the make and model of it.

"Damn, Angel." He looks at you, his eyes filled with lust as he gives you a smirk. "A baby blue 2004 Mazda RX-8?" You blink at him, slowly registering his question as you nod, your brain still foggy.

Minghao sends his partner-in-crime a smirk as he pulls you toward the car to lay you on the hood of it. He hovers above you as he eyes you up and down and devilishly smirks at how wreckced you already look.

"What a perfect car," He hums as he unbuttons your pants and pulls it down along with your underwear in one swift motion, making you gasp as the cold air hits your wet pussy. "To fuck you on."

Before you even have a chance to register his words, his mouth is on you, eating you out like a starved man. You gasp as your back arches and your eyes bulge. Hansol is next to you in a matter of milliseconds, his hands tight on your waist which effectively stops your squirming.

"Shhh." Hansol coos as he spots a few tears leaving your eyes. "Be a good girl and let Hyung eat you out like you deserve." Those words make your mind blank more as Minghao captures your clit into his mouth and sucks as it, groaning a little which sends a wave of pleasure through you as the vibrations roll through your body.

Your eyes roll as Hansol takes the opportunity to lift your shirt and bra up fully and over your head, his one hand still steady on your waist before he dips his head and wraps his mouth around your right breast.

You let out a loud moan as Hansol massages your breast while sucking and nipping at your right one. Minghao takes that chance to dip his tongue into your hole, fucking you with his tongue that makes you lose all sense of your sanity.

"Fuck." Minghao drawls out as he glances upwards to see Hansol switching and continuing his ministrations on your other breast. "You taste so heavenly, Baobei."

You whimper at his praise as he dips a finger into your folds, making you let out a gasp as he gathers your wetness onto them.

"Want a taste, Hansol?" Hansol is quick to pull away and take Minghao's fingers into his mouth, sucking erotically as he eyes you, making your jaw drop open as that gesture causes you to clench around nothing.

Minghao notices and smirks as his pupils dilate more. "Think you need a better taste, Non." Minghao all but whispers as he pulls his fingers out of Hansol's mouth with a soft 'pop'. "Want it?"

Hansol nods, making Minghao smirk as he pulls Hansol in for a kiss, licking into his mouth to let the younger man taste the remnants of you on his lips. You, however, are not forgotten as Minghao sinks two fingers into you without warning, making your eyes roll backward as he fingers you, hard and fast.

Your boyfriends pull away from each other, panting as Minghao gestures his head towards you. "Go on." Minghao goads, his voice low. "Eat her out while I finger her, Hansol."

That's all the command that Hansol needs before his mouth is on you, making you let out a loud broken moan, your legs shaking as their touch brings you closer and closer to the edge. Minghao, who notices that you are pursing your lips, a tell that you are almost close, immediately angles his fingers until they hit your g-spot inside of you.

The first time he hits it, you nearly cum on the spot from the shock of it, your body wretching upwards and making Minghao's angle change.

He looks at you with a slightly disappointed look as he shakes his head before his other hand moves to pin you to the car. "Be good, Baobei." He says sternly as he fixes you with a pout. "We can't make it up to you if you thrash around like that, so be still and let us give you what a birthday girl deserves."

Before you could even sob out a reply, Minghao captures your lips into a searing kiss as he re-angles his fingers to hit the same spot, harder now. You whine into his mouth as he licks and nips at your lips as Hansol sucks on your clit hard.

You feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your right hand gripping and pulling at Minghao's hair which indicates that to him. He pulls away from your lips before leaning down to your ear.

"Be a good girl and cum for us, Baobei." He whispers, his voice rumbly and low.

That command is all it takes as you let out another whiny moan before the coil in your stomach snaps and you cum all over Hansol's mouth. Hansol doesn't complain. In fact, he does the opposite and groans into your pussy as he begins to lap up at your elixir, not wanting to waste a single drop.

You feel like you've just seen the stars as Minghao coos sweet words at you and gives you soft pecks as his fingers still move inside of you, chasing the high of your release. You lets out a whine, your body shuddering as you feel the start of the overstimulation, making your hand fly to Minghao's arm.

He glances at it and nods before he nudges Hansol, lightly with his foot. Hansol immediately pulls away from your pussy, the lower half of his face shiny with your slick, making your cheeks heat up as he gives you a slightly dazed smile.

You whimper as Minghao's fingers slide out of you, still sensitive from cumming. He brings his fingers to his mouth and leaks them clean while staring straight into your eyes making the butterflies in your stomach flutter as he groans.

You glance around for Hansol who is back at your desk, digging around your table for a little bit before he finds what he is looking for. He returns with some wipes and a bottle of water from his bag as helps you to sit up. He opens the bottle in one quick twist before placing a straw into it.

"Slowly." He gently mutters as he watches you drink the water. "Don't want you to choke."

Your heart warms at his concerns as he opens the wipes and hands one to Minghao. You watch, with the bottle in hand, as your boyfriends wipe you clean, making sure to be extra careful around your private parts as they don't want to overstimulate you. Minghao helps to pull up your underwear and pants as Hansol helps you adjust your bra and your shirt, brushing it downwards so that it doesn't wrinkle.

Hansol presses a chaste kiss onto your lips as he helps you to fix your hair, causing you to give him a small, lovesick grin which he returns before he plants a kiss onto your nose, making you giggle.

Minghao smoothens out your ripped jeans before rising and planting a kiss onto your forehead. "Do you forgive us, Baobei?" He wonders softly, looking at you at eye level as you give him a soft grin before nodding.

"I do." You say, giving him a quick peck on his lips. A cute smile appears on his face which makes your heart race as Hansol takes the bottle of water from your hand and shifts the straw for himself to drink.

"Good." Hansol hums after he gulps the water down. "Would be pretty awkward for the two of us to go to your birthday dinner without you."

Your heart flutters at his words as you glance between the two, a smile of excitement appearing on your lips. "Really?"

The two of them look a little offended by your question as they crouch down to meet your gaze a little better as you still sit on your dream car.

"Angel." Hansol starts, grabbing your hand into his. "We were serious about making it up to you. We will never ever forget your birthday again for the rest of our lives and if we do, you have full permission to leave us."

That pulls a soft giggle out of your lips, making Hansol crack a small smile as Minghao continues. "We love you, Baobei. We were in the wrong and we also re-promise that the two of us will not be on the same track ever again. Just because we always want one of you to be here with us because baby, you might not need us, but we both sure as hell need you."

You feel your chest ache at their words as you squeeze both their hands. "Silly boys." You mutter glancing between the two of them. "I sure as hell need you both too. So don't ever say something silly like that ever again."

Your boyfriends flash you smiles before you stand up, tugging them up with you.

"So…" You eye the two of them eagerly. "Where are we going?"

Your boyfriends sneakily glanced at each other before giving you a knowing smile.

"You'll see."

FOREVER AND ALWAYS

"I love you both so much." You sigh out, glancing at your boyfriends who are lying on either side of you on the grassy hill that they took you too. "This is absolutely perfect."

Minghao gives you a grin as he pushes himself up, leaning on his elbow. "Well, we know that you didn't want a big birthday bash this year so we decided that it should just be the three of us. Plus," He darts his tongue out to wet his lips. "Hansol and I had a lot of apologizing to do."

"And I forgive you both." You mutter. "You both planned an amazing birthday for me."

It's true, they had.

After they helped you to pack up the rest of your garage, you guys dropped by Joshua's house to give him back his key, which led to a twenty minute sigh-lecture fest from your childhood best friend before you physically had to push your boyfriends out of the door so that he doesn't rip them a new one for stealing from him.

You promised the two that they would get keycards from you in the coming days because you trusted them and it was honestly something that you should've given them a year or two ago.

Hansol was particularly interested in that because he wanted to help you out with fixing the car and learning from you. "It will probably help me to be a safer and better driver." He hums out in the car. "Not many racers have the knack for knowing what's going on in the organs of the car."

Minghao had scoffed at Hansol's word choices but was excited to see you in action, all the same.

They drove you to one of the nearby taco truck that is your go-to and ordered a few before they drove you to 'Lover's Hill'. A stargazing spot that had been on their mind for ages.

The three of you ate happily as they asked you to talk about the car before you guys started to stargazing at the beautiful night sky.

"It's our pleasure, Baobei." Minghao softly says as he leans in to press a kiss to your temple. "You are the reason we do this, y'know?"

You tilt your head to the side. "To do what?"

"Drive." Hansol answers, making you peer at him as he too, leans on his elbows. "You're the reason we drive."

You swear you're going to break down into a second fit of sobs if they continue to say things like this to you. "I love you both, so much."

Hansol and Minghao grin at you. "We love you more, Angel."

"Forever and always, Baobei."

You smile up at them before giving a thought crosses your mind, making you give them a small smirk. "Y'know…" You drawl out, pushing yourself up and leaning on your palm as you glance between the both of them. "This hill is called 'Lover's Hill for a reason…"

Your boyfriends share a glance before turning back to you, small smirks on both their faces.

"Oh, really?" Minghao asks softly, leaning in closer. You nod, your breathing hitching slighly at how close they're getting.

"Maybe you should enlighten us, Angel." Hansol says, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip.

You look between the two men in-front of you and smile to yourself at how much love the three of you have for each other and looking at them, you honestly see forever.

"With pleasure."

©livmarauder2026Thank you guys so much for reading my v8 birthday fic! I do hope you guys truly enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3 More fics to come!! Like my work? Join my Permanent Taglist! All my fics are 18+, which means blogs without age or age indicator will not be tagged! If you like this, please consider reblogging or liking! It really makes my day! <3 Thank you for showing our hyperpop v8 street racers so much love!

DELUSIONAL Y/N FAN

There was a rule in the barracks. Well, an unspoken rule at that. Newbies have been warned, and seasoned soldiers are alert. The rule? If you left your phone unattended and it buzzes, everyone looks.

"Jeon."

Wonwoo didn't bother looking up from the novel in his hands. "Hm?"

"You've got a notification."

Across the room, Mingyu craned his neck dramatically toward Wonwoo's bunk before gasping loud enough for the entire platoon to hear.

"Oh, my god." Mingyu's jaw dropped.

Wonwoo sighed. "What?"

"It's her!" Mingyu exclaimed. That got everyone's attention.

Seungkwan sat up from where he'd been lying on his bed. "Y/N posted?"

Mingyu nodded solemnly. "Yup."

Wonwoo reached over for his phone. The movement was small. Casual, even.

"You have post notifications on?" Chan asked, genuinely horrified.

"...No," Wonwoo muttered.

"You picked up your phone before you even checked who it was." Chan pointed out.

Wonwoo unlocked his screen and opened Instagram. Just as Mingyu had confirmed, Y/N had posted. His thumb lingered over the screen. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Seungkwan saw the smile on his face, and he was amused.

"Oh, he's sick," Seungkwan laughed. "He's actually sick."

Wonwoo ignored him. The first photo was exactly what he expected. Another stadium, another sea of lights, another sold-out show. The second was backstage. The third—his smile grew bigger without realizing it.

"Wonwoo!" Soonyoung called.

"What?" Wonwoo echoed.

"You smiled." Soonyoung teased. Wonwoo looked at him and said, "...Did I?"

"You did!" Soonyoung chuckled.

"Oh, he smiled," Chan confirmed, pointing accusingly. "I saw his teeth!"

Wonwoo looked back down at his phone. "It was funny."

"What was?"

He hesitated. "...Nothing."

Mingyu lunged across the space between their bunks. Wonwoo tilted the phone away just enough.

"Lemme see," Mingyu said.

"No," Wonwoo replied.

"Why not?" Mingyu pouted. "I just wanna see."

"It's my phone, Mingyu. Check your own phone." Wonwoo scoffed.

Mingyu squinted his eyes, "You're being suspicious."

"It's not suspicious."

"It is when you're guarding Y/N's Instagram like it's classified information." Mingyu rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

Wonwoo locked his phone with a quiet click. "I'm going to finish my book."

"Oh, he's embarrassed." Mingyu snickered.

"He definitely left a thirsty comment." Soonyoung chortled. "I didn't know you were that kind of fan, Wonwoo."

"I didn't leave a nasty comment," Wonwoo said, busy reading his book.

"You thought about it," Soonyoung said.

"Nope."

"You've thought about marrying her," Jihoon said from his bed.

Wonwoo blinked. "Probably."

The room fell silent. Then, the room erupted in loud laughter. Chan nearly fell off his bunk laughing. Seungkwan slapped his knee. Even Vernon looked up from the crossword puzzle he'd been pretending to solve. Mingyu wiped imaginary tears from his eyes.

"Our boy is never beating the delusional allegations." Mingyu ruffled Wonwoo's hair.

-

Training that afternoon was merciless. By the time they were dismissed, Wonwoo's shoulders ached, his boots were caked in dirt, and the only thing he wanted was to shower. Unfortunately for him, he found himself cornered outside the barracks by the self-proclaimed biggest Y/N stan, Boo Seungkwan, who had his phone out.

"Look!" Seungkwan said giddily.

Wonwoo glanced over. It was another clip from Y/N's tour. Shaky. Blurry. Someone had clearly filmed it from halfway across the stadium.

"She changed the acoustic section tonight," Seungkwan said. "Nobody saw that coming."

Wonwoo watched the first few seconds. "She wasn't feeling it."

Seungkwan frowned. "What?"

"The other song," Wonwoo answered, looking at Seungkwan in the eyes. "She wasn't feeling it."

Seungkwan huffed. "And how do you know that, Jeon?"

Wonwoo shrugged. "She always switches when she's tired."

A pause. Then Seungkwan pursed his lips, "You always say 'she always'."

"What?" Wonwoo tilted his head.

"Like," Seungkwan sighed. "'she always switches songs', 'she always wears that color', 'she always laughs like that'. Bro, you talk like you've known her your whole life."

Wonwoo only shrugged. In fact, he never argued. Arguing never helped, anyway.

That night, after lights out, the barracks settled into silence. Or as close to silence as six grown men could manage. Someone snored. Someone muttered in their sleep. Mingyu rolled over with enough force to make his bunk squeak.

Wonwoo reached beneath his pillow for his phone. One earbud. Volume low. He opened a fan-uploaded video. The quality was terrible. The audio peaked every time the crowd screamed. Still, he watched.

The camera shook violently as Y/N ran across the stage, waving at eighty thousand people like she had enough love for every single one of them. Wonwoo smiled.

"Careful," he whispered to the screen before she jogged down a staircase.

The person filming nearly dropped their phone. The video ended. Suggested clips appeared. He clicked another. Then another. Then another. A knock sounded against the metal frame above him.

"Jeon."

Wonwoo paused the video. "Yeah?"

"Go to sleep," Seokmin said sleepily. "I can see light from your phone."

"In a minute," Wonwoo said quietly.

"You said that an hour ago." Seokmin yawned.

"Mm."

Seokmin sighed and eventually dozed off. Wonwoo stared at the paused frame. She was laughing at something someone off-camera had said.

He wondered what it was. He wondered what city she'd wake up in tomorrow. His thumb hovered over the message icon before stopping. The time difference. She'd be onstage by now. He locked his phone. Rolled onto his back. Closed his eyes.

"Good night, Mrs. Y/L/N Y/N." Mingyu teased while his eyes were closed.

"Good night," Wonwoo said softly.

I SWEAR I'M TELLING THE TRUTH

Military life had a funny way of making days blur together. Wake up. Train. Eat. Train again. Sleep. Repeat. Some days went by so quickly that Wonwoo barely had time to think. Those were the good days.

Then, there were days like today. The kind where his thoughts wandered despite himself, and he moved around half-dead like a zombie.

The cafeteria had run out of coffee that morning. 'She would've complained.' Wonwoo thought.

Training had been pushed back because of the rain. 'She hates getting caught in the rain.' Wonwoo stared out the window.

Seungkwan had nearly slipped face-first into the mud. 'She would've laughed until she cried.'

Wonwoo sighed quietly. It was exhausting. No, loving her is easy. Missing her was exhausting. His brain had become annoyingly predictable over the past year and a half. Everything somehow circled back to her: the weather, a song, coffee, a dumb joke, a bird that looked like one she'd once spent ten minutes trying to photograph.

Aside from turning rotten as days go by, what else could he do but think of her?

"Jeon!"

Wonwoo blinked. "Hm?"

"I've been calling your name." Mingyu frowned.

"Sorry."

"You zoning out again?" Mingyu huffed. Wonwoo shrugged. Mingyu grinned. "Were you thinking about your girlfriend?"

Laughter rippled through the room. Wonwoo didn't even bother correcting him anymore. "Yeah."

Another round of laughter.

"So honest," Chan wheezed. "Bro's embracing the delusion now."

Wonwoo simply shook his head and ate kimchi.

By afternoon, the rain had stopped. The sky was clear. Training had finally ended. Wonwoo had just started untying his boots when someone called his name.

"Private Jeon."

He looked up. A staff sergeant stood outside the barracks holding a medium-sized cardboard box.

"Package for you."

Wonwoo frowned. He definitely wasn't expecting anything. "For me? Are you sure?"

The sergeant nodded. "Sign here."

He did. By the time he turned back around, seven heads were already at him. Mingyu pointed dramatically.

"Who's sending you packages?" Mingyu lifted an eyebrow.

"No idea." Wonwoo shrugged.

"Liar." Mingyu crossed his arms.

"I'm genuinely not," Wonwoo said.

Chan leaned forward. "Your parents?"

"Maybe." Wonwoo sighed as he sat on his bed.

"Open it." Vernon piped up.

"I'm tired," Wonwoo said, putting the box next to him as he continued to untie his boots.

"Open it." Seungkwan clapped.

"I'm showering first."

"OPEN IT!!" Soonyoung exclaimed excitedly. Wonwoo stared at him, then at everyone else, before sighing, "Fine."

Soonyoung, Jihoon, Seokmin, Mingyu, Seungkwan, Vernon, and Chan gathered around Wonwoo curiously. Wonwoo never received packages before. He barely got any visitors, too.

The tape peeled away with a soft rip. Inside, there was nothing flashy. Just neatly packed things. Coffee, instant ramen, protein bars, a new pair of insoles, and a small tube of hand cream from Yves Rocher that he loved.

Seungkwan tilted his head and pursed his lips, "Your family knows you too well. I mean, even my eomma doesn't know the hand cream I love."

Everyone nodded in agreement with their own anecdotes of how their parents don't know small things about them, too.

Wonwoo reached deeper into the box. His fingers brushed against thick paper. He pulled out a stack of Polaroids. His expression softened. Mingyu noticed.

"Aha!" Mingyu exclaimed.

"What?" Wonwoo asked.

"You did the smile." Mingyu teased.

"What smile?" Wonwoo played dumb.

"You know," Mingyu said. "The smile."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Wonwoo shook his head.

"But you DID." Mingyu huffed.

Wonwoo ignored him. The first Polaroid showed a sunrise over an empty stadium. The second is a blurry picture of a stray cat. The third, a paper coffee cup with her messy handwriting that read: Too bitter. 2/10.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward. "She still hates black coffee." He mumbled.

Silence. Wonwoo froze. 'Oops...' Wonwoo thought.

Seungkwan looked up. "What did you just say?"

"Nothing."

"No, you definitely said something." Seungkwan eyed him suspisciously. "You said, 'she still hates black coffee'..."

Jihoon folded his arms, "You talk like you know her."

Wonwoo looked at the Polaroid for another second before placing it gently on his blanket. On a normal day, he'd let those comments slide. Today was different. He was missing Y/N more than usual. All the colors around him are dull, and his tasks are mundane. Against his better judgment, he said, "I do."

The room erupted into laughter. Chan laughed so hard, he had to sit down. Mingyu pointed at Wonwoo while laughing.

"Wow, he actually thinks he knows her!"

"Bro actually committed THAT hard!"

"You know what? Respect."

Seungkwan shook his head, grinning. "You're unbelievable."

Wonwoo didn't argue. He never argued. He simply reached back into the box. At the very bottom, a folded envelope. No sender's name. Just his. He unfolded the letter. The handwriting made his chest ache immediately.

My Dearest, Wonwoo,

Paris was loud. Portugal was louder. I still think Tokyo had the best crowd, but if you were here, you'd probably disagree.

He chuckled lightly.

I'm sending you stuff that I've picked up for you along the way. I hope you like them! I also hope you like the Polaroids :>

The coffee was insanely bad istg. The cat followed me for three blocks. The sunrise reminded me of you. We used to watch them all the time. I miss you so much, my love. I hope giving you this package can ease the pain of missing me too.

His grip tightened on the paper.

I love you, Wonwoo.

P.S. Please, please, please send me anecdotes of ur life in the barracks!! I hope they're feeding you enough bc I'll fight them lol jk. I'll see you soon (hopefully).

P.P.S I'm taking a hiatus after this long-ass tour. I'll travel the world with you... or maybe just chill at home with your buldak addiction. Maybe get married in secret and start a family? I don't know, but the possibilities are endless. I love you!

Yours always,

Y/N, writing from Amsterdam <3

For a moment, the barracks disappeared.

A private terminal. One week before enistment. The engines of her private jet hummed in the distance. She hadn't let go of his hand once.

"You know, I should stay." Y/N said to him. "I mean, I can wait until I send you off to your military service."

Wonwoo smiled. "No."

"I can postpone the first show fr you, love!"

"You won't do that." Wonwoo said softly.

"I would."

"You shouldn't," Wonwoo said, cupping her face with both hands. Tears brimmed in her eyes.

"I hate this."

"Me, too." Wonwoo smiled sadly.

She laughed weakly. "You're supposed to make this easier."

"I'm trying." Wonwoo chuckled lightly.

"You suck at it."

"Probably."

She hit his arm lightly. Just enough to make him smile. Then, she stepped closer and wrapped both arms around him, held him like she was trying to memorize every part of him. "I'll be back before you know it."

Wonwoo closed his eyes. "I know."

Neither of them believed it. A voice called her name. Five minutes. She looked toward the jet. Then back at him. Then back again. She kissed him. Once, twice. A third time after, she'd already started pulling away. The security staff politely looked everywhere else.

"Okay." She laughed through her tears.

"This time?"

"Yeah."

She made it halfway up the stairs before turning around one last time. Wonwoo lifted his hand. She mirrored the gesture. Then she disappeared inside. He didn't leave, not until the jet became nothing more than a white speck against the sky.

"Jeon?"

Wonwoo blinked. The barracks came back into focus. Mingyu was waving a hand in front of his face.

"Dude, you've been staring at that letter for, like, five minutes," Mingyu said.

"Sorry," Wonwoo said.

"So?" Seungkwan leaned forward. "Who sent it?"

Wonwoo carefully folded the letter. Placed it back inside the envelope, then looked at the six men staring at him.

"She's busy," was all Wonwoo said, completely disregarding Seungkwan's question.

HONORABLY DISCHARGED

The morning of Jeon Wonwoo's discharge was surprisingly... anticlimactic. No dramatic music. No grand farewell. Just paperwork. Sign here, initial there. Return your equipment. The military had a funny way of reducing nearly two years of someone's life into a stack of forms and a firm handshake.

"Congratulations."

Wonwoo bowed politely. "Thank you.

"Dismissed."

Wonwoo bowed one last time before heading back toward the barracks. His duffel bag sat neatly on the edge of his bunk, packed the night before. Wonwoo checked his stuff before he zipped his duffel bag shut and slung it over his shoulder.

"Well," Seokmin said, breaking the silence. "I guess this is it."

"So sentimental," Soonyoung teased, nudging Seokmin with an elbow. "You gonna cry?"

"I might," Seokmin said.

"You absolutely are."

"I'm definitely not crying because I'm gonna miss Wonwoo-hyung." Seokmin huffed.

"Oh, now you call me 'hyung'." Wonwoo laughed. A quiet laugh rippled through the room.

Wonwoo smiled. "Take care of yourselves."

"Look who's acting like a dad now," Mingyu snorted.

Chan crossed his arms. "Don't forget us when Y/N notices your comments."

"She notices," Wonwoo said. "Sometimes, I tell her in person."

The room erupted in laughter.

"There he goes!"

"Last delusion before discharge!"

"Never change, Jeon!"

Wonwoo chuckled. "I won't." He reached into his duffel bag and pulled out a small paper bag. "I almost forgot." He handed it to Seungkwan.

"What's this?" Seungkwan eyed the bag suspiciously.

"Snacks." Wonwoo shrugged.

Seungkwan peeked inside. His eyes widened. "Wait... these are imported!"

"They're your favorite," Wonwoo said casually.

"Hyung-" Seungkwan said.

"I wasn't going to finish them."

Seungkwan looked strangely touched. "Thank you."

Wonwoo nodded once. He pulled out another bag. "Mingyu."

The tall man pointed at himself, "For me?"

"You kept stealing my instant coffee."

"Allegedly..." Mingyu said.

"I bought you your own." Wonwoo handed the bag to him. Mingyu opened the bag.

"You actually remembered?"

"Mm."

For a second, nobody joked. They just looked at him.

Jihoon cleared his throat. "You're annoyingly thoughtful."

"So I've been told."

Vernon finally spoke up from the corner. "You know..."

Everyone looked at him.

"If you ever somehow meet Y/N..."

Mingyu laughed. "Here we go."

"...Can you ask her for a video message?"

Seungkwan immediately pointed at Vernon. "You're not even sure if Sofia's a fan!"

"...Who said it was for Sofia?"

The room dissolved into chaos. Wonwoo shook his head, unable to stop smiling. "I'll see what I can do."

"See?" Mingyu sighed dramatically. "He still thinks he's gonna meet her!"

"He really committed to the character."

"So inspiring."

"Screw all of you," Seungkwan said. "I believe he'll meet her, and I'd also like a video. I also want to meet her."

"Seriously though," Mingyu said, "if you somehow meet Y/N... tell her hottest soldier from the military, Kim Mingyu, says hi."

Wonwoo could only stare at him. How could he tell his lovely girlfriend that the 'hottest soldier' says hi? Wonwoo can manage.

"And tell her Boo Seungkwan is her biggest fan, and I can do all the dances."

"Okay..."

"And get us signed albums." Chan chimed in.

"We each want video messages!" Seokmin shouted excitedly.

"Can I get a hug?" Soonyoung asked.

Wonwoo looked at him. "...No, I don't think so, buddy."

Wonwoo simply adjusted the strap of his duffel. "I'll see what I can do as well. Bye, everyone. It was nice knowing all of you."

"Take care, hyung!"

"We love you!"

"Stay healthy!"

"Don't marry Y/N without us."

Wonwoo paused with one hand on the door. "I'll keep that in mind."

The laughter followed him all the way down the hallway. It lingered even after the voices faded into the distance. Wonwoo glanced back only once.

The barracks looked exactly as they had the day he'd first stepped inside—rows of bunks, neatly folded blankets, and seven men who'd somehow turned into family over the course of nearly two years.

He shook his head with a quiet smile. They were loud. Annoying. Unnecessarily invested in his love life. But somewhere between endless drills, sleepless nights, and terrible cafeteria food, they'd made the days a little easier to get through. They just... didn't know it.

Adjusting the strap of his duffel bag, Wonwoo walked toward the front gate. One step. Then another. The weight on his shoulders felt different now. Lighter. Not because the bag weighed any less. Because he no longer had to count down the days. The guard at the gate gave him a polite nod before handing over his identification.

Wonwoo stepped through the gate without looking back. On the other side, his family was already waiting.

His father pulled him into a tight hug before he could even say hello. His brother gave him a firm pat on the shoulder, smiling in that awkward way brothers often did.

"Welcome home, son," he said.

"It's good to be back."

As they walked toward the car, Wonwoo's phone buzzed.

[Y/N my love ♥️] good morning over there, soldier. congratulations ♥️ i'm sorry i couldn't be there, but just know i'm in your heart all the time.

A smile found its way onto his face. After nearly two years, he finally got to type the words he'd been waiting to say.

[my wonwoo ♥️] Good morning, love. Thank you. I love you so much. See you soon :)

A typing bubble appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.

"So," His father smiled knowingly, "when's your flight?"

"Tomorrow." Wonwoo smiled.

His father nodded once. "Go ahead."

"What? That's it?" His brother blinked. "He just got out!"

"Well, she's waited long enough." His father laughed.

"We both have."

-

The flight felt longer than military service. Not literally. Just emotionally. He barely slept. Watched clouds drift by instead. Every few hours, he'd unlock his phone. Not to text her. Just to check where she was. London.

Tonight's show. The last stop. He smiled. Perfect.

-

Meanwhile, backstage was chaos.

"Five minutes!"

"Mic check!"

"Where's wardrobe?"

"I need someone on stage left!"

Y/N sat quietly in front of the mirror while her stylist adjusted the last few details. "You okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I'm just tired."

"Sure?"

She laughed weakly. "It's just..." She looked down at the bracelet around her wrist. The one Wonwoo had given her before enlistment. "Today's our anniversary."

Her stylist's expression softened. "I'm sorry."

"Eight years and going strong." She smiled. "I miss him so much. He's the reason why I keep going on every show. I keep thinking that the better I do on stage, the quicker I come back to him."

"That's sweet."

"Wonwoo's my everything, Jia." She said softly. "He's amazing. He inspired me to write and perform."

"How did you meet?" Jia asked.

"We were nineteen..." She smiled.

Y/N was already a household name, juggling interviews between college classes, while Wonwoo was just another university student who happened to be paired with her for a group project. He never treated her like a celebrity, and she loved him for it.

What started as shared notes, late-night study sessions, and coffee runs slowly turned into movie nights, bookstore dates, and a friendship neither of them realized had become something more. One evening, after walking her back to her apartment, Wonwoo stopped her before she could head inside.

"I don't think I'll ever stop liking you," he admitted with a nervous laugh. "Would... would you let me be your boyfriend?"

She smiled so brightly that he forgot every word he'd rehearsed. Instead of answering, she stepped forward, kissed him, and whispered, "I thought you'd never ask."

-

The concert was everything the internet expected. Fireworks. Costume changes. Surprise songs from her very first album. A sold-out stadium with fans singing every word. Y/N gave them everything she had because she always did. Then, the final song. The last note echoed through the stadium.

Confetti exploded. She bowed. "Thank you for coming tonight! Thank you for supporting me throughout my career, ever since I was a young teen until now. I'm so blessed and grateful to have fans like you. I love you all and good night!"

The crowd roared. She looked around with the biggest, most genuine grin and gave a final wave before disappearing behind the curtain.

Backstage erupted into cheers.

"You did amazing!"

"Last show!"

"We survived!"

Managers hugged each other. Dancers cheered. Someone popped open a bottle of champagne. Y/N laughed as people congratulated her. Then she saw him standing quietly in the hallway, hands tucked into the pockets of a hoodie she'd stolen years ago and never given back. For a moment, neither of them moved.

"Wonwoo?"

He smiled and waved.

She didn't think. She ran straight into him, hard enough that he stumbled back a step before catching her. "You idiot."

"Mm." He wrapped his arms around her tightly.

"You said you were staying home."

"You are my home," Wonwoo said.

"That's too cheesy, even for you."

"There's a first for everything."

She buried her face against his neck. "I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"I don't." Her voice cracked. She pulled away just enough to cup his face. "Your hair is shorter."

"Military things."

"I like it." She smiled. "But I missed your long hair."

"Me too."

She laughed through fresh tears. "I've cried enough over you."

"Sorry," Wonwoo said sheepishly.

"You better be." She kissed him before he could answer.

The crew, to their credit, became incredibly interested in literally everything else. The floor. The ceiling. A stack of road cases. One lighting technician suddenly discovered a deep passion for checking cables. Nobody interrupted.

-

The hotel room was unusually quiet. Not because there was nothing to say. Because after nearly two years apart, silence no longer felt empty. Y/N lay beside him, lazily tracing circles across his bare arm while the city lights spilled through the curtains. Somewhere below, traffic hummed, people laughed, and life carried on as if nothing monumental had happened. Wonwoo watched her for a long moment.

"What?" she asked, catching him staring.

"You still do that."

"Do what?"

He glanced down at her hand. "The circles."

She smiled. "It's very comforting, and I know you like it."

"True."

Another comfortable silence settled between them. Y/N shifted closer until her head rested against his shoulder. "I still can't believe you're here."

"I'm here." Wonwoo smiled, and kissed the top of her head.

"If this were a dream, I never want to wake up."

"I'd say 'don't', but," Wonwoo said. "I would never want to experience a time when you never wake up."

She looked up at him. "I fucking love you."

"That's intense." Wonwoo grinned. "I fucking love you, darling."

She laughed softly. Wonwoo brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Can I tell you something?"

"Anything, my love."

He looked toward the ceiling for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "There were days when training was so exhausting that I forgot to miss you."

She looked up.

"And there were days when," he smiled to himself. "I'd see coffee, or it would rain, or someone would say something stupid."

A tiny chuckle escaped her.

"And I'd think..." he paused. "'Y/N would've complained about the coffee.' or 'Y/N would've forgotten her umbrella.' or 'Y/N would've laughed at that.' I couldn't stop."

Her expression softened. "Wonwoo..."

"I was going crazy." Wonwoo shook his head as he laughed quietly. "The guys thought I was obsessed with you."

"You kind of are."

"I am." He nodded without shame. He reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers. "But I had nothing to do except think of you the whole time."

His thumb brushed over her knuckles. "I had maggots for brains, my love. I was like a zombie out there."

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Then Y/N laughed. Not because it was funny. Because it was so painfully him. She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. "I know."

"You do?"

"I had that feeling, too."

He smiled. "You?"

She nodded. "I'd finish a show and immediately wonder what you would've thought. I'd see a bookstore and think about dragging you inside. I'd order room service and accidentally ask enough for two."

Her voice grew quieter. "I kept forgetting you weren't there."

Wonwoo closed the distance between them, resting his forehead aginst hers. "We're making up for lost time."

"We are."

"No more fan cams." Wonwoo said and she laughed.

"No more grainy livestreams." He added.

"No more letters." She said.

"I liked your letters." Wonwoo said.

"I liked yours better." She smiled.

"I only sent three."

She nodded. "And I re-read all three."

His heart skipped a beat. "You kept them?"

She looked at him as if the answer should've been obvious. "They're in my suitcase."

A beat.

"Your Polaroids are in my suitcase." Wonwoo said, then he laughed—a full, warm laugh she hadn't heard in far too long. "I guess we're both a little crazy."

"No." She cupped his face. "We're just in love."

He kissed her gently. This time, there was no departure gate waiting for them. No boarding call. No countdown. No wondering what city she'd wake up in tomorrow. Tomorrow, when the sun rose, he'd be there to see it with her.

BONUS

The hotel room was still half-asleep. Sunlight filtered through the curtains while the shower ran somewhere in the background. Y/N sat cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through her phone when Wonwoo's voice carried out from the bathroom.

"My phone's on the nightstand."

"Mhm?"

"Can you call Seungkwan for me?"

She blinked. "Seungkwan?"

"I promised them a video message."

Y/N grabbed his phone and marched towards the bathroom, not caring about him showering. Hey, they've been together for eight years. They've seen everything.

"Are you serious?"

Wonwoo glanced at her through the foggy glass of the shower. "Yes."

"Okay, okay." She laughed to herself. "What will I say?"

"Just... say hi or something. Oh, and Mingyu says hi. Vernon would also like a video message. Seungkwan is also your biggest fan and he's so bummed that he's not able to go to your show because he's in the military. He's always watching the reels of your surprise songs." Wonwoo said.

"Really? Well, I'll be sure to give them all a special pass when I have my concert in Korea."

"But you don't have a Korean stop."

"I do now." She chuckled before exiting the bathroom.

Meanwhile, back in Korea, it was nearly lights out. Seungkwan had just finished brushing his teeth when his phone lit up.

Wonwoo Hyung is calling...

His eyebrows shot up. "Wonwoo hyung is calling!"

Within seconds, the rest of the guys popped up from around the barracks.

"Put it on speaker!"

"No, it's a video!" Seungkwan said.

"Oh my god. Video?" Seokmin asked.

"Yah, answer it!" Jihoon said impatiently.

Seungkwan accepted the call. "Hyung!"

The screen flickered.

"Hi!"

Seven of them froze. Y/N waved cheerfully from the hotel room somewhere in London.

"So, um," she laughed awkwardly. "I know you guys asked for a video message, but I figured a video call would be more fun and interactive? Maybe even more memorable."

Silence. Complete utter silence. Behind Seungkwan, Mingyu slowly lowered the cup of instant noodles he'd been holding. Chan's jaw physically dropped. Vernon blinked once. Twice.

Soonyoung whispered, "No, way..."

Y/N tilted her head. "Anyway, Wonwoo's in the shower. He told me to call..." she glanced down at the phone. "Seungkwan?"

"That's me!" Seungkwan exclaimed. "I'm Seungkwan."

"Hi!" her face lit up.

Mingyu moved to the side, off-camera, and shouted, "Oh my god, it's actually her!"

Y/N burst into laughter. "You must be Mingyu."

His eyes widened and walked back in frame. "You know my name?"

"Wonwoo may have talked about you guys when he got here." She chuckled.

"So he wasn't lying." Chan said and Vernon nodded.

"So you're..." Soonyoung scratched the back of his neck. "his girlfriend?"

Y/N proudly nodded. "Yes. For eight years."

"Eight years?!" Jihoon shrieked.

She nodded and smiled sweetly. "In fact, it was our eighth anniversary yesterday, and he surprised me here in London."

"You guys are practically married at this point." Vernon said.

She laughed. "Yeah."

Mingyu covered his face with both hands. "We've been bullying Y/N's boyfriend for two years."

"You called him delusional," Jihoon reminded him.

"I know!"

Seungkwan suddenly remembered something. "Wait..." He pointed accusingly at the screen. "So all those times he said, 'she doesn't like black coffee', 'she changes the acoustic set when she's tired', 'she notices my comments'..."

"All true." She confirmed.

The bathroom door opened. Wonwoo stepped out wearing a bathrobe. He smiled and waved at the guys. "Morning."

Y/N turned the phone toward him. "They have questions."

Wonwoo looked at the seven dumbfounded faces on the screen. No one spoke. Finally, Mingyu sighed dramatically. "Hyung..."

"Mm?"

"I owe you the biggest apology of my life."

Wonwoo thought for a moment. "You do."

"So you're really together?" Soonyoung asked again.

"Very much together." Wonwoo nodded, putting on his glasses. "Eight years is no joke."

"I won't be getting that hug, then." Soonyoung said quietly.

"I can still hug you!" Y/N exclaimed. "Wonwoo's not the jealous type, and he's not immature. I really got lucky."

Wonwoo blushed, causing a round of teasing from the guys. Y/N looked completely amused. "I like you guys."

Seungkwan shook his head, "I can't believe we spent two years making fun of your boyfriend."

"Now you know it's real and he's not delusional." She smirked. "Oh, before we hang up, I want to say hi to Mingyu and I want to tell Vernon that I promise to make a video greeting right after."

"Can we all get one?" Seokmin asked shyly. She chuckled and nodded. "Sure."

"Oh, and Seungkwan?" She called.

"Yes?" Seungkwan smiled excitedly.

"I know you know all of my dance steps and Wonwoo may have told me in passing that you do TikTok challenges of my songs. I'll happily do a TikTok with you when I have my concert in Korea." Y/N smiled.

"But... you don't have a concert here. It's done." Seungkwan said.

"I'm Y/L/N Y/N, Seungkwannie. I can make it happen, and I'm giving you all special passes and seats." She smirked as the guys cheered. She glanced at Wonwoo and he only shook his head with a small smile on his face.

The call ended a few minutes later. One by one, the guys climbed back onto their bunks, still trying to process everything that had just happened.

No one spoke. No one really knew what to say. Finally, Mingyu broke the silence. "We've been calling Y/N's boyfriend delusional for two years!"

"We really have," Chan muttered. "I even laughed the loudest, for fuck's sake."

"So..." Seokmin said. "are we terrible people?"

Jihoon didn't even look up from his book. "A little."

"I apologized!" Mingyu pouted as he defended himself.

"After two years." Jihoon answered back.

"I still said I was sorry!" Mingyu frowned. "Doesn't that matter?"

Before anyone could tease him further, a buzz came from Seungkwan's phone. He looked down and his eyes widened.

"Guys..."

No one answered.

"Guys!" Seungkwan said a little louder.

"What?" Vernon said.

"She followed me on Instagram."

Six heads whipped towards him.

"What?" Soonyoung asked.

Seungkwan turned his phone around.

@yn started following you.

"No way..." Soonyoung's jaw dropped. His phone buzzed, too. He quickly checked. True enough, he received the same notification as Seungkwan. "Yah! She followed me, too!"

Chan looked down at his screen. @yn started following you.

Vernon frowned at his own notification. @yn started following you.

Soon, every phone in the barracks buzzed one after another. Mingyu stared at his screen like it had personally offended him. "She's real."

"She's not AI, Mingyu-ya." Jihoon retorted.

Seungkwan scrolled through Instagram and refreshed the app. Y/N posted a few seconds ago. He quickly gave it a like before swiping through the photos.

The first few photos were from the final show. The confetti. The crowd. The dancers.

He swiped again and stopped. It was a more intimate, yet private photo. It was Wonwoo on what he assumed was their date after the call.

Wonwoo was across Y/N, and his face was strategically hidden by the cup he was drinking from. To the rest of the world, that's how Wonwoo was shown on her profile for the past eight years. Always protected, but never hidden.

The caption read: the last concert day was a blast! now, I'll be spending my days with my man. happy 8th anniversary, my love. you're the best surprise I've ever gotten.

Seungkwan bit back a squeal. He was too happy. The other guys had seen the post, too.

"So Wonwoo hyung really wasn't crazy." Mingyu sighed.

"No," Chan smiled as he looked around the room. "He just has someone worth going crazy for."

a/n: i think we all got maggots for brains while wonu's away. pls pls pls lmk what u think of this one! gosh, i'm so nervous abt it. i hope you guys don't mind me switching it up for a bit xo

DELUSIONAL Y/N FAN

There was a rule in the barracks. Well, an unspoken rule at that. Newbies have been warned, and seasoned soldiers are alert. The rule? If you left your phone unattended and it buzzes, everyone looks.

"Jeon."

Wonwoo didn't bother looking up from the novel in his hands. "Hm?"

"You've got a notification."

Across the room, Mingyu craned his neck dramatically toward Wonwoo's bunk before gasping loud enough for the entire platoon to hear.

"Oh, my god." Mingyu's jaw dropped.

Wonwoo sighed. "What?"

"It's her!" Mingyu exclaimed. That got everyone's attention.

Seungkwan sat up from where he'd been lying on his bed. "Y/N posted?"

Mingyu nodded solemnly. "Yup."

Wonwoo reached over for his phone. The movement was small. Casual, even.

"You have post notifications on?" Chan asked, genuinely horrified.

"...No," Wonwoo muttered.

"You picked up your phone before you even checked who it was." Chan pointed out.

Wonwoo unlocked his screen and opened Instagram. Just as Mingyu had confirmed, Y/N had posted. His thumb lingered over the screen. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Seungkwan saw the smile on his face, and he was amused.

"Oh, he's sick," Seungkwan laughed. "He's actually sick."

Wonwoo ignored him. The first photo was exactly what he expected. Another stadium, another sea of lights, another sold-out show. The second was backstage. The third—his smile grew bigger without realizing it.

"Wonwoo!" Soonyoung called.

"What?" Wonwoo echoed.

"You smiled." Soonyoung teased. Wonwoo looked at him and said, "...Did I?"

"You did!" Soonyoung chuckled.

"Oh, he smiled," Chan confirmed, pointing accusingly. "I saw his teeth!"

Wonwoo looked back down at his phone. "It was funny."

"What was?"

He hesitated. "...Nothing."

Mingyu lunged across the space between their bunks. Wonwoo tilted the phone away just enough.

"Lemme see," Mingyu said.

"No," Wonwoo replied.

"Why not?" Mingyu pouted. "I just wanna see."

"It's my phone, Mingyu. Check your own phone." Wonwoo scoffed.

Mingyu squinted his eyes, "You're being suspicious."

"It's not suspicious."

"It is when you're guarding Y/N's Instagram like it's classified information." Mingyu rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

Wonwoo locked his phone with a quiet click. "I'm going to finish my book."

"Oh, he's embarrassed." Mingyu snickered.

"He definitely left a thirsty comment." Soonyoung chortled. "I didn't know you were that kind of fan, Wonwoo."

"I didn't leave a nasty comment," Wonwoo said, busy reading his book.

"You thought about it," Soonyoung said.

"Nope."

"You've thought about marrying her," Jihoon said from his bed.

Wonwoo blinked. "Probably."

The room fell silent. Then, the room erupted in loud laughter. Chan nearly fell off his bunk laughing. Seungkwan slapped his knee. Even Vernon looked up from the crossword puzzle he'd been pretending to solve. Mingyu wiped imaginary tears from his eyes.

"Our boy is never beating the delusional allegations." Mingyu ruffled Wonwoo's hair.

-

Training that afternoon was merciless. By the time they were dismissed, Wonwoo's shoulders ached, his boots were caked in dirt, and the only thing he wanted was to shower. Unfortunately for him, he found himself cornered outside the barracks by the self-proclaimed biggest Y/N stan, Boo Seungkwan, who had his phone out.

"Look!" Seungkwan said giddily.

Wonwoo glanced over. It was another clip from Y/N's tour. Shaky. Blurry. Someone had clearly filmed it from halfway across the stadium.

"She changed the acoustic section tonight," Seungkwan said. "Nobody saw that coming."

Wonwoo watched the first few seconds. "She wasn't feeling it."

Seungkwan frowned. "What?"

"The other song," Wonwoo answered, looking at Seungkwan in the eyes. "She wasn't feeling it."

Seungkwan huffed. "And how do you know that, Jeon?"

Wonwoo shrugged. "She always switches when she's tired."

A pause. Then Seungkwan pursed his lips, "You always say 'she always'."

"What?" Wonwoo tilted his head.

"Like," Seungkwan sighed. "'she always switches songs', 'she always wears that color', 'she always laughs like that'. Bro, you talk like you've known her your whole life."

Wonwoo only shrugged. In fact, he never argued. Arguing never helped, anyway.

That night, after lights out, the barracks settled into silence. Or as close to silence as six grown men could manage. Someone snored. Someone muttered in their sleep. Mingyu rolled over with enough force to make his bunk squeak.

Wonwoo reached beneath his pillow for his phone. One earbud. Volume low. He opened a fan-uploaded video. The quality was terrible. The audio peaked every time the crowd screamed. Still, he watched.

The camera shook violently as Y/N ran across the stage, waving at eighty thousand people like she had enough love for every single one of them. Wonwoo smiled.

"Careful," he whispered to the screen before she jogged down a staircase.

The person filming nearly dropped their phone. The video ended. Suggested clips appeared. He clicked another. Then another. Then another. A knock sounded against the metal frame above him.

"Jeon."

Wonwoo paused the video. "Yeah?"

"Go to sleep," Seokmin said sleepily. "I can see light from your phone."

"In a minute," Wonwoo said quietly.

"You said that an hour ago." Seokmin yawned.

"Mm."

Seokmin sighed and eventually dozed off. Wonwoo stared at the paused frame. She was laughing at something someone off-camera had said.

He wondered what it was. He wondered what city she'd wake up in tomorrow. His thumb hovered over the message icon before stopping. The time difference. She'd be onstage by now. He locked his phone. Rolled onto his back. Closed his eyes.

"Good night, Mrs. Y/L/N Y/N." Mingyu teased while his eyes were closed.

"Good night," Wonwoo said softly.

I SWEAR I'M TELLING THE TRUTH

Military life had a funny way of making days blur together. Wake up. Train. Eat. Train again. Sleep. Repeat. Some days went by so quickly that Wonwoo barely had time to think. Those were the good days.

Then, there were days like today. The kind where his thoughts wandered despite himself, and he moved around half-dead like a zombie.

The cafeteria had run out of coffee that morning. 'She would've complained.' Wonwoo thought.

Training had been pushed back because of the rain. 'She hates getting caught in the rain.' Wonwoo stared out the window.

Seungkwan had nearly slipped face-first into the mud. 'She would've laughed until she cried.'

Wonwoo sighed quietly. It was exhausting. No, loving her is easy. Missing her was exhausting. His brain had become annoyingly predictable over the past year and a half. Everything somehow circled back to her: the weather, a song, coffee, a dumb joke, a bird that looked like one she'd once spent ten minutes trying to photograph.

Aside from turning rotten as days go by, what else could he do but think of her?

"Jeon!"

Wonwoo blinked. "Hm?"

"I've been calling your name." Mingyu frowned.

"Sorry."

"You zoning out again?" Mingyu huffed. Wonwoo shrugged. Mingyu grinned. "Were you thinking about your girlfriend?"

Laughter rippled through the room. Wonwoo didn't even bother correcting him anymore. "Yeah."

Another round of laughter.

"So honest," Chan wheezed. "Bro's embracing the delusion now."

Wonwoo simply shook his head and ate kimchi.

By afternoon, the rain had stopped. The sky was clear. Training had finally ended. Wonwoo had just started untying his boots when someone called his name.

"Private Jeon."

He looked up. A staff sergeant stood outside the barracks holding a medium-sized cardboard box.

"Package for you."

Wonwoo frowned. He definitely wasn't expecting anything. "For me? Are you sure?"

The sergeant nodded. "Sign here."

He did. By the time he turned back around, seven heads were already at him. Mingyu pointed dramatically.

"Who's sending you packages?" Mingyu lifted an eyebrow.

"No idea." Wonwoo shrugged.

"Liar." Mingyu crossed his arms.

"I'm genuinely not," Wonwoo said.

Chan leaned forward. "Your parents?"

"Maybe." Wonwoo sighed as he sat on his bed.

"Open it." Vernon piped up.

"I'm tired," Wonwoo said, putting the box next to him as he continued to untie his boots.

"Open it." Seungkwan clapped.

"I'm showering first."

"OPEN IT!!" Soonyoung exclaimed excitedly. Wonwoo stared at him, then at everyone else, before sighing, "Fine."

Soonyoung, Jihoon, Seokmin, Mingyu, Seungkwan, Vernon, and Chan gathered around Wonwoo curiously. Wonwoo never received packages before. He barely got any visitors, too.

The tape peeled away with a soft rip. Inside, there was nothing flashy. Just neatly packed things. Coffee, instant ramen, protein bars, a new pair of insoles, and a small tube of hand cream from Yves Rocher that he loved.

Seungkwan tilted his head and pursed his lips, "Your family knows you too well. I mean, even my eomma doesn't know the hand cream I love."

Everyone nodded in agreement with their own anecdotes of how their parents don't know small things about them, too.

Wonwoo reached deeper into the box. His fingers brushed against thick paper. He pulled out a stack of Polaroids. His expression softened. Mingyu noticed.

"Aha!" Mingyu exclaimed.

"What?" Wonwoo asked.

"You did the smile." Mingyu teased.

"What smile?" Wonwoo played dumb.

"You know," Mingyu said. "The smile."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Wonwoo shook his head.

"But you DID." Mingyu huffed.

Wonwoo ignored him. The first Polaroid showed a sunrise over an empty stadium. The second is a blurry picture of a stray cat. The third, a paper coffee cup with her messy handwriting that read: Too bitter. 2/10.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward. "She still hates black coffee." He mumbled.

Silence. Wonwoo froze. 'Oops...' Wonwoo thought.

Seungkwan looked up. "What did you just say?"

"Nothing."

"No, you definitely said something." Seungkwan eyed him suspisciously. "You said, 'she still hates black coffee'..."

Jihoon folded his arms, "You talk like you know her."

Wonwoo looked at the Polaroid for another second before placing it gently on his blanket. On a normal day, he'd let those comments slide. Today was different. He was missing Y/N more than usual. All the colors around him are dull, and his tasks are mundane. Against his better judgment, he said, "I do."

The room erupted into laughter. Chan laughed so hard, he had to sit down. Mingyu pointed at Wonwoo while laughing.

"Wow, he actually thinks he knows her!"

"Bro actually committed THAT hard!"

"You know what? Respect."

Seungkwan shook his head, grinning. "You're unbelievable."

Wonwoo didn't argue. He never argued. He simply reached back into the box. At the very bottom, a folded envelope. No sender's name. Just his. He unfolded the letter. The handwriting made his chest ache immediately.

My Dearest, Wonwoo,

Paris was loud. Portugal was louder. I still think Tokyo had the best crowd, but if you were here, you'd probably disagree.

He chuckled lightly.

I'm sending you stuff that I've picked up for you along the way. I hope you like them! I also hope you like the Polaroids :>

The coffee was insanely bad istg. The cat followed me for three blocks. The sunrise reminded me of you. We used to watch them all the time. I miss you so much, my love. I hope giving you this package can ease the pain of missing me too.

His grip tightened on the paper.

I love you, Wonwoo.

P.S. Please, please, please send me anecdotes of ur life in the barracks!! I hope they're feeding you enough bc I'll fight them lol jk. I'll see you soon (hopefully).

P.P.S I'm taking a hiatus after this long-ass tour. I'll travel the world with you... or maybe just chill at home with your buldak addiction. Maybe get married in secret and start a family? I don't know, but the possibilities are endless. I love you!

Yours always,

Y/N, writing from Amsterdam <3

For a moment, the barracks disappeared.

A private terminal. One week before enistment. The engines of her private jet hummed in the distance. She hadn't let go of his hand once.

"You know, I should stay." Y/N said to him. "I mean, I can wait until I send you off to your military service."

Wonwoo smiled. "No."

"I can postpone the first show fr you, love!"

"You won't do that." Wonwoo said softly.

"I would."

"You shouldn't," Wonwoo said, cupping her face with both hands. Tears brimmed in her eyes.

"I hate this."

"Me, too." Wonwoo smiled sadly.

She laughed weakly. "You're supposed to make this easier."

"I'm trying." Wonwoo chuckled lightly.

"You suck at it."

"Probably."

She hit his arm lightly. Just enough to make him smile. Then, she stepped closer and wrapped both arms around him, held him like she was trying to memorize every part of him. "I'll be back before you know it."

Wonwoo closed his eyes. "I know."

Neither of them believed it. A voice called her name. Five minutes. She looked toward the jet. Then back at him. Then back again. She kissed him. Once, twice. A third time after, she'd already started pulling away. The security staff politely looked everywhere else.

"Okay." She laughed through her tears.

"This time?"

"Yeah."

She made it halfway up the stairs before turning around one last time. Wonwoo lifted his hand. She mirrored the gesture. Then she disappeared inside. He didn't leave, not until the jet became nothing more than a white speck against the sky.

"Jeon?"

Wonwoo blinked. The barracks came back into focus. Mingyu was waving a hand in front of his face.

"Dude, you've been staring at that letter for, like, five minutes," Mingyu said.

"Sorry," Wonwoo said.

"So?" Seungkwan leaned forward. "Who sent it?"

Wonwoo carefully folded the letter. Placed it back inside the envelope, then looked at the six men staring at him.

"She's busy," was all Wonwoo said, completely disregarding Seungkwan's question.

HONORABLY DISCHARGED

The morning of Jeon Wonwoo's discharge was surprisingly... anticlimactic. No dramatic music. No grand farewell. Just paperwork. Sign here, initial there. Return your equipment. The military had a funny way of reducing nearly two years of someone's life into a stack of forms and a firm handshake.

"Congratulations."

Wonwoo bowed politely. "Thank you.

"Dismissed."

Wonwoo bowed one last time before heading back toward the barracks. His duffel bag sat neatly on the edge of his bunk, packed the night before. Wonwoo checked his stuff before he zipped his duffel bag shut and slung it over his shoulder.

"Well," Seokmin said, breaking the silence. "I guess this is it."

"So sentimental," Soonyoung teased, nudging Seokmin with an elbow. "You gonna cry?"

"I might," Seokmin said.

"You absolutely are."

"I'm definitely not crying because I'm gonna miss Wonwoo-hyung." Seokmin huffed.

"Oh, now you call me 'hyung'." Wonwoo laughed. A quiet laugh rippled through the room.

Wonwoo smiled. "Take care of yourselves."

"Look who's acting like a dad now," Mingyu snorted.

Chan crossed his arms. "Don't forget us when Y/N notices your comments."

"She notices," Wonwoo said. "Sometimes, I tell her in person."

The room erupted in laughter.

"There he goes!"

"Last delusion before discharge!"

"Never change, Jeon!"

Wonwoo chuckled. "I won't." He reached into his duffel bag and pulled out a small paper bag. "I almost forgot." He handed it to Seungkwan.

"What's this?" Seungkwan eyed the bag suspiciously.

"Snacks." Wonwoo shrugged.

Seungkwan peeked inside. His eyes widened. "Wait... these are imported!"

"They're your favorite," Wonwoo said casually.

"Hyung-" Seungkwan said.

"I wasn't going to finish them."

Seungkwan looked strangely touched. "Thank you."

Wonwoo nodded once. He pulled out another bag. "Mingyu."

The tall man pointed at himself, "For me?"

"You kept stealing my instant coffee."

"Allegedly..." Mingyu said.

"I bought you your own." Wonwoo handed the bag to him. Mingyu opened the bag.

"You actually remembered?"

"Mm."

For a second, nobody joked. They just looked at him.

Jihoon cleared his throat. "You're annoyingly thoughtful."

"So I've been told."

Vernon finally spoke up from the corner. "You know..."

Everyone looked at him.

"If you ever somehow meet Y/N..."

Mingyu laughed. "Here we go."

"...Can you ask her for a video message?"

Seungkwan immediately pointed at Vernon. "You're not even sure if Sofia's a fan!"

"...Who said it was for Sofia?"

The room dissolved into chaos. Wonwoo shook his head, unable to stop smiling. "I'll see what I can do."

"See?" Mingyu sighed dramatically. "He still thinks he's gonna meet her!"

"He really committed to the character."

"So inspiring."

"Screw all of you," Seungkwan said. "I believe he'll meet her, and I'd also like a video. I also want to meet her."

"Seriously though," Mingyu said, "if you somehow meet Y/N... tell her hottest soldier from the military, Kim Mingyu, says hi."

Wonwoo could only stare at him. How could he tell his lovely girlfriend that the 'hottest soldier' says hi? Wonwoo can manage.

"And tell her Boo Seungkwan is her biggest fan, and I can do all the dances."

"Okay..."

"And get us signed albums." Chan chimed in.

"We each want video messages!" Seokmin shouted excitedly.

"Can I get a hug?" Soonyoung asked.

Wonwoo looked at him. "...No, I don't think so, buddy."

Wonwoo simply adjusted the strap of his duffel. "I'll see what I can do as well. Bye, everyone. It was nice knowing all of you."

"Take care, hyung!"

"We love you!"

"Stay healthy!"

"Don't marry Y/N without us."

Wonwoo paused with one hand on the door. "I'll keep that in mind."

The laughter followed him all the way down the hallway. It lingered even after the voices faded into the distance. Wonwoo glanced back only once.

The barracks looked exactly as they had the day he'd first stepped inside—rows of bunks, neatly folded blankets, and seven men who'd somehow turned into family over the course of nearly two years.

He shook his head with a quiet smile. They were loud. Annoying. Unnecessarily invested in his love life. But somewhere between endless drills, sleepless nights, and terrible cafeteria food, they'd made the days a little easier to get through. They just... didn't know it.

Adjusting the strap of his duffel bag, Wonwoo walked toward the front gate. One step. Then another. The weight on his shoulders felt different now. Lighter. Not because the bag weighed any less. Because he no longer had to count down the days. The guard at the gate gave him a polite nod before handing over his identification.

Wonwoo stepped through the gate without looking back. On the other side, his family was already waiting.

His father pulled him into a tight hug before he could even say hello. His brother gave him a firm pat on the shoulder, smiling in that awkward way brothers often did.

"Welcome home, son," he said.

"It's good to be back."

As they walked toward the car, Wonwoo's phone buzzed.

[Y/N my love ♥️] good morning over there, soldier. congratulations ♥️ i'm sorry i couldn't be there, but just know i'm in your heart all the time.

A smile found its way onto his face. After nearly two years, he finally got to type the words he'd been waiting to say.

[my wonwoo ♥️] Good morning, love. Thank you. I love you so much. See you soon :)

A typing bubble appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.

"So," His father smiled knowingly, "when's your flight?"

"Tomorrow." Wonwoo smiled.

His father nodded once. "Go ahead."

"What? That's it?" His brother blinked. "He just got out!"

"Well, she's waited long enough." His father laughed.

"We both have."

-

The flight felt longer than military service. Not literally. Just emotionally. He barely slept. Watched clouds drift by instead. Every few hours, he'd unlock his phone. Not to text her. Just to check where she was. London.

Tonight's show. The last stop. He smiled. Perfect.

-

Meanwhile, backstage was chaos.

"Five minutes!"

"Mic check!"

"Where's wardrobe?"

"I need someone on stage left!"

Y/N sat quietly in front of the mirror while her stylist adjusted the last few details. "You okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I'm just tired."

"Sure?"

She laughed weakly. "It's just..." She looked down at the bracelet around her wrist. The one Wonwoo had given her before enlistment. "Today's our anniversary."

Her stylist's expression softened. "I'm sorry."

"Eight years and going strong." She smiled. "I miss him so much. He's the reason why I keep going on every show. I keep thinking that the better I do on stage, the quicker I come back to him."

"That's sweet."

"Wonwoo's my everything, Jia." She said softly. "He's amazing. He inspired me to write and perform."

"How did you meet?" Jia asked.

"We were nineteen..." She smiled.

Y/N was already a household name, juggling interviews between college classes, while Wonwoo was just another university student who happened to be paired with her for a group project. He never treated her like a celebrity, and she loved him for it.

What started as shared notes, late-night study sessions, and coffee runs slowly turned into movie nights, bookstore dates, and a friendship neither of them realized had become something more. One evening, after walking her back to her apartment, Wonwoo stopped her before she could head inside.

"I don't think I'll ever stop liking you," he admitted with a nervous laugh. "Would... would you let me be your boyfriend?"

She smiled so brightly that he forgot every word he'd rehearsed. Instead of answering, she stepped forward, kissed him, and whispered, "I thought you'd never ask."

-

The concert was everything the internet expected. Fireworks. Costume changes. Surprise songs from her very first album. A sold-out stadium with fans singing every word. Y/N gave them everything she had because she always did. Then, the final song. The last note echoed through the stadium.

Confetti exploded. She bowed. "Thank you for coming tonight! Thank you for supporting me throughout my career, ever since I was a young teen until now. I'm so blessed and grateful to have fans like you. I love you all and good night!"

The crowd roared. She looked around with the biggest, most genuine grin and gave a final wave before disappearing behind the curtain.

Backstage erupted into cheers.

"You did amazing!"

"Last show!"

"We survived!"

Managers hugged each other. Dancers cheered. Someone popped open a bottle of champagne. Y/N laughed as people congratulated her. Then she saw him standing quietly in the hallway, hands tucked into the pockets of a hoodie she'd stolen years ago and never given back. For a moment, neither of them moved.

"Wonwoo?"

He smiled and waved.

She didn't think. She ran straight into him, hard enough that he stumbled back a step before catching her. "You idiot."

"Mm." He wrapped his arms around her tightly.

"You said you were staying home."

"You are my home," Wonwoo said.

"That's too cheesy, even for you."

"There's a first for everything."

She buried her face against his neck. "I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"I don't." Her voice cracked. She pulled away just enough to cup his face. "Your hair is shorter."

"Military things."

"I like it." She smiled. "But I missed your long hair."

"Me too."

She laughed through fresh tears. "I've cried enough over you."

"Sorry," Wonwoo said sheepishly.

"You better be." She kissed him before he could answer.

The crew, to their credit, became incredibly interested in literally everything else. The floor. The ceiling. A stack of road cases. One lighting technician suddenly discovered a deep passion for checking cables. Nobody interrupted.

-

The hotel room was unusually quiet. Not because there was nothing to say. Because after nearly two years apart, silence no longer felt empty. Y/N lay beside him, lazily tracing circles across his bare arm while the city lights spilled through the curtains. Somewhere below, traffic hummed, people laughed, and life carried on as if nothing monumental had happened. Wonwoo watched her for a long moment.

"What?" she asked, catching him staring.

"You still do that."

"Do what?"

He glanced down at her hand. "The circles."

She smiled. "It's very comforting, and I know you like it."

"True."

Another comfortable silence settled between them. Y/N shifted closer until her head rested against his shoulder. "I still can't believe you're here."

"I'm here." Wonwoo smiled, and kissed the top of her head.

"If this were a dream, I never want to wake up."

"I'd say 'don't', but," Wonwoo said. "I would never want to experience a time when you never wake up."

She looked up at him. "I fucking love you."

"That's intense." Wonwoo grinned. "I fucking love you, darling."

She laughed softly. Wonwoo brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Can I tell you something?"

"Anything, my love."

He looked toward the ceiling for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "There were days when training was so exhausting that I forgot to miss you."

She looked up.

"And there were days when," he smiled to himself. "I'd see coffee, or it would rain, or someone would say something stupid."

A tiny chuckle escaped her.

"And I'd think..." he paused. "'Y/N would've complained about the coffee.' or 'Y/N would've forgotten her umbrella.' or 'Y/N would've laughed at that.' I couldn't stop."

Her expression softened. "Wonwoo..."

"I was going crazy." Wonwoo shook his head as he laughed quietly. "The guys thought I was obsessed with you."

"You kind of are."

"I am." He nodded without shame. He reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers. "But I had nothing to do except think of you the whole time."

His thumb brushed over her knuckles. "I had maggots for brains, my love. I was like a zombie out there."

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Then Y/N laughed. Not because it was funny. Because it was so painfully him. She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. "I know."

"You do?"

"I had that feeling, too."

He smiled. "You?"

She nodded. "I'd finish a show and immediately wonder what you would've thought. I'd see a bookstore and think about dragging you inside. I'd order room service and accidentally ask enough for two."

Her voice grew quieter. "I kept forgetting you weren't there."

Wonwoo closed the distance between them, resting his forehead aginst hers. "We're making up for lost time."

"We are."

"No more fan cams." Wonwoo said and she laughed.

"No more grainy livestreams." He added.

"No more letters." She said.

"I liked your letters." Wonwoo said.

"I liked yours better." She smiled.

"I only sent three."

She nodded. "And I re-read all three."

His heart skipped a beat. "You kept them?"

She looked at him as if the answer should've been obvious. "They're in my suitcase."

A beat.

"Your Polaroids are in my suitcase." Wonwoo said, then he laughed—a full, warm laugh she hadn't heard in far too long. "I guess we're both a little crazy."

"No." She cupped his face. "We're just in love."

He kissed her gently. This time, there was no departure gate waiting for them. No boarding call. No countdown. No wondering what city she'd wake up in tomorrow. Tomorrow, when the sun rose, he'd be there to see it with her.

BONUS

The hotel room was still half-asleep. Sunlight filtered through the curtains while the shower ran somewhere in the background. Y/N sat cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through her phone when Wonwoo's voice carried out from the bathroom.

"My phone's on the nightstand."

"Mhm?"

"Can you call Seungkwan for me?"

She blinked. "Seungkwan?"

"I promised them a video message."

Y/N grabbed his phone and marched towards the bathroom, not caring about him showering. Hey, they've been together for eight years. They've seen everything.

"Are you serious?"

Wonwoo glanced at her through the foggy glass of the shower. "Yes."

"Okay, okay." She laughed to herself. "What will I say?"

"Just... say hi or something. Oh, and Mingyu says hi. Vernon would also like a video message. Seungkwan is also your biggest fan and he's so bummed that he's not able to go to your show because he's in the military. He's always watching the reels of your surprise songs." Wonwoo said.

"Really? Well, I'll be sure to give them all a special pass when I have my concert in Korea."

"But you don't have a Korean stop."

"I do now." She chuckled before exiting the bathroom.

Meanwhile, back in Korea, it was nearly lights out. Seungkwan had just finished brushing his teeth when his phone lit up.

Wonwoo Hyung is calling...

His eyebrows shot up. "Wonwoo hyung is calling!"

Within seconds, the rest of the guys popped up from around the barracks.

"Put it on speaker!"

"No, it's a video!" Seungkwan said.

"Oh my god. Video?" Seokmin asked.

"Yah, answer it!" Jihoon said impatiently.

Seungkwan accepted the call. "Hyung!"

The screen flickered.

"Hi!"

Seven of them froze. Y/N waved cheerfully from the hotel room somewhere in London.

"So, um," she laughed awkwardly. "I know you guys asked for a video message, but I figured a video call would be more fun and interactive? Maybe even more memorable."

Silence. Complete utter silence. Behind Seungkwan, Mingyu slowly lowered the cup of instant noodles he'd been holding. Chan's jaw physically dropped. Vernon blinked once. Twice.

Soonyoung whispered, "No, way..."

Y/N tilted her head. "Anyway, Wonwoo's in the shower. He told me to call..." she glanced down at the phone. "Seungkwan?"

"That's me!" Seungkwan exclaimed. "I'm Seungkwan."

"Hi!" her face lit up.

Mingyu moved to the side, off-camera, and shouted, "Oh my god, it's actually her!"

Y/N burst into laughter. "You must be Mingyu."

His eyes widened and walked back in frame. "You know my name?"

"Wonwoo may have talked about you guys when he got here." She chuckled.

"So he wasn't lying." Chan said and Vernon nodded.

"So you're..." Soonyoung scratched the back of his neck. "his girlfriend?"

Y/N proudly nodded. "Yes. For eight years."

"Eight years?!" Jihoon shrieked.

She nodded and smiled sweetly. "In fact, it was our eighth anniversary yesterday, and he surprised me here in London."

"You guys are practically married at this point." Vernon said.

She laughed. "Yeah."

Mingyu covered his face with both hands. "We've been bullying Y/N's boyfriend for two years."

"You called him delusional," Jihoon reminded him.

"I know!"

Seungkwan suddenly remembered something. "Wait..." He pointed accusingly at the screen. "So all those times he said, 'she doesn't like black coffee', 'she changes the acoustic set when she's tired', 'she notices my comments'..."

"All true." She confirmed.

The bathroom door opened. Wonwoo stepped out wearing a bathrobe. He smiled and waved at the guys. "Morning."

Y/N turned the phone toward him. "They have questions."

Wonwoo looked at the seven dumbfounded faces on the screen. No one spoke. Finally, Mingyu sighed dramatically. "Hyung..."

"Mm?"

"I owe you the biggest apology of my life."

Wonwoo thought for a moment. "You do."

"So you're really together?" Soonyoung asked again.

"Very much together." Wonwoo nodded, putting on his glasses. "Eight years is no joke."

"I won't be getting that hug, then." Soonyoung said quietly.

"I can still hug you!" Y/N exclaimed. "Wonwoo's not the jealous type, and he's not immature. I really got lucky."

Wonwoo blushed, causing a round of teasing from the guys. Y/N looked completely amused. "I like you guys."

Seungkwan shook his head, "I can't believe we spent two years making fun of your boyfriend."

"Now you know it's real and he's not delusional." She smirked. "Oh, before we hang up, I want to say hi to Mingyu and I want to tell Vernon that I promise to make a video greeting right after."

"Can we all get one?" Seokmin asked shyly. She chuckled and nodded. "Sure."

"Oh, and Seungkwan?" She called.

"Yes?" Seungkwan smiled excitedly.

"I know you know all of my dance steps and Wonwoo may have told me in passing that you do TikTok challenges of my songs. I'll happily do a TikTok with you when I have my concert in Korea." Y/N smiled.

"But... you don't have a concert here. It's done." Seungkwan said.

"I'm Y/L/N Y/N, Seungkwannie. I can make it happen, and I'm giving you all special passes and seats." She smirked as the guys cheered. She glanced at Wonwoo and he only shook his head with a small smile on his face.

The call ended a few minutes later. One by one, the guys climbed back onto their bunks, still trying to process everything that had just happened.

No one spoke. No one really knew what to say. Finally, Mingyu broke the silence. "We've been calling Y/N's boyfriend delusional for two years!"

"We really have," Chan muttered. "I even laughed the loudest, for fuck's sake."

"So..." Seokmin said. "are we terrible people?"

Jihoon didn't even look up from his book. "A little."

"I apologized!" Mingyu pouted as he defended himself.

"After two years." Jihoon answered back.

"I still said I was sorry!" Mingyu frowned. "Doesn't that matter?"

Before anyone could tease him further, a buzz came from Seungkwan's phone. He looked down and his eyes widened.

"Guys..."

No one answered.

"Guys!" Seungkwan said a little louder.

"What?" Vernon said.

"She followed me on Instagram."

Six heads whipped towards him.

"What?" Soonyoung asked.

Seungkwan turned his phone around.

@yn started following you.

"No way..." Soonyoung's jaw dropped. His phone buzzed, too. He quickly checked. True enough, he received the same notification as Seungkwan. "Yah! She followed me, too!"

Chan looked down at his screen. @yn started following you.

Vernon frowned at his own notification. @yn started following you.

Soon, every phone in the barracks buzzed one after another. Mingyu stared at his screen like it had personally offended him. "She's real."

"She's not AI, Mingyu-ya." Jihoon retorted.

Seungkwan scrolled through Instagram and refreshed the app. Y/N posted a few seconds ago. He quickly gave it a like before swiping through the photos.

The first few photos were from the final show. The confetti. The crowd. The dancers.

He swiped again and stopped. It was a more intimate, yet private photo. It was Wonwoo on what he assumed was their date after the call.

Wonwoo was across Y/N, and his face was strategically hidden by the cup he was drinking from. To the rest of the world, that's how Wonwoo was shown on her profile for the past eight years. Always protected, but never hidden.

The caption read: the last concert day was a blast! now, I'll be spending my days with my man. happy 8th anniversary, my love. you're the best surprise I've ever gotten.

Seungkwan bit back a squeal. He was too happy. The other guys had seen the post, too.

"So Wonwoo hyung really wasn't crazy." Mingyu sighed.

"No," Chan smiled as he looked around the room. "He just has someone worth going crazy for."

a/n: i think we all got maggots for brains while wonu's away. pls pls pls lmk what u think of this one! gosh, i'm so nervous abt it. i hope you guys don't mind me switching it up for a bit xo

But he finds it endearing all the same, enjoying it, even.

He loves it even more when you start doing it more often in public. He’s able to see the hunger in your eyes from a mile away and it sends a chill down his spine each and every time he catches you.

He’s posing with nonchalance for their concept photos when you first arrive, eyes darting over his form and caging your bottom lip between your teeth. He had acknowledged you with a curt smile and a nod of his head before continuing with the shoot, his own body wanting nothing more than to greet you fully in a warm embrace and kiss to your already swollen lips.

Though, as soon as the opportunity reveals itself, you’re beating him to it. You cross the set with a few quick strides in his direction before melting against him, ducking your head beneath his chin to press an innocent peck to his jaw.

He welcomes you with a tight squeeze around the hips and continues to rock you back and forth while you breathe in his scent.

“Missed you so much,” you admit with a pathetic whine. You weren't normally this needy, much less in public, but today felt different. It felt.. wrong, for once, waking up to an empty bed and a phone full of updates from his weverse, yet not a single message from him directly to you.

You knew he was busy. Hell, your relationship had been built off of his grueling schedule, back when he was promoting his second album with his group and you becoming a staff member of a sister company. He was beyond unavailable and yet you found it difficult to keep your eyes off of him. Unbeknownst to you, he was equally as desperate when it came to your attention. The few instances where your schedules would align left the both of you scrambling against the clock to further familiarize yourselves with one another, and eventually build a connection from a few fleeting glances and brief conversations.

Fast forward to now, things had only progressed in both of your careers, your lives busier than ever. You’ve been officially dating for three years and whilst primarily kept under wraps, your heart longed more and more for the opportunity to remind him of your devotion to him.

Much to your embarrassment, your loyalty presented itself with an unexplainable urge to swallow him whole and take every inch of his skin between your teeth without an ounce of shame.

Hence your current predicament; Seuncheol had his arms thrown lazily around your frame as you swayed, ever so blind to the scheming smile gracing your features. You leaned back, arching yourself against him as he questioned you with pinched brows.

To his surprise, you’d managed all the strength you had and utilized his obliviousness to your advantage, yanking him by the back of his neck and crashing your lips together with haste.

His hitched breath encourages you to move impossibly closer, your chests beating against one another with every jolt of your racing hearts.

The sheer intensity of the kiss is short lived when you detach from him with one last smack of your lips. Drunk on the high you’ve fed him, Seungcheol attempts to chase your lips, urging you to continue.

His silent pleas amuse you, enticing you to lean in towards his ear and whisper,

“Be good for me, Cheol. Go do your job and make me proud.”

You send him off with a playful nip to his cheek, your canines grazing the skin gently, cautious of the hours worth of effort his makeup artists have put in. His eyes follow your retreating form as you find your place behind the cameras.

He’s an hour and a half into taking naturally candid photos around the rented estate, and it’s driving you nuts.

The setting does little to ease your eagerness to claim him right then and there, offering a much more domestic and personal light to his preexisting bachelor aura.

He’s a fucking housewife, your mind offers you to no particular request. Your grip on your jacket’s strings falters when a deep, raspy voice presents itself near the cusp of your ear.

“Did he mention the next shoot to you?”

“Hm?” You respond, sparing Mingyu a passive glance before settling back on your deity of a man leaning over the terrace.

“We’re going swimming, if you wanted to join afterwards.”

“Why would I join?” You reply coolly.

“Well considering how much you’re drooling right now from him just standing there, I figured you’d want to indulge in having him in less layers for a few hours once we wrap up.” He grins.

Your skin burns from where he perches his chin on your shoulder, striking your body in flames as you try your best to shove your thoughts away. You can’t just indulge in your boyfriend’s near nudity just for a few hours. You know you don’t have that kind of self restraint when it comes to seeing him topless and unblemished.

“Mingyu, respectfully,” you turn to him slowly. “Get lost.”

His laugh reverberates against your arm as he tosses his top half against you, bracing himself as he catches his breath. Your sneer recoils into a smile as you catch Seungcheol’s curious glance from across the room.

His posture tenses while raking his eyes over you and mingyu, taking a moment to readjust before continuing his scene. The photographer calls for a break just a few moments later, satisfied with the outcome.

Your body is moving before you register it, slipping out of Mingyu’s reach with one last glare before you’re crashing into Seungcheol’s rigid chest.

“Baby,” he says softly, taking your arms and wrapping them around his waist before placing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. “Are you staying for the whole shoot?”

“Do you want me to?” You ask coyly, having preemptively cleared your own schedule in favor of following his.

“I always love having you here, you know that.” He smiles.

“Then I’ll stay.” You say and rise on your tip toes to plant a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Aren’t you two tired of being this clingy?” Mingyu invades your bubble in just a few seconds, separating your bodies with a sudden jut of his hip to yours.

You scowl at him as you’re rudely tossed to the side. His shit eating grin grazes his stupidly handsome features while returning your attention to him.

You two had always been at each other’s throats, both playfully and unwittingly at times. He was your best friend, nonetheless, but it sent Seungcheol’s mind reeling with how kittenish you became when he was around.

Something in his chest twinged with envy and had jealousy rearing its ugly head every once in a while when you two stood too close together, shared a meal during his turns to film or pose for photos, or even as you bantered and bickered in front of him.

He knew it was nothing. Knew you loved him too much to replace him so easily, nevertheless with his own friend and group mate.

“You’re just jealous, Gyu.” You huffed while snaking your arms around Seungcheol’s middle again.

“Me? Jealous?” He gasped, feigning an appalled expression while placing a hand to his chest.

“Yah,” Seungcheol growled. “Get lost before I call Heejoo and tell her you’re moping around on set.”

Mingyu’s eyes wander to the ground at that, rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck as he begins backing away solemnly. The mention of his current situation-ship seems to strike him a lot harder than you’d both expected, and you smirk at his crumbling confidence.

“You’re a dick for that.” He grumbles toward your boyfriend, unable to hide the sudden flush peeking out from under the collar of his shirt.

Seungcheol grunts at him once more, sending the younger man away with another dismissive threat before finally turning his attention to you.

“Will you help me put some sunscreen on before the next set?”

The following hour of camerawork concludes with a brief discussion about tomorrow’s expected schedule, all the more exhausting and seemingly endless as the last. You can see the fatigue draped over Seungcheol's features from where you stand, plummeting your heart into your stomach as you continue to watch him, mingyu and the team wearily deliberate future activities and propositions for upcoming promotions.

With a supportive clap to their backs, the team dissipates around them to end their workdays.

You take the remaining opportunity after the last staff member's departure to approach your boyfriend, your hands instinctually attached to his neck and puling him toward you. He moves pliantly, allowing his head to fall into the crook of your shoulder and neck as he exhales tiredly.

"Long day, bunny?" you remark quietly, raking your nails across the nape of his neck.

"Too long," he grumbles, ignoring the nickname you know normally grinds his gears any other day. You feel his muscles returning to their tense state as he removes himself from you begrudgingly.

"Can you stay the night?" The light in his eyes flicker with something akin to hope before clouding with uncertainty at the sound of your defeated sigh.

"I have a meeting early in the morning. Have to meet with the company to discuss some upcoming solo works." Your words fall on deaf ears as he's already groaning and pouting, choosing to disregard your excuse in favor of throwing a short-lived fit.

"I can have someone drive you early in the morning?" His offer hangs heavily in the space between you, an offer you really want to take him up on.

To your misfortune, calling out for today was enough of a reason for your company to dismiss you of your duties permanently should you choose to do it again.

The short notice had thrown your team for a whirlwind, a mini crisis plaguing the workplace and blowing up your phone for the entirety of your time spent watching Seungcheol. You were ashamed to admit it out loud, but you'd give anything to quit and replace your priorities with becoming a stay at home simp for your boyfriend. You'd give anything to watch him all day long, cling to him at every beck and call, and devote yourself to being the best version of yourself you could be for him.

Were you insane for thinking that far? yes.

Were you that serious about him? also yes.

You couldn't help the pained complaint that escaped your throat upon seeing his face fall. It shredded every single piece of you to know you couldn't stay, and even more so when he began to beg for you to.

"Please? at least for a few hours? 'Till I fall asleep?" His eyes drift between yours, searching for any bit of redemption, consideration, confirmation.

Removing your hands, you smooth over your features to look at your watch, noting the late hour and the dread pestering your mind. Your notifications peer back at your for a second, reminding you of the dedication you had to your work for the following morning.

It would only be a few hours, you consider.

A beat of silence passes by before you inevitably agree with a nod of your head. "Okay."

To say he's elated would be an understatement. He's over the moon at your response, immediately linking your fingers and dragging you inside the airbnb, shifting his direction towards the bedroom as you enter.

"I'll take a shower and then we can watch a movie!" He suggests after leading you to the bed where you sit patiently, smiling as he trips over his own two feet while dashing toward the bathroom.

God, you can't believe he's yours.

"Did you know you had a mole here?"

Seungcheol meets your eyes through the reflection of the mirror, watching you trail your nails down his spine as he finishes his skin routine at the bathroom sink. You've since changed into a spare set of his clothes, a simple t-shirt that drapes over your dips and curves and ends just past the apex of your thighs.

His gaze lingers for a moment longer than it normally does, mouth subconsciously watering at the sight of you.

"I don't think so." He chuckles softly while returning to his process of unfolding a face mask and spreading it across his features carefully.

"Your back is so..." your voice drawls with a pensive hum, considering your words intently before continuing. "boring."

"Huh?" He turns in your grasp, catching the faint smirk pulling at the corner of your lips.

"It's just missing something." You utter.

"Like what?" he murmurs, his lips pursed in effort to keep his mask from slipping.

Your grin spreads along your face, head cocking to the side as you maneuver your hands over the expanse of his bare chest, raising goosebumps in their wake.

"Could use a little more me on it."

You spot the shift in his demeanor, shoulders tensing slowly, eyes sharpening, and the veins in his neck straining as he swallows dryly. You don't give him a chance to act on his desire, gracefully pinning his wrists against the counter and slipping your tongue out to lap at the flushed skin of his neck.

His groan rumbles from between your pressed chests, audibly forfeiting all control as you continue to press open mouthed kisses to his throat. His hips buck desperately when he feels your teeth graze just past his jugular, sinking deeper into his flesh with every breath he gasps.

"Baby," he whimpers against your persistence. You pull back, relishing in the subtle chase of his lips toward yours, halting just out of his reach with an arched brow.

"Bunny?" you counter, urging him to proceed with what he needs to say.

"Can't." He whines, overwhelming mortified with displeasure for having to restrain himself.

"Can't what?" You probe innocently, inching closer once more, guiding him back to you by the draw strings of his shorts. He lulls forward without resistance, drawn to your lips with nothing except a mere inch between them.

"Can't be marked. Not now." He says petulantly, eyes downcast as he drops his head, dejected.

Your heart thuds against your rib cage at that, growing restless as fondness ebbs away at your brain, turning it into mush. He knows you so well, knows that you need to mark him up, leave your presence on his skin for everyone to see how taken he is.

Love smothers your senses, your head cloudy and full of him. Your everything. Your person.

You reach to curl your fingers through his blonde, wet strands, tugging with enough force to lift his head once more. He moans quietly at that, his own hands finding purchase on your hips as he stares at you through his dark lashes.

You smile and tap his bicep with your free hand. You notice his eyes trailing your features hungrily before placing a gentle kiss to his muscle, right below his shoulder.

"'S okay, Bunny." You coo.

His arm flexes under the warmth of your fanning breath, fidgeting at every peck of your lips you lead up his arm and toward his chest.

You freeze once you've reached his collar bone, slowing your breathing and blowing a long, heavy exhale that mists over his already clammy skin. You smirk triumphantly at his muted mewl, watching his chest rise and fall erratically.

"I won't mark your pretty skin just yet," you reassure calmly, your hand still twisted in his hair as you pull it experimentally once more, lavishing his skin in praises when he moans.

"Stay still for me, m'kay?"

You don't wait for his response before sinking your teeth near his clavicle with pressure, not enough to break skin but plenty to stimulate both him and you when he ruts against you.

"Gentle," He reminds you through brief, measured breaths.

"I know, I know." you chide and release your grip on his hair briefly to instead hold his throat between your hands.

His eyes peer down at you for a short moment before flashing you a playful grin. You mirror it with your own before squeezing lightly at his neck, reveling in the meek sound he coughs out.

"So pretty," you murmur lovingly. "All mine to play with however I want. Whenever I want."

To his dismay, his nod is restrained and dismissed by you when you apply just a bit more pressure, your gaze darkening as he wraps a hand around one of your wrists, wordlessly pleading for more. You oblige and wedge your knee between his thighs, now aware of how engrossed he truly was upon feeling his pulsing erection against your bare skin.

"Is this why you wanted me to stay so bad? So you could be manhandled by your pretty girlfriend? Hm?"

Your hands release him, dropping to your sides as he heaves a few labored breaths, his eyes never once leaving your retreating form as you saunter toward the bed, patting the space beside you once you're perched at the edge.

He carries himself on wobbly legs to where you sit, landing ungracefully onto the bed with a soft "oof" before reaching a hand out toward you. You link your hands together momentarily, allowing yourself to soak in the appearance of his current state; dazed, spent, and utterly beautiful with every inch of his skin painted a bright red by an angry flush.

"Roll onto your belly for me, Cheolie." you direct.

He does so without complaint, damningly compliant to your every command. You absentmindedly trace shapes into his spine, your lips curling into a smile each time he flinches against the brush of your nails.

He rests his head against his folded arms, unintentionally flexing his muscles at the broadness of his shoulder blades. You chuckle, quietly shifting your attention to the taut skin, lowering yourself to place lingering kisses.

A sigh creeps out of his deflating body, audibly enjoying your attention. You proceed to kiss your way up, pausing to nip at the fat of his arms playfully and releasing a giggle of your own when he claims he's ticklish with a laugh.

You bite back the quip on your tongue, choosing to focus more on his twitching hips by running your hand over the smooth skin of his arched lower back. He hums, satisfied, and groans when your begin to pull his shorts down his thighs, allowing them to fall aimlessly to the ground.

He jolts upright when your hand collides with a loud smack against his ass, immediately coiling into himself with a yelp.

"What, you can do it by I can't?" You joke when he replies with a harmless glare.

"I'm not letting you peg me, if that's what you're leading up to." He chastises with narrowed eyes.

You feign a look of betrayal, simultaneously guiding him onto his back once more as you move to straddle his hips.

"Tough, I really wanted to see your cute little ass all perked up for me." You can't hold back the devious giggle that threatens to escape you, fully leaning against his chest to stabilize yourself.

"You're insane." He huffs with an eye roll.

"Yeah, but it's kind of cute." Your smile lingers a moment longer as he presses his lips to your forehead, soft and everlasting.

It's then that you lift your head and laugh once more, your fingers reaching to remove his face mask he'd long forgotten.

"I was really trying to keep a straight face!" You giggled. He levels you with a bashful scowl, turning away from your gaze as you settle down with a quiet sigh.

In the blink of an eye, your playful character is gone, replaced by your previous deviant nature.

"You're gonna be the death of me." He murmurs against your skin when you begin grinding your clothed pussy onto his exposed cock.

"I better act quick then," You retort while reaching down and clutching onto your panties to pull them side, angling your sopping folds to trail over the head of his cock.

"Fuck, Bunny. You're so fucking perfect." You groan into the dip of his shoulder, pressing yourself harder against him. His grip on your waist returns, clambering against your ministrations.

"Just— just take me already." He grits out through a particularly sharp inhale. "And don't call me bunny— shit —while we're fucking, jesus."

"You got it, Bunny." Your voice cracks ever so slightly as you begin your descent down his length, abdomen flexing with every ragged breath you take as he breaches your entrance. The stretch is painful, tearing you apart no matter how many times you've taken it. Tears spring to your eyes, threatening to spill before you finally settle, flush to his groin with a shaky breath.

"Oh fucking hell," He moans deeply. He recovers with a sudden shift of his hips, stripping you of all power you previously obtained.

You lurch forward with a startled mewl, your face falling between the crevice of his jaw and throat. Your mouth latches on helplessly, teeth grazing the stubble of his chin and biting down impishly.

He returns the favor, pausing to rip your (his) shirt off and tossing it aside hurriedly, attaching his mouth to the mound of your breast, nibbling at the supple flesh and grinding up into you when you elicit a borderline pornographic moan.

"Please, Cheol, please." You moan against his ear, grinding against him feverishly. Your begging fuels him further, ripping every ounce of self restraint out of him, replaced with an insatiable appetite only you can satisfy.

"You're so beautiful, baby. I'm gonna let you mark me as soon as all of this is over. Soon, my love. So soon." His attempts to soothe your desires warm your insides, your knees near gelatinous as he rams into your pulsating heat without a second regard or worry.

You feel his pace quickening with every plunge, your own movements futile in contrast with his. Your back hits the mattress in a flash, your legs forcefully pinned to your sides as he impales you over and over.

Your moans melt into short, wispish screams when you feel his mouth latch onto your breasts again, leaving deep, bruising indents from his teeth.

The mere idea of him biting you, the same way you've done with every given opportunity in the past, has your legs clenching against his waist, your teeth clamping around your lips as you feel yourself release into the euphoria of your climax.

"More, Cheol, please more—I want—I need more." Your cries fill his chest with pleasure and vanity, thrusting him head-first into the deep end of your satisfaction. He comes with a choked out cry, muffling the sound into your chest as he curls inwards, pumping himself dry into your tightening core.

"Baby," his hand leaves your waist to settle on your sweaty cheek, caressing the crimson skin as he adores your spent features. "You did so good, my love. so good for me."

You groan softly in reply, motioning for him to lay beside you with a limp wrist. He chuckles softly and gently pries himself free of your tight cunt with a groan.

“One more round?” You mumble into the pillows, peeking an eye in his direction to catch the faint grin on his dewy face.

“Give me ten minutes.”

“Shit,” he hisses. “Slow down.”

Your tongue slips between the slit of his cock, catching every last drop of his seed from his second release.

If there’s anything you’ve learned about your boyfriend in the past three years of dating him, it’s that he’s prone to over sensitivity after his second high. While you can recover relatively quickly after an orgasm, his stamina is overmatched by the mere pain of reaching another climax so short apart.

It’s something you both teetered the line with, not knowing whether it was right or even possible to milk him for as many rounds as he could. But, much like the rest of your ideas and suggestions, he couldn’t say no to you.

So you pumped his cock even faster, watching his jaw slack and chin quiver with a cry as he came down from his third match.

“You’re doing great, bunny.” You encourage, slowing your pace down to run a stripe along the side of his length with your tongue.

His brows dip and another moan escapes him. “You’re— you’re killing me.”

“Mh,” you hum. With a final tug to his half hard cock, you trail your lips over the smooth surface of his inner thigh, relishing in his breathy exhales.

“You’re always so good for me.” You say.

The tip of your tongue traces the faint stretch marks of his upper thigh, nearing the edge of his hip where you still.

The pads of your fingers skim over the flesh before you’re leaning forward and clamping your mouth down full force, undoubtedly leaving a mark this time.

You hear his choked shriek of pleasure and pain, the sudden grip on your hair paired with it.

“Fuck! ‘M gonna come again.” His voice lilts, pitched higher than usual.

You continue to pepper kisses along his waistline before meeting his opposite thigh with another skin-breaking bite. Your moan pulsates against the irritated skin, soothing the burn and easing the mark against the fat of his thigh to an eventual bruise with the flat of your tongue.

“Can’t take anymore.” He cries desperately, loosening his fingers wrapped around your disheveled locks as he comes down from his final release.

You give in to his whining after another brief moment of caressing the enflamed skin. You carefully ascend up his hiccuping body, tiny pecks littering his bareness before you connect your mouth with his with the upmost tenderness you could possibly muster.

“I love you so much.” You speak quietly against his lips.

His eyes remain shut, fluttering in and out of consciousness as he nods his head in response.

“Love you too.” He murmurs.

Laying your head on his chest, your entire being laxes against him, fully satiated and enraptured in his presence. A hand creeps up your waist, squeezing your side carefully as his body deflates beneath you with a deep exhale.

You could never truly thank him enough for indulging in your antics. You’re aware your love languages are drastically different; yours being entirely unhinged and bordering aggressive, where as his is prevalent in his gentle mannerisms, gift giving and pure compliance when it comes to you.

Nevertheless, the love you both have for one another surpasses all expectations and continues to surprise you day after day, year after year.

Even if you have to hide your love bites from the public eye.

< A/N: fin! this took a lot less time to write than i anticipated, despite the fact that smut tends to discourage my creativity. but! after getting all of my thoughts out and returning to the storyline with fresh ideas and inspiration, i was able to pump out a pretty decent chunk of raunch to satisfy my expectations for my first time writing smut.

that being said, i hope this flows well and encourages you to leave a comment or repost! feedback and suggestions are always appreciated. :) thanks!!!

The transition from your chaotic professional life to the sanctuary of your penthouse had always been your favorite part of the day. As a supermodel and actress with over 45 million eyes watching your every move on Instagram, the pressure to be the perfect, sensual icon was immense. But inside these walls, you were just you—sweet, a bit clumsy, and deeply affectionate.

And for the past few weeks, you hadn't been alone in that sanctuary.

Lee Jeno was a constant, silent presence. Your father, a man whose influence stretched far beyond the legitimate business world into the dark underbelly of the mafia, had insisted on 24/7 protection. He had seen how your innocence had been weaponized against you by predatory actors and models in the past; he had cleaned up those messes with a brutality that would terrify the public, but for you, it was just Dad being protective.

Jeno was the gold standard of protection. A former military man with over six years of service, he carried himself with a disciplined rigidity that made your heart flutter. He was towering, with broad shoulders that seemed to fill every doorway and a muscular build that strained against the fabric of his professional attire. His hair was a pitch-black void, and his jawline was so sharp it looked like it could cut glass. Occasionally, he wore glasses that gave him a scholarly look, though the intensity in his eyes remained lethal.

"Miss Y/N, your schedule for tomorrow is confirmed. Your manager will be here at 8:00 AM," Jeno said, his voice a deep, resonant rumble that vibrated in your chest.

You looked up at him, leaning against the kitchen island. You had already changed into your favorite cherry-red silk robe. It was short—dangerously so—barely skimming the tops of your thighs. Because you were in the privacy of your own home, you had opted for total comfort, leaving your bra and panties off. The silk felt cool against your skin, though the friction of the fabric against your nipples was starting to make them peak.

"I told you, Jeno, please just call me Y/N," you murmured, giving him a sweet, genuine smile. "We're going to be spending every waking hour together. 'Miss Y/N' makes me feel like I'm in a boardroom."

Jeno’s gaze flickered down to your lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back to your eyes. He cleared his throat, his posture remaining stiff. "I will try, Y/N."

The way your name sounded in his low voice made a sudden, sharp heat bloom between your thighs. You shifted your weight, the robe sliding slightly open to reveal a glimpse of your toned leg. You weren't trying to be provocative—you were genuinely just relaxed—but you noticed the way Jeno’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

You found yourself wondering, not for the first time, what lay beneath those professional trousers. You imagined the sheer bulk of him, wondering if he was as packed downstairs as he was in the shoulders. The thought hit you with such intensity that you felt a wave of guilt. How could I think that about my bodyguard? you scolded yourself, though the curiosity remained, a persistent itch you couldn't scratch.

As the days passed, you noticed a pattern. Whenever Pearl, your beautiful blue-eyed ragdoll cat, leaped onto your lap or brushed against Jeno’s legs, he would suddenly freeze. His eyes would grow watery, and a series of muffled sneezes would escape him.

"Oh no," you whispered, scooping Pearl up into your arms and hugging her to your chest, which only served to push your large breasts together. "You're allergic to her, aren't you?"

Jeno rubbed his nose, looking slightly embarrassed. "It is a minor inconvenience, Y/N. Please, do not change your routine on my account."

"I can't let you suffer," you insisted, your caring nature taking over. From that day on, you made sure Pearl was in a different room whenever Jeno was nearby. It was a small gesture, but you saw the way he looked at you—with a mixture of gratitude and a hunger he was desperately trying to suppress.

One rainy afternoon, the sexual frustration you had been ignoring for weeks reached a breaking point. You were lounging on your oversized velvet sofa, the red robe draped loosely over your curves. You were scrolling through your phone, but your mind wasn't on the comments of your latest post. Instead, you were thinking about Jeno. You wondered if he had a wife, or a girlfriend—someone who got to feel the weight of him, someone who got to taste him.

The thought triggered an oral fixation you'd been struggling with; you found yourself chewing on your lower lip, imagining the taste of him, the scent of his skin and expensive cologne.

Unable to help yourself, you shifted on the sofa, sliding a plush pillow beneath your hips. You began to rub yourself against the fabric, a soft moan escaping your lips as you arched your back, the robe riding up to expose your bare, rounded ass to the air. You were lost in the sensation, your eyes closed, imagining it was Jeno’s hard thigh instead of a pillow.

"Y/N?"

Your eyes snapped open. Jeno was standing at the entrance of the living room, holding a tray of tea. His eyes were wide, fixed directly on the sight of you—flushed, breathless, and grinding your hips into the cushion with your legs spread wide. The red silk of your robe had fallen open, leaving nothing to the imagination.

The silence in the room was suffocating. You froze, your heart hammering against your ribs, your pussy still throbbing from the friction.

Jeno didn't move. His gaze traveled slowly from your face, down to the swell of your breasts, and finally to the wetness glistening between your thighs. You could see the visible strain in his jaw, the way his knuckles turned white as he gripped the tray.

"I... I'm sorry," he rasped, his voice sounding an octave lower than usual. "I didn't realize you were... occupied."

He turned and walked away quickly, but not before you caught a glimpse of the prominent bulge stretching the fabric of his slacks. He was hard. He was incredibly hard just from looking at you.

Later that night, while you were asleep, Jeno sat in the security room, the blue light of the monitors illuminating his face. He opened Instagram and searched for your profile. He scrolled to your most recent post—a bikini shoot that had gone viral. You were wearing strings of gold fabric that barely covered your nipples and the curve of your hips.

He scrolled through the comments.

“I would do anything to be inside her.”

“God, those tits are perfect, I want to drown in them.”

“Look at that ass, she’s a literal goddess.”

Jeno let out a low, guttural curse, his hand sliding down to his trousers. He closed his eyes and imagined the reality instead of the photo. He imagined you not as the global icon, but as the sweet girl who cared about his allergies. He fantasized about pulling that red robe off your shoulders, pinning your wrists above your head, and burying his face in your breasts until he couldn't breathe. He imagined your thick thighs bracketing his face, the scent of your arousal filling his lungs as he licked every inch of you.

He almost let himself go, his fingers tightening around his length, but he stopped abruptly, breathing heavily.

"Fuck," he whispered into the empty room. "She's my client."

But as he looked back at the screen, at the innocent expression on your face contrasted with the sheer sexiness of your body, he knew his professional boundaries were beginning to crumble.

The following few days in the penthouse were a blur of comfortable domesticity and a tension so thick it felt like a physical weight in the air. You had a rare day off, a precious gap in your grueling schedule of shoots and press tours, and you decided to spend it doing something you actually enjoyed: cooking.

You weren't exactly a professional chef—in fact, you were a disaster in the kitchen—but you loved the process. By the time you finished preparing a simple pasta with a creamy garlic sauce and a side of roasted vegetables, the kitchen looked like a war zone. Flour was dusted across the marble countertops, a splash of tomato sauce decorated the backsplash, and you had a smudge of cream on your cheek.

"Jeno! Lunch is ready!" you called out, beaming as you plated the food.

Jeno entered the kitchen, his eyes immediately scanning the chaos of the room before landing on you. You looked small and endearing, wearing an oversized white t-shirt that hung off one shoulder and a pair of tiny lounge shorts that barely covered the swell of your cheeks. He looked at the mess, then at your hopeful, sparkling eyes, and his expression softened.

"You've been busy, Y/N," he remarked, his voice a low rumble.

"I tried my best!" you giggled, sliding a plate toward him.

He ate every single bite. Even though the meal was basic, the fact that you had put so much effort into it—and the sight of you humming happily while you cleaned up the mess—made it the best meal he’d had in years. As he watched you reach up to put a pot away, the hem of your shirt riding up to reveal the smooth, pale skin of your lower back, Jeno had to look away, his jaw tightening.

Later that afternoon, the restlessness hit you. You felt a surge of energy, the kind that usually resulted in a viral post. You retreated to one of the spacious guest rooms that you used as a makeshift studio, turning on a heavy, bass-driven track that made the floor vibrate.

You set up your phone on a tripod and began to move. You weren't thinking about the millions of people who would eventually see it; you were just feeling the music. You rolled your hips in slow, sensual circles, your body undulating with a natural grace. As the beat dropped, you turned around, bending your knees slightly and throwing your ass back with a rhythmic, provocative snap. You ground your hips into the air, imagining the friction, your hair whipping around your face as you let yourself go, completely carefree and lost in the rhythm.

You didn't notice the door crack open. You didn't see Jeno standing there, frozen, his breath hitching in his throat. He watched for only a few seconds—the sight of your plump ass shaking and throwing back toward him was almost too much to bear. He vanished before you could turn around, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped animal.

An hour later, the reel was live.

You had retreated to your master suite, slipping into a steaming hot bath to relax. While you were soaking in the bubbles, smelling of vanilla and almond body wash, Jeno was on the living room couch, staring at his phone.

The video had already exploded. 500k likes and 2 million views in sixty minutes. He watched it on a loop, the high-definition quality capturing every jiggle of your cheeks, every roll of your hips. He felt his cock surge, straining violently against the fabric of his trousers. He shifted uncomfortably, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

He scrolled down to the comments, and his blood began to boil.

“I would pay a million dollars just to see that ass move in person.”

“God, imagine getting that thickness behind you. I’d be a lucky man.”

“I want to bury my face in that. I bet she tastes like heaven. I’d eat that ass for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

“Anal on a goddess like her? I’d ruin her.”

Jeno let out a sharp, hissed breath. "Fuck," he whispered, his voice raw. "Those filthy pieces of shit."

But as he looked back at the video, the anger morphed into a dark, consuming hunger. He closed his eyes, and a vivid fantasy took hold. He imagined you giving him a private show, just for him. He imagined the music playing in the penthouse, and as you threw your ass back, he wouldn't be standing at a distance. He would be right there.

In his mind, he reached out, his large hands gripping your waist with a bruising force, pulling you back against his hard chest. He imagined bending you over the edge of the sofa, forcing your ass high into the air. He could almost feel the heat radiating from your skin. He imagined parting your cheeks with his fingers, exposing the tight, pink ring of your asshole.

He fantasized about burying his face in you, his tongue lashing out to lick your ring, sucking your asshole deep into his mouth with a hungry, desperate vacuum. He imagined tongue-fucking you, swirling his tongue inside you while his other hand reached around to find your clit, rubbing it relentlessly until you were screaming his name.

His hand drifted down, resting heavily on the massive bulge in his pants. He didn't touch himself—his discipline was a wall—but he squeezed the fabric, imagining it was your soft, yielding flesh.

"God, Y/N... you have no idea what I want to do to you," he groaned, his eyes clouded with lust.

"Jeno?"

The voice snapped him back to reality. He jumped slightly, his eyes flying open to see you standing beside him. You had just stepped out of the bath; your skin was glowing and damp, and your long hair was wet, clinging to the curves of your shoulders. You were wearing a thin, white silk slip that left nothing to the imagination, the fabric clinging to your large breasts and the curve of your hips. You smelled like fresh shampoo and warm skin, a scent that hit him like a physical blow.

You had reached out and tapped his shoulder, your expression sweet and curious. As you looked down, your eyes landed on his phone screen. The video was still playing—the exact moment where you were grinding your hips and throwing your ass back.

You paused, noticing the video, and then you noticed the way Jeno was breathing—heavy, ragged—and the unmistakable, towering tent in his trousers.

You didn't say anything. You didn't tease him or ask why he was watching. Instead, a small, shy flush crept up your neck, and you felt a sudden, sharp throb of wetness between your legs. The sight of him so affected by you, so visibly hard, sent a jolt of electricity through your core.

Jeno stood up abruptly, his face a mask of professional neutrality, though his eyes were still dark with lingering desire.

"I'll be checking the perimeter, Y/N," he said, his voice sounding strained and gravelly.

He turned and walked away, his stride stiff. As soon as he was out of your sight, he leaned against the wall of the hallway and closed his eyes, letting out a long, shaky exhale.

"Fuck me," he muttered to himself, his mind still filled with the image of your wet hair and the memory of your ass shaking on his screen. He was a professional, but as he felt his cock pulse painfully against his zipper, he knew he was losing the war against his own desire.

It was five weeks in when you really tested him.

You'd just come back from a shoot—exhausted, makeup still on, hair pinned up in a messy bun. You'd stripped off your designer clothes in the bathroom and emerged in a short silk robe, cherry red, tied loosely at the waist. The V-neck plunged to your navel, and the hem barely covered your ass.

Jeno was in the living room, reviewing security footage on his tablet. He looked up when you entered.

"Jeno." You flopped onto the couch beside him, close enough that your thigh brushed his. "I'm so tired. My feet hurt. You should massage them."

His hand stilled on the tablet. "I don't think that's part of my job description."

"Your job is to keep me safe and happy, right?" You batted your lashes. "I'm not happy when my feet hurt."

"You need rest, Y/N." His voice was strained. "And perhaps more appropriate attire."

You looked down at yourself, genuinely confused. "What's wrong with this? It's just a robe, Jeno."

"You're practically naked."

"It's comfortable." You stretched, arching your back, the robe pulling tight across your breasts. "Don't be such a prude. We're friends now, right? Friends can be comfortable around each other, Jeno."

He didn't answer. But you caught him staring at the curve of your thigh before he looked away.

That night, he took an extra-long cold shower.

The tension shifted one afternoon when you stepped out onto the balcony to get some fresh air. You found Jeno standing there, his back to you, a thin cloud of vapor escaping his lips. In his hand was a vape, and on the railing sat a pack of cigarettes.

You didn't scream or get angry. You simply stood there, looking at him with a soft, disappointed pout.

"Jeno?"

He jumped, nearly dropping the device, and quickly hid it behind his back, his expression returning to its stoic mask. "Miss Y/N. I apologize. I'll dispose of it immediately."

You walked closer, the scent of mint and tobacco clinging to him. You reached out, gently touching his forearm. "You don't have to hide it. I just... I don't really like guys who smoke or vape, Jeno. It ruins your health."

He looked down at you, surprised by the lack of judgment in your voice.

"I'm not telling you what to do," you continued softly, your eyes wide and innocent. "But it makes me a little sad. There are so many other ways to relieve stress, you know? Healthier ways. Ways that actually burn calories and make you feel... good."

You gave him a shy, fluttering look, implying something you didn't have the words to say directly, but the suggestion hung heavy in the air. You leaned in a bit closer, your voice dropping to a whisper. "And I've read that smoking can cause fertility problems. It's not good for the... you know... the potency."

Jeno felt a surge of heat rush to his groin. The idea of his "potency" being discussed by a woman as pure and breathtaking as you sent his mind spiraling. He imagined his cum filling you, the thought of breeding you becoming an obsession that outweighed any nicotine craving.

That afternoon, while you were cleaning the living room, you tripped over a rug—a classic Y/N move. You tumbled forward, landing face-first on the plush carpet, your legs splayed wide and your robe sliding open to reveal your soaking wet pussy, completely exposed to Jeno's line of sight.

"Oh! I'm so clumsy!" you giggled, looking back at him from the floor, your ass hiked up in the air.

Jeno didn't move. He stared at the pink, plump folds of your center, the sight of your innocence paired with such a provocative body driving him to the edge. He reached into his pocket, feeling the vape, and suddenly felt a wave of disgust. He didn't want chemicals in his system. He wanted to be clean. He wanted to be the strongest, most potent version of himself for when he finally broke.

The accident happened on a Saturday.

You'd been cooking—badly. Flour was everywhere, a pan was smoking, and you were laughing so hard you could barely breathe. Jeno had rushed in when the smoke alarm went off, found you covered in white dust, spatula in hand, looking like a disaster.

"What are you doing?" he asked, exasperated.

"Making pancakes, Jeno. Obviously."

"Pancakes don't require the smoke alarm."

You shrugged, grinning. "I'm a model, not a chef."

He sighed, rolled up his sleeves, and took over. You watched him—the way his forearms flexed, the way he moved with practiced efficiency. His glasses had slipped down his nose, and he pushed them up with the back of his hand.

"You're good at that," you said, leaning against the counter.

"I'm good at a lot of things."

It was the first time he'd said anything remotely suggestive. You blinked, surprised, and a flush crept up his neck.

"I mean—" he started.

"Jeno." You stepped closer, suddenly aware of how close you were. "What kind of things?"

He turned off the stove. Set down the spatula. Turned to face you, and for a moment, his mask slipped. You saw hunger in his dark eyes, raw and barely contained.

"You should go change," he said quietly. "You have flour on your chest."

You looked down. The flour was dusted over the thin tank top you wore—no bra underneath, the fabric clinging to your curves. Your nipples were visible through the white powder.

"Oh." You laughed, light and careless. "I'll clean up later. You didn't answer my question, Jeno."

"Y/N."

"What are you good at?"

He stepped forward. Close enough that you could smell his cologne—woodsy, clean, masculine. His hand came up, and before you could react, he brushed a thumb across your collarbone, wiping away a smudge of flour.

The touch was electric.

"Jeno?" Your voice came out smaller than intended.

His eyes dropped to your lips. Held there. Then he stepped back, hand falling to his side.

"Go change," he repeated, his voice rough. "I'll finish breakfast."

You left the kitchen in a daze, your heart pounding for reasons you couldn't name.

The night it finally happened was unremarkable in every way except for the weight of everything that came before.

You'd come home late from a charity gala, wearing a red dress that hugged every curve like a second skin. Your heels were killing you, your hair was falling from its updo, and you were pleasantly tipsy from champagne. Jeno had been at your side all night—close, watchful, professional. But you'd caught him staring at you when you danced with the event's host. You'd seen the muscle jump in his jaw when some CEO's hand slipped too low on your waist.

Now he was trailing you into your bedroom, a shadow in the dim light.

"Jeno, you can go," you said, fumbling with your earrings. "I'm safe now, Jeno. Home sweet home."

"I'll do a sweep of the apartment first."

"You're so diligent, Jeno." You turned to face him, wobbling slightly on your heels. "What would I do without you?"

"Hopefully never find out."

You laughed, but it died in your throat when you saw the way he was looking at you. His glasses were off—he'd taken them off at some point, and without them, his eyes were darker, more intense. The sharp lines of his face seemed sharper. Hungrier.

"Jeno?" You took a step back. Your knees hit the edge of the bed. "Is everything okay?"

"No." His voice was low, almost a growl. "Everything is not okay, Y/N. Everything has not been okay since the day I walked into this apartment."

"What do you mean?"

"You walk around in silk that shows everything. You say my name like it's a prayer. You lean into me, touch me, breathe on me, and you act like you have no idea what you're doing."

"I—" Your mouth went dry. "I don't—"

"Don't lie to me." He stepped forward, closing the distance between you. "Don't stand there in that dress, looking like a fucking goddess, and tell me you don't know what you've been doing to. me."

"I wasn't—" But even as you said it, you remembered. The short robes. The suggestive jokes. The way you'd called for him constantly, demanded his attention, parade around half-naked without a second thought.

"God, you're so naive," he said, but there was no cruelty in it. Only frustration. Only want. "Men have been using you your whole life, haven't they? Taking what they wanted and leaving you confused. And here I am, trying to be the one man who doesn't—who won't—"

"Why won't you?"

The question hung between you.

"Because if I start," he said, his voice barely a whisper, "I won't stop. I'll ruin you. I'll fill every hole you have until you can't remember your own name. I'll break every boundary you have, and you'll beg me for more."

Your breath caught. Heat flooded your body, pooling between your legs.

"Jeno—"

"Say my name one more time," he said, stepping forward until his chest brushed yours. "Say it like you mean it."

Your lips parted. Your heart was a wild drum.

"Jeno."

That was all it took.

His mouth crashed onto yours.

It wasn't gentle. It was claiming—teeth and tongue and desperation. His hands found your waist, gripped the silk of your dress, and tore. The sound of fabric ripping sent a thrill through you, and you moaned into his mouth.

"Fuck," he breathed, pulling back just enough to look at you. Your dress was ruined, hanging open, revealing your breasts, your stomach, the lace of your panties. "You're so fucking beautiful."

"Jeno, please—"

He silenced you with another kiss, walking you backward until your legs hit the bed. You fell onto the mattress, and he followed, covering your body with his. His mouth traced down your neck, teeth scraping, tongue soothing. His hands found your breasts, palming them, pinching your nipples until you cried out.

"You like that?" He pulled back, watching your face. "You like your bodyguard touching you like this?"

"Yes, Jeno—yes—"

He flipped you onto your stomach in one smooth motion, yanking your hips up. Your dress pooled around your waist, your ass bared to him, and you heard his sharp intake of breath.

"Look at you," he murmured. "All this time you've been teasing me with your robes, and now I finally get to see what's underneath."

He ran a hand over your ass, squeezing, spreading you open. His fingers found your cunt through the lace of your panties, already soaked.

"Fuck, Y/N. You're dripping."

"Please," you whimpered. "Please, Jeno, I need—"

"I know what you need." He pulled your panties aside, exposing you completely. The cool air hit your wet folds, and you shivered. "You need to be filled. You need someone to fuck that innocent look right out of your eyes."

He didn't wait. He freed his cock—thick, heavy, the head glistening—and ran it through your folds. The sensation made you gasp, pushing back against him.

"Beg for it," he said, his voice rough. "Beg me to fuck you."

"Please, Jeno—please, Daddy—I need your cock so bad—"

He pushed in.

The stretch was exquisite—a burn that bordered on pain before melting into pure pleasure. He filled you completely, his hips flush against your ass, and you felt so full.

"Fuck," he groaned, dropping his forehead to your back. "You're so tight. So goddamn tight. This pussy was made for me."

He started moving. Slow at first, deep and deliberate, letting you feel every inch of him. But soon the pace turned brutal—his hips slamming into you, the bed rocking, the headboard hitting the wall with a rhythm that matched your screams.

His hand found your hair, yanking your head back. "Look at you," he growled. "Taking my cock like a good little slut. And you pretended to be so innocent."

"I'm sorry, Daddy—I'm sorry—"

"You're not sorry." He slapped your ass hard, leaving a red handprint. "You love this. You love being my whore."

"I do—I love it—"

He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you upright, his chest pressed to your back. This new angle drove him deeper, and you felt him hit that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes.

"Right there," you sobbed. "Don't stop, Jeno, please—"

His hand snaked around to your clit, rubbing in tight circles. The dual stimulation was too much. You felt the pressure building, your orgasm coiling tight.

"Come for me," he ordered, his voice right by your ear. "Come all over my cock. I want to feel you squeeze me."

"I'm—I'm—"

"Come, baby. Now."

The world shattered. You screamed his name as your release crashed over you, your body convulsing, your pussy clenching around him in waves. And then you felt it—the gush of liquid, hot and sudden, soaking his cock and your thighs.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, fucking you through it. "Squirt for me. Let it all out."

You were trembling, oversensitive, but he didn't stop. He kept pounding into you, chasing his own release.

"I'm going to fill you up," he said, his voice strained. "Pump you full of my cum until you're dripping with it. Everyone's going to know you belong to me."

"Yes, Daddy—please—breed me—"

His hips stuttered, and you felt the first hot pulse of his release. It was endless—stream after stream, flooding your cunt, filling you so full that it leaked around his cock. He kept grinding, stirring his seed deeper, and you moaned at the feeling of being so completely claimed.

He stayed inside you for a long moment, both of you panting, sweaty, trembling.

"Don't move," he said finally, his voice hoarse. "I want to feel you like this for a while."

You obeyed, your body limp, his cock still buried inside you. You could feel him softening, but he didn't pull out.

"Jeno," you whispered, your voice muffled by the pillow.

"Mm?"

"I don't think I ever want you to leave."

He turned your face toward him, kissing you softly—a stark contrast to the brutality of the past hour.

"Good," he said against your lips. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

And when he stirred inside you, already hardening again, you realized he meant it. This was only the beginning.

─── ✩ ───

“You scared the shit out of me!” you exclaim, pausing the game to remove one earpiece.

Wonwoo laughs softly and rubs a hand over your shoulders soothingly. “Sorry.”

“Well, since you’re here, will you play some of this for me?” you question, pouting slightly to try to increase your chances of him saying yes.

Wonwoo glances at your screen as he ponders.

“Chat, tell him he has to play since he scared me,” you say while turning to your side monitor.

"It's not a cop-out!" you huff halfheartedly, knowing that's a lie. "I'll still be here."

Your eyes follow the influx of messages, seeing one question in particular being sent repeatedly.

“Who’s he? Oh, he’s my boyfriend,” you answer, placing a hand on top of his on your shoulder. You realize it’s the hand absent from his team’s ring.

There’s a pause while you read more messages.

“Sorry, guys, he doesn’t want to show his face. I hope you can understand!” you explain after seeing countless requests.

“What’s the game?” Wonwoo asks.

You peer up at him. “It’s about this creep who stalks a barista.”

“I’m guessing it’s a scary game?” he asks.

You nod.

Wonwoo is silent for a few seconds as he considers your request. Finally, he gestures for you to stand. You start to remove the headphones, but Wonwoo stops you. He guides you out of the chair just enough for him to slip past and plop himself down. Afterward, he settles you on his lap.

“Thought you could just leave me alone, huh?” he says lowly behind you. You’re not sure if your chat heard him, but you don’t care. You doubt it was meant for their ears anyway.

“You could’ve at least let me stand behind the chair,” you mumble.

Wonwoo drums his fingers against your thighs.

“Not a chance," he says, then moves his hands to the mouse and keyboard. After clicking resume, you instruct him on what to do.

A few minutes into him playing, a sound alert of realistic knocking plays in your ears. You jump, and Wonwoo tilts his head in confusion.

“There was a sound alert,” you explain, pointing to the pop-up on your second monitor.

Wonwoo chuckles, gives your hand a quick squeeze, and continues fulfilling the character’s orders—unfazed. Unlike you, Wonwoo doesn’t get startled by the jump scares throughout the game. If he does get startled, it’s more so from your reaction than the actual spook.

By the time the game ends, Wonwoo’s still behind you. His hands have moved from the desk to your thighs as you give your thoughts on the game.

“I knew he was in the apartment! That’s so freaky,” you say. “Have you guys heard about people living in others’ homes without being caught?”

You can’t help but glance around your room, envisioning someone lurking in your closet. Wonwoo gives your legs reassuring squeezes to remind you he’s here. You’re grateful you don’t have to spend the night alone this time.

“Okay, I guess we should stop talking about that stuff,” you say with a laugh.

Your eyes follow the messages in chat.

“You’re home alone? It’ll be okay! Maybe watch some happier videos before you go to sleep,” you reply to one of the messages.

You answer a few more questions with Wonwoo patiently sitting beneath you, drawing random shapes on your skin. He doesn’t interrupt or hint that he wants you to end your stream. He’s always supported the career you’ve made for yourself—just like you’ve always supported him and his work.

“Well, thanks for joining today’s stream!” you announce after a few more minutes. “And thanks to our unexpected guest for helping me finish the game.”

You laugh and raise Wonwoo’s ring-free hand from your thigh to shake in a wave.

“I’ll be back on tomorrow night with a happier game.” You smile, eyes following the chat as messages come in. Wonwoo’s hand goes back to your leg, massaging your flesh gently as you thank a few more supporters and wish them all a good night.

Once your stream has ended for a minute, Wonwoo takes off his mask.

“You have a nice stream?” he asks tenderly. He leans in and gives the area just beneath your ear a gentle kiss. You snuggle closer at the touch.

“Yes, the chat loves when I play scary games.” You chuckle.

“You are cute when you’re scared,” he replies, kissing lower.

You roll your eyes but smile internally at him calling you cute.

“Yeah, you’re cute when you’re scared, too,” you tease.

Wonwoo laughs against your skin and squeezes you. “I don’t get scared.”

“I’ve seen it!” you argue. And you have… at least twice in half a year.

He hums, nipping at your skin and causing you to jump. Wonwoo grunts behind you.

“Sorry,” you say when you realize you might have hurt him.

“’s okay,” he mumbles and readjusts you on his lap.

“How was practice?” you ask.

“My brain hurts.” He sighs. “We had to learn a new choreo today.”

“Is it hard?” you wonder. You know after years of experience, picking up choreography comes easily to Wonwoo, but it’s still tiring work.

He nods, and you can feel his hair tickle the back of your neck.

“I’m excited to see it,” you say and twist to see him.

He peers up when he feels you shift.

Your mouth stretches into a smile as soon as you see him. He reciprocates the grin and captures your lips with his.

The kiss starts tender and slow, but over time it gets hotter. Each glide of his tongue sends warmth down to your core, and you can feel Wonwoo harden beneath you.

“How tired are you?” you question quietly.

He chuckles and snakes his hands under your shirt to cup your covered breasts.

“Not too tired,” he replies.

You hum and smile, leaning in to kiss him again.

Wonwoo grins against yours while he unhooks your bra. He grips your bare breasts, strong hands kneading the fat. You moan softly into the kiss and cover his hands with your smaller ones.

Wonwoo shifts beneath you as if looking for friction, so you begin gyrating your hips. He makes a low noise into the kiss. You can feel how he grows harder and bigger under your ass. The thought of him stretching you makes your panties more damp.

You pull away and carefully stand between his spread legs. You hook your fingers into your shorts’ waistband and pull them, along with your underwear, down your legs. You glance back to see Wonwoo shoving his sweats and underwear low enough to expose his cock.

You feel like a feral dog seeing how big he is. You can’t wait any longer.

You place one hand on Wonwoo’s thigh as you bend over slightly; you spit in the other before reaching back and taking him in your palm. His hips jerk the second you touch him, making you smile at his sensitivity.

You start pumping him a few times, then begin aligning his tip to your entrance; however, Wonwoo grips your hips.

“Wait, baby, what about prep?” he asks.

“We’ll go slow, Wonie. Please. I just need you inside me,” you whine impatiently.

“Fuck, okay, princess,” he curses and eases his grip. “Don’t go too fast.”

You smile at him worrying about you and nod.

You resume moving back as you bring him closer. After rubbing his tip along your folds a couple of times, you slowly sink back.

Gasping, you pause after a second. You know you haven’t reached halfway yet. You’ve taken him many times, but his size never fails to stretch you to the brim.

Wonwoo rubs your hips tenderly, and you place your hands on his wrists for stability.

“Take your time, baby,” he coos behind you.

You take a breath and ease yourself up, then down again. Your movement is agonizingly slow, but Wonwoo doesn’t complain. Each time you sink down, you take more of him. The painful stretch quickly turns into pleasure, and by the time you finally take him whole, your thoughts have been consumed with him. Him inside you. Him touching you.

“You okay?” Wonwoo asks, hands still tending to your body soothingly.

“Y-Yeah,” you reply. “You just feel too good.”

Wonwoo chuckles. “Too good?”

“Hm,” you hum and slowly raise yourself until just his tip is inside, then you lower your hips all the way down.

“Shit, princess. So good taking all of me,” Wonwoo murmurs.

You faintly register something hitting the ground and glance down. Wonwoo has discarded his top, leaving him naked under you. You follow his lead and hastily part ways with your shirt.

His praise makes you go a little faster when you move again. Your legs begin to ache, but you focus on how heavenly Wonwoo’s cock feels gliding against your walls. Soon, you’re bouncing on his dick quickly—trying to chase your high and bring him to his.

“That’s it, baby,” Wonwoo praises behind you. “Use my cock to make yourself feel good.”

“Wanna make you feel good too, Wonie,” you pant.

“You are; your tight little cunt takes me perfectly.”

Your grip on his wrists tightens, and even though you want to keep going fast, your legs give out. You circle your hips instead, occasionally lifting yourself up and sinking back down slowly. One of his hands trails up your waist to pet your head. It’s a sweet gesture until he grips your hair roughly. You gasp, pausing mid-air at the unexpected harshness.

When Wonwoo stands up, it causes his cock to push in deeper. You bite back a moan and glance behind you to look at him. He gives you a handsome grin, then uses his hand in your hair and on your waist to spin you around. He untangles his fingers from your hair to raise the chair, his toned chest pressing against your back.

You take the opportunity to kiss his neck. Wonwoo chuckles, giving your waist a tender squeeze and your lips a sweet peck in return. He adjusts his glasses before continuing to raise the chair.

Once the chair is at his desired height, he helps you kneel on it. Your hands rest on the back of the seat.

“My turn, hm?” he questions and guides his cock back to your entrance. He glides in with one quick motion, making you whine and lift slightly.

“Don’t run away, princess,” he murmurs low in your ear, hands back on your hips. “Thought you wanted my cock deep in your cunt.”

You nod and lower yourself back down. You reach a hand back to grip his thigh and pull him closer.

“I do. ‘m sorry,” you whine.

Wonwoo kisses your head before sliding out and snapping back in. Another gasp falls from your lips as your body gets jerked into the chair.

“Just relax,” he says.

Then he’s thrusting up into you, low moans getting lost with yours. Your legs press together, and your hands grip the chair. Wonwoo’s pace isn’t as fast as it can be, but his movements are powerful and deliberate.

You reach back to get his attention.

“What is it?” he asks softly, contradicting the snapping of his hips.

“Kiss.” You pout.

He smiles and leans down to grant your wish. Wonwoo still moves as he kisses you. The feeling of his lips and his cock makes you dizzy.

“Want your cum, Wonie,” you plead against his lips.

Wonwoo’s pace falters, a curse escaping from beneath his breath.

“Where do you want it, baby?” he asks while you pathetically circle your hips against him.

You grab his hand and place it on your lower belly.

“Inside, please. Need to feel you cum in my pussy,” you say.

Wonwoo’s fingers sprawl against your tummy, squeezing the soft flesh. He rolls his hips slowly and moans in the back of his throat when he feels himself. He presses harder on your tummy and repeats his actions.

“That so?” he teases against your ear. He licks along the curve, which sends a shiver running down your body. He chuckles.

“Yes!” you reply.

“Is my princess not feeling full enough? Want your boyfriend’s cum stuffing this pretty pussy?”

Your walls clench around his fat cock. You love it when Wonwoo talks like this. His voice gets low, raspy, and breathy.

“F-Fuck, baby,” he half groans and half laughs. “You trying to milk my cock?”

You nod.

“Well, if you want it so bad, then I ought to give you it, hm?”

“Please,” you whine, shifting your hips.

Wonwoo slips from your heat and guides your body so you’re seated properly in the chair. He tugs your hips closer to the edge, then spreads your legs over the armrests.

Wonwoo smiles at your dripping, puffy cunt. He licks his lips as if imagining what you taste like, but he doesn’t kneel. If it weren’t for the strong desire to have his dick shoved into you again, you’d beg for his mouth.

Your eyes stare up at him, full of want and lust. Wonwoo’s look mirrors your own.

He slides his cock over your tummy, tapping it against your body a few times.

“See how deep I’m about to be?” he murmurs.

Your eyes drift down. Wonwoo’s wet, thick cock reaches your belly button. The sight has you biting your lip to suppress a moan.

“You’re going to feel me for days, princess,” he hums, dragging his length back and forth slowly. “Gonna crave my cock because you’re going to feel so empty.”

Your mouth hangs open as you watch him slide against your stomach, storing the sight in your memory. A filthy part of you wishes you had X-ray vision so you could see him rubbing between your gummy walls. Could see how he fills you to the brim. Fuck, you need him inside you.

“I want that. I want it all. Fuck me, Wonwoo. Please, fuck me,” you say, borderline begging.

Something in Wonwoo’s gaze darkens. It makes your heart flutter, and your pussy clench.

His eyes stay glued to yours as he aligns his tip, then pushes in with force—stretching you open again and plunging deep in your cunt.

You cry out, hands pushing against his waist while your legs try to close.

Wonwoo grips your legs and shoves them wider. He plants his hands on the armrests to keep them open. Only a second is spared before he’s snapping his hips into yours relentlessly. Each thrust has your gasps and moans sounding louder.

“W-Wonwoo,” you mewl. He’s the deepest he’s been all night. The angle lets him hit the spot that drives you crazy, makes the coil in your lower belly tighten. It gets to be too much, but Wonwoo resists your hands that try to keep him away. Your strength is no match for his.

“You always whine for my cock, but when you get it, you try to push me away?” he laughs, a little mockingly.

“T-Too much,” you pant.

“No, baby, it’s just right.”

He grips your hair and pushes your head down. It’s not the most comfortable angle, but you don’t give a damn when Wonwoo’s fucking you like you’re his lifeline.

“Remember how deep I was gonna be? Do you feel it now?”

Wonwoo slams his hips down, pressing his pelvis against yours roughly to hit as far as he can. You yelp, walls clenching and legs shaking slightly.

He slips his hand from your messy hair, pushes his glasses up like it’s an afterthought, then flattens his palm to your stomach. He thrusts in again. With the press of Wonwoo’s hand, you can feel his length slide along your walls more. You don’t realize how much that affects you until your body trembles and a broken scream rips from your throat.

The second Wonwoo feels your pussy clamp down, his other hand moves to rub your clit quickly. Your juices land haphazardly on your tummy, and through your haze, you see it fly onto Wonwoo’s body too. It’s so messy.

You were so enveloped in your climax, you didn’t realize Wonwoo had slipped from your cunt until he slams back in. His hands go back to the armrests, and he chases his high with no remorse. You’re shaking beneath him, garbled noises spilling from your mouth.

Wonwoo’s eyebrows furrow; his mouth drops wider. He curses repeatedly in hushed whispers.

“Feel so fucking good,” he groans. His hands grab your ass and start pushing your hips up. “Pussy’s so tight. Made for my cock.”

You nod, legs slipping down the armrests, but Wonwoo doesn’t care anymore. You grip onto the chair’s seat so you don’t fall off.

“Cum for me, Wonie,” you moan. “Fill me with it.”

Wonwoo’s pace gets more frantic—fucking you onto him like a toy. His deep moans get lighter, airy. Then, he’s gasping like he just resurfaced from harsh waters.

He yanks your hips impossibly close, fingers digging into your ass almost painfully. His head falls back, and his cock twitches as he shoots his load deep in your pussy—just like you wanted.

You’re panting with him, taking in his handsome form. His clenching abs, his bulging biceps, and the sweat coating his chest. It's a sight that no one but you sees.

Wonwoo comes to a few moments later. He gives you a tired grin, then picks you up. His cock is still sheathed inside, and you moan weakly at the shift.

Your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you to the bathroom. After setting you on the counter, he rests his head on yours. Your eyes close, rubbing his wide back soothingly.

“I love you,” you whisper against his chest.

“I love you more,” he replies, planting a kiss on your head.

Minutes pass of silent cuddles. Your breathing has finally settled.

Wonwoo carefully lifts your feet until they’re anchored on the counter. You whimper at the sensation of his soft dick slipping out. His gaze casts down, and you follow it. White, thick cum oozes from your spent cunt. You squeeze your walls to push more of it out. Although the sight makes you want to go for another round, you’re both tired.

You didn’t mean to have such intense sex. Wonwoo had just come from practice. You only wanted him to rest as you got him off.

Wonwoo grabs a clean cloth, wets it with warm water, then glides it gently across your folds. You reach out to rub the back of his neck, a sweet gesture while he cleans you.

Wonwoo reminds you to use the toilet as he discards the soiled rag. Once you’re done and washing your hands, he goes next. It’s silent during the aftermath; it’s a routine that doesn’t need words.

Only when you’re both tangled in each other's limbs in bed does someone speak.

“You weren’t supposed to do anything.” You laugh softly.

Wonwoo smiles and pecks your lips.

“I had a feeling.” He chuckles. “But I couldn’t help myself.”

“But you worked so hard today. I didn’t want you to have to do more.”

Wonwoo rubs his thumb along your bottom lip as if to wipe away your frown.

“Princess, I didn’t have to do anything, but I wanted to. I wanted to fuck this sweet pussy,” he says, voice getting deeper during his last sentence, and slips a hand between your legs.

You giggle and wiggle away. “We’re never going to sleep if you do that!”

Wonwoo grabs your hips and pulls you back, body flushed together. Your soft breasts push against his toned chest, leg hooking over his hip. His soft cock presses into your stomach.

“Is that a promise?” he asks, eyes glinting mischievously in the moonlight.

“You have practice tomorrow,” you murmur.

Wonwoo nods and kisses you. It’s a short kiss but long enough to get your heart racing.

“And I have hours until I have to be there,” he replies, tilting your chin up to kiss your neck.

You laugh again and lift his head. He pulls away with a small pout.

“You need rest, Wonie,” you insist.

“I need you,” he whines and tucks his face into your neck again. “Need your lips. Need your pussy.”

Your heart leaps at his words. It’d be so easy to give in to him.

“Let’s make a deal,” you announce and pull him away again. His eyes flicker from your lips to your eyes.

His silence prompts you to continue, “Take a nap, at least, and if you still want to fuck, then we can.”

“Mmph. Fine.” He sighs, then lies on his back, keeping you at his side.

You eye him suspiciously; you didn’t expect him to give in so easily. However, you don’t question it and sink into the mattress. You snuggle against his warm body, focusing on his steady breathing.

Sleep consumes you quickly.

You don’t know how long it’s been before you wake to Wonwoo’s fingers circling your clit lazily.

“Please,” Wonwoo whispers into your ear when he sees you stir.

Your eyes peel open.

“Did you even”—a gasp jumps up your throat when Wonwoo’s fingers slide down to slip inside your hole—”sleep?”

“I did,” he answers and rubs his fingers along your soft walls. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about how you felt.”

You giggle sluggishly, shifting your body so your leg is slung over his hip again.

“Don’t be mad at me when you’re tired at practice,” you mumble, still half-asleep.

“I could never be mad at you when you make me feel so good,” he replies and spreads his fingers gently to stretch you.

You hum in response, hand sliding down his chest to pump his semi-hard cock. Wonwoo’s breath hitches at the feel of your hand.

Soon, Wonwoo is pumping inside you again, albeit slower. They’re languid thrusts that allow you to simply feel pleasure. There’s no chasing highs. No slapping of the skin. A complete opposite of the sex from earlier.

But you love it all the same.

You and Wonwoo share lazy kisses, soft laughter, and breathy moans. Even if you’re both sluggish with sleep tomorrow, you wouldn’t trade this moment. You love the time you can be with him. To be engulfed in everything Wonwoo. Because to be submerged in Wonwoo means to be submerged in love.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way, with anybody else.

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Taglist: @christinewithluv, @lockburn-castle, @maknae00, @morklee02, @kittyhui, @aeerio, @cherrylovescheol, @toplinehyunjin, @verogonewild, @livelaughloveseventeen, @shinwonderful, @gyuguys

He should be used to that kind of welcoming from people like her. Still, he stuttered and stumbled over his words right there on the threshold, one arm still outstretched, the other clutching a couple of his books. When she rose a questioning brow, he finally snapped out of it, pushing his glasses up with his free hand. "I- I'm tutoring y/n." He stared down at his watch. "We set to meet at 4:30. This is her dorm, right?"

That seemed to have piqued her interest, before she grimaced and brushed him off. "Second door on the left. Her room." Without another glance, she walked past him and left, closing the door behind her.

He stood by the entryway lamely for a couple minutes, nervously looking around and clutching the class' books in his arm. It wasn't a big deal. He'd just be in the same room alone with the girl he had a slight crush on since first year. Emphasis on slight, okay? Her room that's filled with everything her, and her smell is bound to be everywhere overwhelming his senses. Totally fine. He gave a last glance around the small living room before walking over towards the second door to the left.

It was open, able to see inside only through a tiny gap. And for the second time in less than 10 minutes, his hand froze on its way to push it open, eyes blown wide behind his glasses.

You were on your bed, damp panties pushed down, a pillow between your legs as you grinded over it lazily. He swallowed, though his mouth had gone really dry. He really should've looked away instantly, but he couldn't move, eyes zeroed in on the scene in front of him. The only sounds he could hear were the tiny puffs of air coming out of your mouth turning into gasps whenever the pillow beneath you caused a delicious friction against your clit, the rustle of your bed sheets. When you bent slightly forward and your skirt riled up your ass, it gave him a complete view of your pussy.

"Fuck". He mouthed, still unable to tear his eyes away, voice lost and face growing hotter. It wasn't the only thing growing. He bit his lip hard, an almost painful expression in his face at how his pants were starting to feel really uncomfortable. At the same time, he was thankful he'd chosen to dress up a little more and wear jeans instead of his usual sweats.

You picked up a more desperate pace, and he could see the way your poor pussy clenched over nothing, wet and glistening with your slick, dripping down your thighs and onto the pillow.

"I want to come, I want to come." he heard your soft pleading whines and he swore he was going to cum in his pants when you also decided to bring the hand that wasn't toying with your nipples down, pushing a finger in. A sound alike a choked sob left your mouth, mixing with the lewd noise of you moving your finger in and out of your pussy. That's when he decided it was tortuous enough without adding the picture of you making yourself cum and hurried down the hall back to the living room, almost dropping his books and giving himself away as a total pervert in the process.

He plopped down on the sofa throwing his books beside him, unable to brush away the image of what you were doing a couple rooms away, and he closed his eyes for a beat in an attempt to calm himself down. His breathing was coming in quick and he felt hot all over. He shifted in his seat, making futile attempts to adjust his pants so they didn't bother him.

He probably should leave. How was he going to go through tutoring with a hard on after he'd seen you like that? Better to look as irresponsible and make an excuse saying he couldn't make it.

But your roommate. She'd tell you he'd been here, and it would be weird that he suddenly decided to leave. What if you figure out that he'd seen you?

He brushed a hand down his face very frustratedly, and decided to text you letting you know he was there. He should've done that from the beginning and he'd saved himself from this but it had totally slipped that you'd exchanged numbers earlier in the week after your professor set you two up for your lessons. He heard a thud and clatter from your room, and a couple minutes later he heard your light steps heading to the living room.

"Did you just get here?" In your haste, you skipped the greetings fearing he might've heard what you were up to, smoothing down your hair nervously. Time had passed by you, and you didn't notice he'd arrive any minute now, too busy trying to get off for the past half an hour unsuccessfully. It's already mortifying enough to think your roommate might've heard you when she suddenly came back looking for something she left behind.

His big, round eyes stared up at you, taking the sight of you in. The slight color on your cheeks, your perky nipples showing under your shirt. His mind wandered as his eyes kept traveling down to your skirt now fixed down, thinking about how you'd soaked your panties, the sight of your ass as you rolled your hips- "Hi," His voice came out breathy. He cleared his throat, "Yeah."

"You good?" You looked at him curiously, and if he wasn't mistaken, the slight curve of your lip was a tell of you trying to hold back a smirk. "Your face is a little red."

"Really? No- I mean, yes I'm great! I just, ran here." He lied. "Sorry for being late."

"You're okay." you brushed him off, turning towards the kitchen, "Do you want some water?"

"That would be nice. Thank you." And a cold shower too, came as an afterthought.

You handed him his glass of water and instead of sitting down, you offered, "Maybe we should study in my room. It'd be more comfortable there." Crossing your arms over your middle as you shifted in place waiting for his response.

He was thankful he managed to drink his water without choking, playing it off like all was good, grabbing his books before standing up and following you. Once inside, you walked over to your desk, grabbing your notebook, book, and pencil pouch, before plopping down on the bed crossed legged and looking over where he was standing dumbly staring at you like a lost puppy.

To his surprise, you laughed. "You're going to take that bookbag off sometime today and sit down?" You tapped a spot on the bed in front of you.

He gulped, shrugging his bag off. He sat down, one leg crossed, the other stretched over the edge of the bed.

"Okay, what should we start with?"

For a while, you both worked in silence. He caught you up again with what the current topic was and what you were working on and from that, you did most on your own, barely asking him anything. You seemed to be fairing well by yourself. That should've given him time to work on his own homework and papers too, but he had caught himself staring at you more than anything else during that time, and when he wasn't, his mind kept replaying how he'd found you earlier, and threatening to make its own script of fantasies.

Your hand reaching out to rest over his thigh stopped his knee from bouncing, making him tense and his breath stop short. "Listen, I know I bitched out before when the professor paired us up. I'm sorry for that, and thank you for still showing up and agreeing to help me."

He looked at you, befuddled. He was not expecting an apology. The way you'd snapped at him and stormed out of the classroom had given him the impression that you didn't want anything to do with him. He'd felt dejected to say the least given his fat ass crush on you, but ever since you'd received him, you'd been nothing but nice to him and he'd known he'd been right in the first place, you were actually really sweet. And now you were mistaking his fidgeting for him being uncomfortable around you. Thus, you kept speaking. "It's just, I really can manage on my own. I don't want to burden you with this or for you to feel obliged to just because our professor made you. I've never had problems with my classes before. Guess I was just distracted with …" Your face fell a little, "It doesn't matter now anyway. We can just tell the professor we're meeting up but we don't actually have to so you still get paid." You finished.

He totally knew that you did okay on your own. You were smart, top of most your classes except this one because it was him. Only when you started to surround yourself with some not-so-smart people and your not-so-smart boyfriend it was that you started to fall behind, skip classes when you never in your life did so before. He couldn't understand what were you doing with a guy like that. His guess about you saying you'd been distracted was that you meant by him. He'd been surprised to recently hear you two had broken up near the end of last term. He was dying to know more. You totally had to have been the one to dump him. But instead, he said something more wise, "It's not a burden. I know you're good without me." Pushing himself to be a bit bolder and take his chance, he said, "And actually, I-I like… this. So we can just have study sessions like these whenever you want. Only if you'd like to of course!"

He was rewarded with bright laughter bubbling up from you. "Sorry. You're cute. But sure, I'd like that too. You have my number." You winked at him, squeezing his thigh before pulling your hand away.

His nose scrunched up, but still he smiled back. He'd take it you calling him cute if it meant hanging out with you again.

\\\

"Cheol, I want to cum. Please make me cum, Cheol." You keep chanting along with his name, words slurring when he hits that spot that turns you into putty in his hands. He's got you bent over that same pillow you were using earlier, face smushed against the mattress now that your arms have given up as he drives his cock in and of you hard from the back. You move in time to meet his thrusts, desperate to reach your high, your hole greedily sucking him in and making a mess all over him. He knows that he might be too much to take, but you're taking him like a champ, his hip bone smacking the fat of your ass with each deep thrust, light red blooming on the tender skin as he kneads it and lands a few spanks.

"Go ahead, baby. Soak my cock with your cum." He encourages, "I'm going to cum inside your pretty pussy, Fill it up even more."

It doesn't take much longer for you both to cum.

Except that when he does, he's alone in his room sitting on his bed with his jeans and underwear pushed down, head thrown back against the headboard as he cums on your panties that are wrapped around his cock as he jerks his hand up and down. The same panties you'd ruined when you were touching yourself that he'd spotted lying under your bed. They'd probably ended there in your rush of you changing and receiving him. He wouldn't have seen them if the ink of the pen you were using hadn't run out, you standing up to get another from your desk complaining about not finding your favorite and making due with a trashy one that you hated. That's when you accidentally dropped something, and bending to pick it up you flashed him. In the second that'd taken him to avert his gaze down, he'd noticed they were different ones, only to find the other pair lying on the floor. He'd reached and pocketed them, telling himself he did it to save you from wondering if he'd seen your underwear lying there the whole time he'd been over.

As his breathing calmed down and post orgasm clarity hit, he was sure of two things: he really was a perv. And pathetic. He heaved out a deep sigh, "This is so wrong."

2: Heartbreaker

It's a few days later when he sees you again after his first lesson of the morning. You're walking out of a lecture hall talking to a classmate when you look forward and wave at him with a smile. He waves back, face heating up. He's not able to hold eye contact for long, guilt bubbling up from the mouth of his stomach at the thoughts and things he's done thinking about you. He hears someone call out your name and looks over to find your ex coming up from the opposite direction walking towards you.

He tenses, jaw clenched as he watches you two talk. He knows he's unreasonably jealous. You're not his. He's not sure if he can even call himself your friend. But he's nothing to you either. The guy's a loser for fumbling you. What do you two even have to talk about?

He's stuck in this circle of thoughts, frowning at nothing when someone walks up to him. A girl he recognizes from one of his classes.

You brush your ex off as quick as you can, telling him to leave you alone and putting on a distance before he can lay a hand on you like you fear he intended to when you saw him reaching over, thinking it much better to go say hi to Seungcheol. But then you notice he's engaged in a far more pleasant conversation compared to yours. He's chatting with a girl, and for once he's not the one looking more nervous. You watch curiously, catching a few words like 'studying sometime together', walking slower than necessary making people skip past you annoyed. The last you get to see is the slight disappointment on the girl's face when Seungcheol seemingly turns the offer down.

The cafeteria is packed like it usually is past midday. You spot him already at a table, and go up to tease him, a lilt in your voice,"You heartbreaker!"

At the sound of your voice, Seungcheol looks up from his sandwich. Flustered, he sputters, "What do you mean?"

"I mean you turning down that poor girl earlier." You elaborate, pointing to a chair with the hand that's not holding your tray and pulling it out to sit in front of him when he nods it's okay.

"She just asked me if I needed a study partner." He tells you, still at a loss at how you came to your conclusions.

"Mmhm." you hum knowingly. "Bet you've been approached by lots of girls asking to "study" with you. Boys too." You grin.

"A few, yeah. How'd you know that?" He asks even more confused.

"You really don't know?" you let out an incredulous laugh. So he's really that oblivious. "You're handsome, smart. People like that. "

He blushes furiously, deciding to look down while taking another bite of his sandwich. You start on your own food as well.

"Do you?" He asks a few beats later.

"What?"

"I mean, do you like that?" He clarifies.

It's your turned to be stunned into silence, before you recover and answer with a slight color on your cheeks. "Yeah. I like that." you say it looking right into his eyes, an alluring look on your own.

Seungcheol's fighting off the huge smile about to take over his features, trying to keep cool. He nods, looking directly into your eyes too, "I already have my study partner."

You eat lunch together, chatting here and there and sitting in comfortable silence when you're not. A while later, you ask him what time is it. When he looks at his watch and tells you, you curse. It's almost time for your next lecture already. You hurry to grab your things and stand up, kissing his cheek goodbye like it's the most natural thing for you to do.

\\\

Mingyu's lying on Seungcheol's bed like it's his own, talking to him while he sits by his desk absentmindedly spinning a pencil in his hand, note-taking forgotten.

He notices Seungcheol spacing out for the nth time. He's let it slide all the other times before, but he's endured enough of not getting attention. He throws his empty water bottle at him. It further proves it's really bad when Seungcheol doesn't even flinch nor throws him a threatening look. "Dude, what's up with you? You've been smiling at the wall for 5 minutes. It's creeping me out."

"I talked to y/n today."

Ah. That makes sense.

"She had lunch with me. Kissed me on the cheek." He says, allowing for a dopey smile to take over. "She thinks I'm handsome too."

"Ugh." Mingyu fakes disgust at his friend's display of lovesickness. He's actually happy for him. You're a nice girl and Seungcheol's been admiring you from afar for a long time. It's great to hear hes had the opportunity to talk to you. He teases,"Great for you. It's good to have someone other than your grandma called you that for once, isn't it?"

Now Mingyu's the victim when an empty can is thrown his way. "I'm feeling very unwelcomed right now. So I'm going to leave you to daydream about how you're going to ask her out and eventually get laid."

3: Movie

Next time you plan your study session you meet at the library one late afternoon. It had been raining for a while, and he's running late for almost fifteen minutes. In the meantime, you'd been working ahead on your own homework. The cool air from the air conditioning, the silence and the misty gray from outside, with droplets of rain racing down the foggy window panes are making you sleepy. You wonder if in the end he thought better of what you told him and chose he didn't really need to come. A text letting you know would've been nice if that's the case.

When Seungcheol finally arrives, he's drenched enough for the librarian to glare at him, already thinking of him leaving puddles on the carpet. It was windy, so his umbrella could only do much to cover him; this resulted in the lower part of his jeans and his shoes to take the brunt of it. While he closed said umbrella right at the door, a light spray had fallen over his head and shoulders. He looks around and doesn't see you. Oh God you left thinking he bailed on you, it's what he starts to think cursing himself as his eyes roam desperately for you until he sees what's definitely your bag on one of the four chairs at a table with papers and stationery spread over it further in the back, the row next to the windows. He turns his head away when he hears light murmuring and laughter. A couple of guys are pointing at something, and as he follows their line of sight there you are, putting back some of the books you were using. The problem is, you're wearing one of those tiny skirts you like - and well, he likes them on you too probably more than you do. You keep wearing them despite the weather getting chillier but he knows better than to question a girl's outfit choice. - and are bending slightly, giving them too much of a good view than what they deserve. He drops his bag on your table and walks over, standing right behind you to shield you from their prying eyes, going as far as to throw daggers at them, who are quick to look away sensing they'd pissed him off.

You gasp, faltering to a stop when you feel something, or well someone right behind you. It's then when he realizes that he might be standing a little too close, his front practically pressed to your back, and he takes a step backwards. Tilting your head and seeing it's him you let out a relieved breath, straightening up and turning. "Seungcheol, you scared me."

"Sorry. I was just- you were crouching down and a couple of idiots were staring." He stutters an explanation, his face warming up while he pushes away the images his brain is bringing up of having you bent over in front of him. God, he has a problem.

Your eyes shoot open when you catch on to what he's saying, and you try to look past him to see which guys is he referring to. You catch them looking over again and they quickly turn away. "Thanks, Cheol. I think it's thanks to you I still have faith that some boys were raised right."

Right. He's awful. I mean, he thinks he's a decent guy. It's just that when it comes to you, most of that decency flies out the window. His poor mom would be so disappointed.

So he gives you what he hopes looks at least close to a genuine smile and chooses to remain silent. You speak again when you take in the state he's in. "Oh my god, your clothes are soaked." You looked at him with concern.

"It's not that bad." Even as he says it he immediately thinks of the librarian's glare.

"It's pretty cold in here already and with your clothes like that…" You shake your head, and he notices how you rub your arms, seeking for warmth. "We should go to your place. Don't want you to get sick. What are you..? No, you need it too! I just said I don't want you to get sick" you frown, arguing as you watch him shrug his jacket off, leaving him in a graphic t-shirt, gently placing it over your shoulders instead.

"We'll go once the rain lets up then. I'll be fine for a bit like this."

As you walk back to your table, you notice the way his shirt molds to his body over broad shoulders, fit on his arms. Meanwhile, he can't help but throw another mean look at the two assholes that were looking at you. You fix his jacket on you. The fabric practically swallows you up, he's several sizes bigger than you. It's so comfortable and warm, and it smells like him. You feel bad but can't help yourself as you snuggle up in it, giving him a grateful look.

You catch up with him about what you'd been working on. He looks it over, and gives you a couple pointers on how to continue. You listen to him closely and in turn help him with his own work. You finish earlier than him since you had a head start, and partly because he keeps stealing not so subtle glances at you, but thankfully for him you're sleepy enough not to notice. You must be tired, but he thinks you look cute regardless, wearing his jacket that's too big for you.

Your head falls on his shoulder and his grip on his mechanical pencil loosens, stopping everything he's doing altogether. Did you just fell asleep on him?

Your groggy voice comes as an answer, "Are you sure you're not cold? You feel cold." He is very much cold but he's not about to let you in on that. And then you're pressing yourself to him on a side hug. "Is it okay if I do this?" You look up at him. His hair's still a little damp. You think it's almost unfair how great he looks.

He looks into your doe eyes. You're so close. Then his gaze travels lower. He really wants to kiss you right now. "Yeah. It's okay." You nod, and nuzzle contentedly into him. He continues to work like that for a while more, or well, more like he pretends to because you're practically cuddling him, in public, and he likes how your hair smells. "I think the rain's letting up." He says regretfully. He really doesn't want to move away from you. Slowly, you straighten up and you both start gathering your things.

When you step outside, you take hold of his arm, cautious of the wet sidewalk. "I'll walk you to your place. We're done with classwork already and you must be tired." He says. You were hoping to hang out a little longer. He notices as you deflate a little. "Unless you want to come over anyways? We could um, watch a movie." He offers and instantly regrets it. That phrase usually is an euphemism. What if you think he's trying to get on your pants- or well, skirt? "Or something."

You brighten up, a glint in your eye."Sure. I'm up for a movie. Or something." You laugh.

His place is nice, surprisingly tidy and organized but with hints that it's lived in, like a forgotten mug on the living room's coffee table, the game controllers on the couch or the things on the kitchen waiting to be put away into the cupboards. In his room, the closet door is open, a pair of shoes sticking out, another jacket hanging from the backrest of his desk chair,the desk is cluttered, a tee shirt thrown over a full body mirror and another bunched on the floor besides the hamper instead of inside. You notice there are a few posters on the walls of bands and artists he likes. Shelves stacked with action figures, lego sets, videogame cases, cds, vinyls, different books and graphic novels.

He drops his bag on the floor by the door and you follow suit. "I just need a minute to get out of these. You can get comfortable." He tells you as he walks over to his drawers and gets what he needs, heading back out to change in the bathroom. You sit on his neatly made bed with your back against the headboard, shifting nervously while you keep looking around his room. He's quick to come back, now wearing black shorts. He looks over for something, the remote control on his night stand for the TV mounted on the wall facing the bed. "Oh shit, my bad. Didn't offer you anything. Would you like something?" Can you blame him for being nervous?

You smile up at him,"I'm okay, thanks."

He nods, sitting down beside you on the bed. "So, what do you feel like watching?"

This time though, you don't answer him. At least not with words. You just look at him and he thinks you're thinking it over. Then your gaze falls to his lips, or did he imagine it? He's still wondering if it is his imagination when you lean in and press a chaste kiss to his lips, and still when you raise yourself, swinging one of your legs over his so you're straddling his thick thighs. He doesn't have but a beat to look up at you with wide, starry eyes before you're cupping his cheeks leaning back down to kiss him. You kiss him slowly, taking your time, trying to memorize how his plump lips feel against your own. They are slightly chapped because of his habit of running his tongue over them but still soft. He tastes your lipgloss in his mouth, something faintly sweet about it, and he'd be glad to wipe it off you and get it smudged all over his face anytime. His hands that were resting on the bed lift just to stay hovering by your sides, twitching unsure where to put them and partly fearing that if he tries to touch you he'll wake up from a dream. As if reading his mind and reassuring him that this is indeed happening, you bite down softly on his bottom lip, making him groan, then you suck on it lightly to relief the sting. One of your hands move up to the back of his neck, threading your fingers through his hair as you tilt your head to deepen the kiss, letting your tongue slip inside his mouth. Your mixed puffs of breath and the sound of your spit covered lips echo in his ears and threaten to drown him but he still forces himself to the surface. "Wai-Wait."

"What's wrong?" You ask him, breath fanning his face. His eyes try to rake all over you at once in case this is all he gets; how your chest rises and falls in time with his, your lips now swollen and shiny. You look him over as well. His skin feels hot to the touch under your palm, where you can see a blush has taken over his fair skin, the deep shade of pink of his lips covered in the light glittery shade of your lipgloss, his glasses askew. He looks too good like this you can't wait to kiss him more but he has yet to answer. The longer he takes to talk though, you start to think you jumped to conclusions, "Wait, is this not what you wanted when you said- You were serious about the movie." You let out a breathy, uncomfortable laugh, totally embarrassed now, eyes downcast to avoid meeting his. You can't believe yourself, starting to move off him,"Fuck, I'm so sorry."

His hands finally find their place on your waist, making you sit back down on him gruffly. If you don't know the effect you have on him you might as well feel it. Your eyes widen when you do, something definitely big pressed right between your legs."No, no. Nothing's wrong." To hell with the movie. Nothing has ever been more right in his eyes. "Just wanted to make sure you were okay with this."

You look more shy than a moment before, but you're back to looking at him, "What do you think?" then you admit in a whisper like you're letting him in on a secret, your lips a breath away from his. "I've actually been thinking about kissing your pretty lips for a while." You kiss the corner of his lips. "Unless maybe this is too fast."

He shakes his head vigorously, "I don't mind fast." And this time he kisses you. You smile into the kiss, and he's on cloud nine. He's really got you sitting on top of him, your mouth ravishing his own. What started as making out sweetly is turning into hot, feverish kisses that have you both gasping heavily against each other's lips, you grinding your clothed core over the bulge in his pants. You move to pepper kisses along his jaw, his neck, your hands tracing his body over his t-shirt; up his torso where they rest a moment on his defined chest, caressing his shoulders then going back down over the muscles in his arms. His hands get the message at last and they release their tight hold on your waist, fingertips sneaking under the hem of your top feeling the warmth emanating from your skin, up, stopping just at the underside of your breasts feeling the delicate lace of your bra. You pull away just for a moment to get rid of your shirt, and he takes in the newly exposed skin with hungry eyes. But it's unfair, you want to touch him, feel him with nothing in between so you pull at his shirt wanting to get rid of it and he appeases you when he does. You admire him as well, surprised to find that under those big sweaters he likes to wear he's toned in all the right places, firm under soft skin. He shivers as you sink your nails on it from his chest down to his abs leaving light red marks on their wake, and you smile. You leave kisses all over his bare skin, teeth biting and nipping softly, teasing. You proudly look over your artwork, marks blooming on his skin.

His own hands smooth over your thighs up until he's cupping your ass under your skirt pressing you impossibly closer, hips bucking up into you as you keep kissing him."We're- We're just making- hah out?"

"Mmm- How far do you wanna go?"

He wants to feel you wrapped around him so badly, eyes threatening to flutter shut with every grind of your hips. He's already so far gone between now and thinking back to that day he'd accidentally seen you getting off all by yourself, your sorry little hole pulsing over nothing asking to be filled up while you begged to cum. He wanted to help you back then, and he surely can do so now. "I want to be inside you. Please." He gasps. He's the one begging now.

You whimper, nodding. He watches as you raise yourself off him so you can shimmy out of your skirt and he gets just a peek of how damp your underwear is before you're sliding it down too and kicking it off somewhere in his room. You might not find those again. You smile bashfully, but the hazy look in his eyes as he looks at you, the hunger you see in them give you a boost of confidence. You deliberately take your time making your way back to him while he fumbles to take his shorts off. You straddle his thighs, pulling his boxers down yourself. He sighs in relief and you watch,stunned, as his big cock springs up and hits his tummy, its tip leaking with precum.

An involuntary whine escapes you,"You're just big everywhere, aren't you?" you say, almost as if speaking to yourself. He gives you a dazed smile, seeing how satisfied you are with the view in front of you. You're tempted to slide down and lean over him for a taste, the lust swirling in your lower belly that shines in your eyes pushing back the thought that he's going to tear you apart when you try to take him. You're torn on where do you want him more. But you'll get a chance to do anything you want together another day, right? So, you swallow the spit gathering in your mouth at the mouthwatering sight. "Condom?"

His smile falters, and vanishes. A word. Just a simple, 6 letter word was threatening to bring crashing down everything that build up to this moment. There was no way this was happening to him. You were half naked and eager in front of him, and he was so hard it was starting to make him hurt and dizzy. You'll hate him if you have to stop everything now. "I don't- I don't have any." And he waits for the worse. Everything stops for a beat.

Okay, maybe your mind was clouded with thoughts about sex, and you wouldn't be able to stand leaving all hot and bothered and frustrated. The need is too much. You want him bad. It's not your proudest moment nor your best suggestion when you speak, "You can pull out."

He stares at you, thinking he might've heard wrong but sees you're being serious."Yeah, yes." He nods eagerly, bringing you forwards. You stumble clumsily over him due to his strength, and laugh, surprised. It turns you on even more when you think of him manhandling you any way he wants.

You lower yourself gently on him so his cock is nuzzled in the warmth between your legs, your puffy lips dragging all over his length with the tantalizing roll of your hips. "Oh fuck." He curses, lips parting as you continue moving, covering him in your slick. He stops you when he grips your waist. He can't allow himself cumming right now when things are just starting. So, he lifts you again before he's aligning his cock to your entrance, bringing you back down. His moans and curses are drowned out by your loud ones as he makes you sit on him balls deep in one go. It knocks the air out of your lungs. Your walls flutter around him, your pussy holding his big, fat cock in a tight grip. He drags out another curse,"You feel so good."

"So full." It's all you can manage to whine. You haven't even moved yet and you're already ruined. You could've really used his fingers first.

"Yeah?" He smirks, "I'm giving you all of it."

"Mhmm." you answer in a whimper, "I'm going to take all of it."

You start moving slowly while you get used to the stretch, to the feeling of his cock, every ridge and vein dragging along your warm, velvety walls. Raising yourself up from him until only the tip is in, then sink back down, then you do it again, and again, until you're bouncing on him. The room fills with your moans, the wet sounds of skin slapping on skin every time his balls smack against your puffy lips, his cock covered on his precum and your glistening slick that's dripping down making a mess all over him. You switch to a roll of your hips to give yourself respite. His big brown eyes look up at you,"You're beautiful." He tells you before he gets cut off by his moans. You've both worked up a sweat, strands of his hair sticking to his forehead. You smile at the compliment, cheeks rosy, and push his glasses that had slid down back up the bridge of his nose. He hadn't taken them off because he wanted to see your every expression, every inch of your skin as clearly as possible. They suit him so well and he looks so sexy, you tell him, which makes his skin flush more as well in turn. He's struggling to unclasp your bra, wanting to see your tits bounce freely all over his face while you move. You giggle, helping him out. "Someone might need some tutoring." You tease but a sweet roll of his hips is quick to shut you up.

You're growing tired, thighs trembling as you resume your pace from earlier, but your climax is just at reach and you won't stop. His hips thrust up, meeting your own movements and hitting deep. Next thing he knows, you're cumming all over his cock, your pussy squeezing him tight, trying to milk him for all he's worth. Your moans are loud. He's in love with the sounds you're making. He should've known, he loves to hear your voice. Your orgasm threatens to trigger his own but he doesn't want this moment to end yet.

You gasp when he turns you both over, caging you under him with his arms at his sides holding him up keeping him from crushing you. He slides himself back in, easier this time around with your wetness and cum serving as lubrication but it's still rough, a tight squeeze. You spread your legs wider, trying your best to accommodate to him, before he lifts one up encouraging you to wrap them around his waist, the heels of your feet digging into the flesh of his asscheeks. He rolls his hips with purpose, drunk on the sound of your moans and the filthy squelch your pussy makes with each of his thrusts. He's hiding his face in the juncture between your shoulder and neck, trying to muffle his own moans against your skin but they're just falling right into your ear, making arousal zip down your spine and pool on your lower belly. Your body jostles up the bed with the force. You feel like you're sinking into the mattress, and the headboard of his twin bed is smacking loudly against the wall, most likely letting anyone on the room next door know what's going on.

You thread your fingers through the soft, damp strands of his hair, your other hand clawing down his back, making him groan, your head thrown back against the pillows. You call his name, and when he lifts his head, your lips meet his in wet, heated, open mouthed kisses. His thrusts become sloppy and he's breathing hard.

"Cheol." you try to tell him but his name just comes out in a moan. He's making you feel so good your brain is turning to mush. "Mmmph! Cheol." Your eyes roll back as you cum again, soaking his cock for a second time and clamping down around him making it hard for him to keep moving. A couple stray tears make their way down to your hairline. You're spent, eyes threatening to fall shut, your last warnings dying in your throat when he gives a few deep, punctuated thrusts and you gasp when you feel him swell inside of you before he's filling you with his hot cum.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He curses, burying himself to the hilt, stilling, and you take in the sight of him as he cums. The pure bliss irradiating from his face, eyes screwed shut while his mouth hangs open, the veins on his neck straining. You whimper at the feeling of his cock throbbing inside you as he empties his balls and fills you up with spurt after spurt of his cum.

You remain like that, chest to chest and unmoving, catching your breaths. Your fingers brush through the short strands on his nape softly, making his eyelids droop while he leaves kisses on your shoulders here and there.

After a while, he raises himself up before his arms give out and he puts all his weight on you. But before he separates entirely from you, he can't help but to teasingly roll his hips one more time, making you whine. He chuckles and you smack his arm. With a hiss from both of you he pulls out.

You gasp, a hand going to sneak down between your legs to cover yourself when you feel thick globs of cum dripping out, before you're whining his name in a reprimanding tone "Seungcheol!"

He's on his knees, leaning back and moving your hand to stare shamelessly at your stretched out pussy dripping with his cum, face hot as he bites his lip trying to hold back a smile in case you're mad. But staring up at your face, you don't look mad, just bashful under his stare.

You yelped as he leaned over and hooked his arms under your thighs pulling you down the bed so his face was right between your legs. "What are you doing?" You raised yourself on your elbows.

His hot breath fans over your spent cunt as he answers, making you shiver, "Just have to clean you up."

\\\

Seungcheol reluctantly and carefully leaves your side on the bed, disentangling himself from you to grab his glasses from his nightstand and getting up, wearing only his boxers. He looks back at you, relaxed and still sound asleep, bunched up sheets covering your naked body, messy hair on his pillows like a twisted halo. He's still smiling at the sight of you as he leaves the room to the bathroom across the hall. When he sees his reflection in the mirror above the sink, his eyebrows shoot up. He looks like he had a good fuck, which he did. There's marks peppered along his chest, bite marks, scratch marks, red tiny half moons on his shoulders and arms. Turning around slightly and tilting his head, he sees more scratches on his back. He doesn't know how he's going to hide the ones on his neck.

"Damn, bro" comes Mingyu's loud voice as he walks into the kitchen for a glass of water, looking at the state he's in and the bad case of bed/sex hair he's sporting. Seems like he just got back. "Either you were fucking or you were a victim of attempted murder."

"Shut up." He hisses, thinking of you still sleeping in his room.

"She's still here?" He asks nosily. He walks over to him to get a closer look of all the marks from you adorning his otherwise porcelain skin, but Seungcheol tries to cover himself with one arm, shoving him away with other letting out a, "Get off me." mirth in his tone yet still flustered. "Need to give her my congratulations on finally popping your cherry. We have to celebrate! Where are you going?" He asks as Seungcheol finishes drinking his water and starts to walk toward the hall.

"To put some clothes on."

"Aw, don't be shy."

"Fuck off, dude. I need to go get something." He tries to defend but ends up digging himself further.

"Now? What are you getting?"

"Just… Something."

"Why are you being so mysterious all of a sudden? I'm just asking why would you want to leave when you have-" He cuts himself off as he notices the deep blush on his friend's face and how he brushes his hand over his already messy hair nervously. He laughs, a big grin stretching on his face when he catches on "Oh, you mean something from the pharmacy two blocks down the street?"

"You're the worst."

"Apparently you are."

After Mingyu, he still has to deal with the slightly judging stare from the pharmacist he stutteringly asks help from, taking in the sight of him similarly like his friend did.

You stir in bed, coming to. Opening your eyes, you take in your surroundings, remembering what happened earlier. You shake your head with a lovesick smile, sighing as you sit up and begin looking for your clothes. You hear voices from outside the door, Seungcheol and someone else's. His roommate, you figure. Forgetting about your clothes for a moment, you walk over towards the door, pressing your ear to it curious to hear what's all the fuss about.

"-her my congratulations for popping your cherry. We have to celebrate!" Your frown morphs into utter surprise as you slap a hand to your mouth.

You were Seungcheol's first time?

The rest of the conversation is tuned out. His footsteps coming down the hall alert you, and you rush back into bed, pretending you're asleep. You feel one of his hands cup your face, thumb stroking your cheek affectionately, and the soft press of lips to your forehead.

4: Distracted

Your eyes search for him at his usual spot in the front. You arrived before he did. You step into a row, shifting until you reach the seat around the middle , at the center of the lecture hall. You pull the desk in front of you and start setting up your things.

Seungcheol arrives, the professor walking in right behind so once his eyes meet yours all you can do is wave at each other. Something catches your eye. A deep red mark peeking just over the collar of his shirt. He hadn't even bothered to cover them up. He straightens up in his seat and you think he wasn't able to catch the blush on your cheeks.

Class goes on as usual for the most part, until your focus starts to shift elsewhere. Seungcheol sits to the side, so you have a clear view of his profile. You start to map every detail: from his hair, to his thick eyebrows, big brown eyes with long eyelashes, the bridge of his nose, full lips, strong jawline. And he's turning to look at you expectantly. Wait. Shit, he's looking over. You avert your gaze quick though it's too late, he already caught you staring. Someone's calling your name. The professor. "I'm sorry, what?" You ask sheepishly.

He gives you an unimpressed look, telling of how this is not the first time you've done this and you grimace. He repeats the question for you and now you answer, eyes downcast while your face burns. You miss the grin on Seungcheol's face.

When the lecture's over, you all but run for the exit. He's hot on your heels, calling out after you. You stop, grimacing again, before you turn around, finding the cracks between the floor tiles very interesting. Your sway from side to side on the spot, arms wrapped around you not knowing what to do with yourself, and Seungcheol is enjoying how flustered this has gotten you. Between the two of you, you've always been more cheeky, which is a lot to say because you're still pretty shy.

"Have you heard that it's not nice to stare?"

"I don't know. Something tells me you liked it." you answer back.

"I did." He admits, dropping the banter before picking it up again, "I just don't want you to start getting distracted again by your friend." He almost gets too carried away nearly calling himself your boyfriend, thinking back to the first proper conversation you had with him. Seems that thinking about that day whatever way it may be is dangerous. "As your tutor, I have to disapprove." But he thinks he made a good enough safe.

"I think my tutor is putting as much work to distract me too. Might have to speak to the professor about looking for another one."

"You wouldn't." As you make it to circle past him back to the classroom, he wraps his arms around you pulling you to him, your back against his chest uncaring of being in the middle of a crowded hallway. "You're stuck with me." That makes you laugh. He smiles against your hair at the sound.

You turn in his hold, staring up at him. There's a boyish smile on his face for you. You bring up a hand to poke at his cute dimple, and then you're distracted again by the marks on his skin. Your fingers trace down and over the tender spot. "You know, people can see these."

Seungcheol shrugs. One of his hands comes up to wrap around your wrist, holding your hand in place as he kisses your palm, then he's making you wrap your arms around his neck. "I like them." He says, wearing them proudly, "You think I should've worn a turtleneck?"

"Mmm", you pretend to think it over, "I think they'd also look so good on you."

"Fine. I'll wear one then." You smile at him, and open your mouth like you're about to say something else. Sensing your hesitation, he encourages you to speak, "What is it?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to talk to you about something but I'm not sure this is a good place for it." You tell him, looking around at the other students hurrying to get to their to their next class, which you two also should be doing. He raised a brow, wondering what you want to talk about that you can't tell him right now. Was it bad? You notice him worrying his bottom lip and you speak up again to try and stop him from overthinking, "Don't worry, it's not bad. It's about what happened the other day."

"Oh." He nods sheepishly. You could get whiplash from how he can go from being this cute to being such a freak.

But wait, his mind refuses to not think more about it, what was your definition of "not bad'? What if you were going to tell him it had just been a one time thing? What if you wanted to call off your studying sessions and everything altogether? It plants a seed of doubt in him, invasive, one that sprouts and weaves all around trying to squeeze his heart and lungs making it hard to breathe.

Before he can pry further, you speak again."We're going to be late. Meet later?"

"Sure, okay." He nods, but it feels awkward when he smiles at you. Yours is pretty before you kiss his cheek and start walking away to your next class. He turns to look at you and sees you turning to wave at him one more time.

And now he has to go through the rest of the day trying not to go mad about every single possible outcome of your upcoming conversation. He hates the suspense.

\\\

Needless to say, he struggles to focus during the rest of the class day, his mind spinning all sorts of scenarios, most of them leading to a bad ending. The clock on the wall marks the end of his last lecture and he's the first to cross out the door, heading towards the front of the building where he waits only a few minutes before you're walking over to him. "Your place?" Does he really want you to dump him at his place where it would be even easier for his mind to bring it up and grief him any time? Well, practically you can't dump him, right? You're not together. Which brings no comfort. It's actually worse. And he's taking too long to give you an answer, so regardless of his feelings he finds himself nodding under your expectant gaze. Then you're grabbing one of his fidgeting hands in yours, intertwining your fingers and leading the way. It gets his thoughts to quiet down.

Mingyu's not back yet, so it's just the two of you. He moves slowly, shrugging off his bag and moving in autopilot. If this is it, he might as well make it last even if it eats him from the inside. You're merciful in making you both sit in the living room couch so he doesn't attach the memory to his room, where some of his best moments with you have happened. His hand's still in yours.

You don't make him wait any longer, "So, I heard something." You wince. Not because of what you're going to say, but because you're about to confess you eavesdropped on him and Mingyu by asking, "Was I really your first time?"

His eyes go comically wide while his face burns. This? He's been going crazy all day about this conversation happening and you're telling him this? It's far better than all he managed to come up with but it's still mortifying enough. He's going to kill Mingyu as soon as he sees him.

His lips part and close making him resemble a fish, and he looks away and at the coffee table in front of him instead while he nods.

You groan, your hand releasing his so both can come up to hide your face. Your voice comes out muffled, "Why didn't you say anything! I practically jumped you."

Now apart from embarrassed, he's also confused about why you're embarrassed. He turns back to you, gently pulling your hands away so he can see you, "What for? I happily let you, didn't I?"

You stare at him, surprised, a matching blush on your face. Then you're throwing yourself at him and burying your face in his chest instead. He hears your muffled voice against his hoodie as you start talking again "We should've done this differently. It was meant to be special for you but I had to rush everything-"

He grabs your waist and you gasp as he brings you onto his lap. Then he's cupping your face to keep you from hiding, "Hey, listen to me. You didn't do anything I didn't want you to. It was special. You know why?" You shake your head,"Because it was with you. I really liked it. Wouldn't change a thing. Understood?" Liking it doesn't even begin to cover it. He actually loved it but he was afraid that would come off as too much and scare you off.

If you weren't stunned to silence, you are now. So you do the most sure thing and you kiss him. He's quick to follow, pressing his lips sweetly against yours."Understood." You tell him when you pull away.

"Smart." He's giving you a cheeky smile, "I really wanted you to jump me."

"Yeah? Want me to jump you now?" You ask him biting your lip. It directs his attention to them, and between that, the look you're giving him and having you on top of him again it's enough to have him ready to go.

Just as he's about to answer, the front door swings open. Your heads turn and you see Mingyu stepping inside. He sees you two and stops, a hand still on the doorknob. "Oh. What's up?" Then, even though it's not a clear view with his friend craning his neck to look back at him, he notices there's that familiar, scary threat in Seungcheol's glare. He has a feeling it has nothing to do with him walking in on you.

"Would you give me a minute?" Seungcheol's eyes turn soft when he looks back at you. You nod curiously. As soon as you're off him, he stalking towards Mingyu. Instinctively, he runs for it.

"Wait! Hold on! Wai- What did I do?!"

5: Jealousy

Time keeps moving. Things between you and Seungcheol have definitely changed; you keep studying together, have lunch together whenever you can (sometimes joined by Mingyu), hang out at each other's place which often ends in a heated make out session. But he's not just the tutor your professor assigned you anymore. Hasn't been for a while ever since you slept with him. Maybe you were already falling before that. You don't know. But you're just friends, right? Friends that fucked once and would be fucking a lot more if you didn't put every ounce of self-control you could muster to use. Because what if he doesn't want anything serious? Does he even see you as someone he would like to date? He thinks you're pretty, has told you so many times. Enjoys touching you and kissing you, but what if that's the extent of it? You think back to your last relationship and feel that uncomfortable pang in your chest. But your ex was an idiot. Seungcheol's nothing like that. He can be very shy though. Maybe that's why he hasn't said anything? Should you be the one to ask him out?

You're thinking too much it must be showing on your face. You shake your head, trying to keep your spirits high, but seems like today's not your day. You hear him calling out your name before you see him. He's too close already for you to try and dodge him, so you close your eyes, take a deep breath and turn to face him and tell him to get lost.

Seungcheol thinks life is good. He's doing well at school, makes money with his tutoring job while at it, has good friends, spends time with the girl he likes any chance he gets. It could get better, Mingyu agrees, if he finally stopped chickening out from asking you out properly.

"What if she turns me down?" He worries throwing his arms out defeatedly, turning his body slightly towards Mingyu as they walk down the halls.

"Does those heart eyes she gives you mean nothing to you?" Mingyu gives him a look before continuing, "That's the worse thing she could do though, and it wouldn't be the end of the world-" So much for his pep talk, "but she won't." They turn a corner.

It's as far as the conversation goes, because he's not listening anymore. He's now looking at the person talking to you. His eyes swirl with contempt, body locking in with tension. Mingyu takes a few more strides before he realizes Seungcheol fell to a stop behind him. "What? What is it?" He looks from Seungcheol to where his gaze is fixed on, to find you talking with your ex, "That guy again? Seriously, he needs to take a hint."

Unless you actually consider getting back with him, an annoying voice in his head taunts him. He doesn't have more time to stand there and brood because Mingyu's pulling him forward trying to listen to the conversation.

"I've already told you I'm sorry. What else do you want?"

"I'm sorry I put you through that." You say sarcastically. Seungcheol doubts if he can even catch that, "I never asked you to do it. In fact, I never asked anything from you besides respect." Seungcheol frowns. He still doesn't know what happened to put an end to things between you, wonders what did he do to make you say that.

Something you said must've been funny for him, because he gives you an amused look,"You're just acting difficult."

"And you're wasting my time. Again." You grit out and try to turn to leave.

He grabs your arm harshly, forcing you to face him again. "We're not done."

"We've been done for a long time. I don't want anything to do with you." You repeat, "Let go." You say, uneasy, wincing when he does the opposite, his grip getting tighter. "You're hurting me."

The moment Seungcheol sees your ex cross the line, he's walking over and taking hold of his arm, making him let go of you. "Don't ever touch her again." he says, rigid with anger.

He shrugs off Seungcheol's hold roughly. Something flickers in his eyes as he takes a close look at him, recognition and something more unpleasant. You know that you won't like whatever he chooses to do next, "Got yourself a good lap dog by letting him hit?" He says and dares to scoff like he has any right to reproach anything about your life, "You've become so easy."

It happens fast. Seungcheol throws a punch, your ex narrowly dodging it and connecting his own fist right over Seungcheol's lip. You shout, the chatter around you stopping before resuming more intensely when the rest of the students standing close by caught on to what's happening. A trickle of blood stains Seungcheol's skin and the front of his sweater. His glasses clatter on the floor, but when he goes for another punch it lands and your ex is going to be sporting a black eye later. You try to get in between them to stop the fight but Mingyu comes up from behind you right on time to steady you when your ex almost knocks you back. Some other students try to help to break them apart.

\\\

By the time Seungcheol sees you again, you're way less upset but still worried. Mingyu stuck with you waiting for Seungcheol as well, helping you calm down and getting you to stop crying until he had to leave for class. Thankfully, someone from faculty had stepped in and they didn't report the matter of the fight over to campus security, which would've risked getting the local police involved. Still, if something like that ever happened again on campus grounds they wouldn't be so forgiving. They also knew Seungcheol, that he was a great student and it wasn't normal for him to exhibit violent behaviour.

Sure enough, when both boys walk out of the professor's office, you see the area around your ex's right eye beginning to redden and darken, while Seungcheol's got a busted lip. You run over to him, "What happened? Are you okay?" One of your hands hovers unsurely over his mouth, and your eyes threaten to well up with tears again. Your ex walks past you silently observing you and glaring at you both. He fills you in and assures you he's not in trouble, that's he's okay. "You shouldn't have done that. You got hurt, and you could've gotten in trouble with the police or expelled!"

He frowns. "I was supposed to let him get away with doing and saying those things about you without paying for it?"

"He was obviously trying to provoke you."

"I don't care about that. He was hurting you. I won't let it slide for anyone to touch you or speak to you that way." He shoots back. He thinks back to how he was gripping your wrist and feels himself getting angry again. You sniffle, and he sees a tear that manages to escape before you hug him. He gets this deep, unpleasant feeling in his chest at the sight. He doesn't think he's ever felt something like it. He panics. "Wait, no, I'm sorry." He's definitely not sorry for punching that idiot but he scrambles for anything that'd make you feel better. "Please don't cry."

He stops briefly at his dorm before he's meeting you back at your place again later in the evening. He probably shouldn't, given that he just managed to slip free of trouble for starting a physical fight and now he's risking it by coming into your dorm. Curfew's still not in place but he knows well he's always still there when the time comes. You tell him so, but it betrays you how you brighten up at the sight of him nonetheless, just wanting him close. There's still a redness in the corner of your eyes from earlier.

None of you are thinking about homework or exams right now. You're lying in your bed, he's got his back against the headboard while you rest your head on his lap. One of his hands threads through your hair affectionately. It's just the two of you enjoying each other's company.

"You know, I think I have a great idea of how my lip could heal faster." He starts to say. You turn slightly to look up at him with a questioning look. "Kiss is better?" And he juts his lip out, mustering the most disarming pout he can. He's so cute you could start punching the air. And it really works, because you're about to fall right into his trap.

You sit up, resting a hand on his thigh for support, and can't help but giggle at how excited he looks that you're actually going to do it. You lean in to softly press your lips against his own over the small gash. Just a feathery brush being careful not to hurt him and then you're trying to pull back. But he's bringing up a hand to cup the back of your neck and chasing your lips again with more intention. "Cheol- Wait I don't- I don't want to hurt you."

"You're not hurting me." He mumbles, eyes barely open, not letting the space between you widen more than a breath, "Your kiss would never hurt me. It already feels better."

"It's going to start bleeding again." You say more seriously and pull away.

"I'm not going to be able to kiss you now because of the stupid cut?" He's pouting again, but he really looks upset now. You laugh.

"You should've known better than getting into a fight." You take the opportunity to lightly scold him again. He sulks even more, looking away. You're not going to agree regarding the topic. It's not easy for you either, you think. You love kissing his luscious lips and it doesn't help that he's really good at it. Your own self control is starting to fray until it comes undone.

"But I can make you feel better some other way." You offer, biting your lip. He's still being petty and not looking over. So you decide to go ahead.

You move back to your previous position. When it was all but innocent earlier, now you nuzzle your face right over him, making his dick jump in his pants. You hear a deep intake of air from above you and smile to yourself. His hand goes back to your hair when you do it again, more to ground himself than anything. Your name leaves his lips, voice unsteady. You raise yourself up only so you can slide his pants down, then you're lowering yourself again to leave kisses and suck teasingly over where's he's already straining in his boxers, helping him get completely there by bringing a hand to stroke him over the fabric. A moan slips from his lips, and you look up at his face through your lashes. There's already a hazy look in his eyes, his breathing hard, splotches of red blooming on his face down to his neck. You're faring no better, and you feel it in the ache between your legs. His eyes follow your every move as you're back up, brushing your thumb over his lower lip to free it from where he'd caught it between his teeth to stop more sounds from tumbling out. You tut, "You're going to hurt yourself."

"Sorry, it's just- You…" he trails off, not really knowing what he was going for in the first place, mind shutting off with nothing but you in it.

"Has anyone given you a blowjob before?" You ask straightforwardly. His face turns even more red as he shakes his head. It's not of importance if there was someone before, but you still get a thrill hearing you're his first. You pull the elastic of his boxers and let it snap lightly against his skin again before you go to take them off.

"You don't- You don't have to." He barely has the restraint to say.

"I know I don't. I want to. " He has no idea how much you've wanted it. "I want to suck you off. Make you feel really good. Can I?" You ask to make sure he's okay with this.

He gulps. "Yes. Please." He'll let you do anything you asked.

"Good." You smile, "But no biting these or I stop." you place your index finger to his lips. "Let me hear you."

You get rid of what's left of his clothes and start leaving a path of kisses from his chest down to his tummy, following his happy trail until you're right over him. Puckering your lips, you let the spit that's been gathering in your mouth drip over his cock. You close your hand around him as best as you can, giving it a few wet jerks. The tips of your fingers don't touch. He's fully hard already, leaking with precum. The first press of your lips makes him moan as you leave a few kisses. You dart out your tongue and flatten it to lick the underside from base to tip, feeling the thick vein there before you switch to kitten lick his tip where he's more sensitive. You pay attention to it, his salty taste hitting your tongue, loving how he responds and instinctively bucks his hips up, starting to get restless. Finally, you close your lips around him and slowly sink down, taking everything you can. When you swallow around him he curses, hands bunching the sheets so tight his knuckles turn white. His head hits the headboard with a soft thud when he screws his eyes shut and throws it back, letting out the prettiest of moans without a care in the world. You moan and feel your underwear starting to get uncomfortably wet. You swirl your tongue around him, he's hot and heavy against it, before you come up to breath, a string of your saliva connecting from his cock to your lips.

You sink back down, paying some attention to his balls, licking and sucking, his whole body jolting involuntarily. You sooth with both your hands smoothing up and down his thighs sweetly and one of his hands returns to the top of your head, brushing your hair softly and holding it back for you. You take his cock back in your mouth, quickly finding your rhythm now bobbing your head up and down, working your tongue around him. His breathing becomes more shallow and you can feel him twitch in your mouth. You redouble your efforts, your jaw starting to feel numb but you focus on him, on keeping him making those pretty sounds for as long as you can. He looks down at you with half lidded eyelids, beads of sweat building over his temple, his chest glistening. Stars swim around his eyesight threatening to burst at any moment for how you're making him feel and more seeing how you're also relishing in it. A couple tears have streaked down your cheeks, but the sight of them like this don't upset him like when you were crying earlier. A few loose strands of your hair stick to your forehead, and your chin is shiny with your spit with the mess you've made all over his cock down to his balls. It's everything about you like this that brings him dangerously to the edge with barely no warning, "Fuck, I'm gonna- I'm gonna-"

You only moan in response, pulling back slightly but never taking him out of your mouth and he can only just give in to the wave of pleasure washing over him when he cums. Strings of hot, thick, white cum hit your tongue and you swallow every drop. He thrusts into your mouth a couple of times, hitting the back of your throat and making you gag, before he stills and slumps into the bed. You release him from your mouth with a pop, going to give a few teasing licks as he starts to grow softer. He hisses, sensitive now and you stop, switching to leave kisses on his thighs, going up to his tummy and chest that rises and falls fast as he tries to catch his breath from the intensity of his high. When you're face to face, he gives you a tired smile, eyes swirling with affection. You smile at him and kiss the corner of his lips.

Again, he pulls you into him so you're kissing him properly and you gasp in his mouth. He can taste himself in you, before you're pulling away to chide him one more time. It's clear he doesn't care though as he just nods and looks at you like you're the most precious thing in his life. He really wants to ask you out. Maybe he should do it another time when he's not entirely naked in front of you, sticky and sweaty after he just came in your mouth to save himself from further embarrassment if you say no. He also thinks you might hate him for asking while you're also a total mess but he adores how messy you get for him. Before he can overthink it longer and this sudden courage wears out, he's letting the words tumble out of his mouth, "Go out with me? On a date?"

Your eyes widen and go rounder with surprise, and he braces himself. But then you're smiling bashfully, trying to smooth down your hair staring at his lips, before you meet his big, bright, warm brown eyes. "You want to date me?"

"Yes." He says firmly, nodding for emphasis.

"I thought you'd never ask. Yes, I want to go out on a date with you."

He falls asleep shortly after having to drag himself under your bed when someone knocks on your front door (He pulled his boxers back on and kicked the rest of his clothes under it before ducking and hiding himself. You can't help yourself and give him a little slap on his perfectly round ass under the disguise of hurrying him and have to hold back your laughter when he jolts with a yelp and throws you a look before getting out of sight. It's not much of an easy task given that the space under your bed is narrow and he's a big guy so it's a very uncomfortable fit. Your roommate who got back some time before curfew started beats you to the door and opens it, letting the student that makes the rounds come in. She greets you kindly, making small talk while walking around the place and you open the doors to your rooms. Soon, she's back out without a single clue of Seungcheol being there.). You're sitting on your desk with his tee shirt on typing away on your laptop finishing a paper for one of your classes, but the sight of him like that, so relaxed, soft yet sinful has you stealing glances at him more often than not. He's splayed on his back on your bed taking most of the space, one arm folded under his head, legs spread, one of them slightly bent. wearing only his boxers while he snoozes softly, serene look in his face as his chest rises and falls slowly. He'd fallen asleep with his glasses on but you took them off to make him comfortable. You smile, your eyes twinkling brightly thinking about moments ago. Your heart flutters; you can't wait for your -

6: Date

Seungcheol checks his appearance on the full body mirror in his room for the nth time. He's nervous but excitement thrums steadily in his veins, glowing on his face. Mingyu walked into the room a few minutes ago to tease him as he finishes getting ready. Seungcheol gets he means well, and it's actually helping him relax.

"Don't want to rush you or anything but you're going to be late if you keep checking yourself out." Mingyu tells him, making him glance at the time. He hurries one last look, fixing his already styled hair.

"Do you think she'll like it though?" He meets his eyes in the mirror's reflection.

"She told you she'd like it, right? She'll love it." Then he adds, "Though I'm not sure if she'll choose it best after she's seen what's underneath."

"Do you really have to say those things?"

"You're the same or even worse than me." Silence. No argument, and Mingyu smiles triumphantly.

You'd insisted to meet there when he told you he'd pick you up. He invited you to the winter festival going on on the town's square. He gets there on time, before sundown, and looks around for you amongst the throng of people already there.

"Cheol?" He hears your voice calling for him. You're close. He turns towards it and he sees you standing up from a bench, smiling and waving at him. He walks over.

"Hi." He breaths out, nerves creeping back in.

"Hi." you stand on tip toe and kiss his cheek. It's cold, so the color on his cheeks could be because of that. You take in his appearance. "You're wearing a turtleneck." And your smile growing bigger makes your eyes shine brighter.

"I told you I would. So, what do you think?"

"I love it." You state, and he looks down in an attempt to hide his bashful smile from you. That four letter word keeps going in circles in his mind. "What's that?" you point curiously at a small box in his hand.

"It's a gift. For you. I- I actually bought you something else but I didn't want you to have to carry it around all night." He rambles, beginning to undo his hairstyle by brushing his hand through the soft strands. He's doing so well. If only he could shut up.

"Great minds think alike." you smile brightly at him, and that's when he notices the bag you're holding behind your back. "I got something for you too."

You sit down, and hand him his gift. He takes out the contents from the bag: there's a new lego set, a book and a small box that holds a thin gold chain. You watch, excited for his reactions. When he looks up at you, there's a sparkle in his eyes. You're incredible. "I love them, thank you. You didn't have to do all of this."

"Shut up. Then why did you bring me something?"

"Because- Because I wanted to."

"Well, there you have it. I wanted to too." You say firmly.

He laughs, shaking his head before urging, "Open yours."

You open the small box to find a dainty gold bracelet inside. You gasp, "It's beautiful." He smiles, pleased that you liked it and helps you put it on. "You didn't need to get me anything else."

Now it's his turn to tell you to shut up. "We should find a good spot to watch when they turn on the lights." You nod, and grab his hand when he offers it.

There's lots to do, but first you watch as the square fills color with Christmas lights. A giant Christmas tree, with a shining star on the top, and covered in ornaments with enough space in it left for the people to decorate it too. Stands of food vendors to cater visitors with something warm - except that you actually go for an ice cream stand first and Seungcheol thinks you're insane. "Some people crave ice cream when it's cold." is what you tell him. -, live music, attractions and rides for the kids - you still drag him onto the carousel-, an ice rink, souvenir stands, a photo booth.

You grab your photo strips, and smile staring at them.You're making silly faces on the first one, he'd hugged you from the back on the second one and you're not even looking at the camera, you slightly turned towards him while he looks at you, but there's big smiles on your faces that made your eyes crinkle. The third one you're poking his cheeks where his dimples show, and the last one he meant to kiss your cheek but you turn at the last moment and he kissed your lips instead. It caught how his brows lifted in surprise while you smile into the kiss.

Seungcheol's cheeks hurt from how much he's smiling. The date has gone great, better than he'd imagined. He knows that it's mostly because you're the one he's with. Sure, he's getting cold as fuck the later it gets but it doesn't matter when he's holding you, your hands.

"Oh! I'll get us some more hot chocolate." It's probably your third cup, but you're off before he can get it for you anyway.

He stays right where you left him by the great water fountain, staring after you and already thinking of your next date. That's why he doesn't notice when a couple of chuckling kids come barreling through chasing each other, accidentally knocking him over. He's brought back from his daydreaming, caught off guard. The back of his legs hit the edge, hands shooting from where they were in his coat pockets trying to regain his balance in vain. He falls backwards into the freezing water.

"Oh my God, Seungcheol! Are you okay?" And you're back. You forget the two cups in your hands, leaving them on the edge and going to help him out. His teeth are chattering when he answers yes, clothes and hair soaked and dripping all over where he now stands. "What happened?" He explains still befuddled himself shivering through all the recount. He can also tell you're doing your best not to laugh at him because seriously, how ridiculous can his luck be, but you also feel bad and are worried he might get sick. "We should call it a night."

\\\

Seungcheol comes out of the shower, and when he's done toweling his damp hair, he beelines for his bed, burying under the sheets right next to where you're sitting. You laugh, poking his side. "What is it?" He just groans. You try to yank the sheets off him so you can see him but he doesn't relent. When he turns to avoid you, you end up toppling over him. You squeal, more laughter bubbling up. Finally, you wrench the sheets from him, revealing his face, eyes screw shut as he complains. "C'mon, talk to me."

"Fuck! I'm so sorry. Everything was going so well and I had to screw it all up taking a dive in the fountain." It's really hard not to laugh but you'd make it worse if you do, so you force it down.

"Hey, you didn't ruin everything. I had a really good time, enjoyed every second of it."

"It's just- I really like you and I don't want to mess things up." He confesses, opening his eyes and looking straight up at you. His hair's a mess from rolling all over the bed, and he looks really upset about it, his words sincere.

"I really like you too." You say, and his sulky expression splinters, a tentative smile shining through.

"You do?"

"Mmhm. I like you this much." And you open your arms as wide as you can. Seungcheol really laughs this time. That seems to do it. He sits up and wraps his arms around you. You hug him back just as tight. "Now can we cuddle?"

Later before you inevitably have to leave, he hands you your other present. When you tear off the wrap paper from it, you find a journal and a set of pens. Good ones. He rambles on about the details, what type they are, how the ink dries fast so you don't have to worry about smudges on your notes. And maybe you shut him up with a kiss and stay a little longer.

"I still can't believe they managed to drop you into the fountain."

"I was distracted!" By you. "You're laughing. I could've been seriously hurt! I could've drowned!"

"That's a little too far fetched."

"There's a bruise on my ass."

"We can't have that." And you sound really worried this time.

7: PDA

Finals are coming up, and with it the end of the semester and the beginning of the holidays. That's why Mingyu, Seungcheol and you find yourselves in the library late one night getting in some extra studying. It's more like Seungcheol's helping Mingyu at this point. There's a topic he's struggling with, and Seungcheol has tried to explain it several times already in different ways. He's starting to lose his patience but you know he won't drop it until he gets it. You watch amused as his eyes go a little wider the more it goes on, Mingyu looking like there's not a single thought getting through his head. You let out a quiet laugh while you review your notes again.

"I get it now. Can we please take a break?" Mingyu says after a while. He's saying he finally grasped it, but something tells you he's lying so he can get over it and finish up. Seungcheol and you share a look. He's thinking the same thing. "You heard about the party this weekend?"

"What party?" You ask.

"A friend of Mingyu's throwing a huge end of the semester party. It's kinda like a Christmas thing too. Basically he invited everyone." Seungcheol tells you.

Instead of wondering where this guy's planning to fit the whole campus in a way that's safe and how can he afford it, you say, "We still have finals left. Don't you think he's a little ahead?"

"We finished classes already. Can't you let him take a win?" He nudges you playfully."I'm going. We should all go."

After a while, Mingyu takes his leave. You ask Seungcheol if he thinks he's going to be okay. He tells you he'll be alright and that whatever he doesn't know he has confidence to make up for it. You aren't sure how can you measure confidence on a written evaluation but you don't doubt he's right. "You want to go to that party?" He asks you.

"Only if you want to." you say, "Mingyu wants us to go." Seungcheol nods. You're going then. "Let's review this again so we can go."

Now, he groans, resting his head on the table with his arms stretched in front of him defeatedly. He whines out, "Again? We've been here for hours. You've read those a hundred times already."

"No, I haven't." You have, "Just once and we'll go." And as if hearing you, the bright overhead lights go off, only leaving the warm lights from the lamps on each occupied desk. There's only a few other students scattered around since it's nearing closing time. He begrudgingly takes the stack of flashcards you hand him to test you first.

Like he said, you do great, but he knows that you always worry about not doing well during the actual test so he goes along with it as long as it helps you. He fuels you on and smiles at you. "I told you."

You smile back, preening under his praise. "Your turn." you gesture for his flashcards.

"We don't need to." But you're stubborn and insist. "Fine. But I get a kiss for every answer right." He bargains.

You raise your brow at him knowingly. You know better than that but still you find yourself agreeing. "Okay. Let's see how you do."

Hint: He gets every answer right, happily claiming his reward each time. The first kiss is a peck, ends as quickly as it began. You don't think much of it, not even when his gaze stays fixed on the movement of your lips as you go on to read the next card. Maybe he actually intends to behave this time. But as you continue, his kisses linger, each one lasting more than the other, then he's pulling back leaving you breathless and chasing after his lips. There's still a few cards left in your hand when he decides he's had enough, insatiable with your lips still moving against his own after his latest answer. He grabs your waist, lifting you over the armrests of your chair onto his lap. The cards slip from your hands and spill on the floor. You gasp his name against his lips, but he just kisses you again, his hands still on your waist making you rock against him. "Seungcheol, we're in the library." you whisper. It sounds loud in the quiet space, no doubt as it also does the smack of your lips together, and as his kisses travel lower to your jaw, your neck, and back up so he can nip at your ear playfully.

"I want to kiss you." It's like he's been bewitched by them. His only thoughts being about kissing your already swollen, shiny lips. Touching you and hold you closer until there's no space left.

"You're doing more than that." You call out but you don't do anything to stop him.

The couple of students that were closer to your usual table had left a few minutes ago. The only one in your field of vision is at a table way at the front, partially hidden from view by a tall set of bookshelves. The librarian's shift's been long over and the student in charge at the desk is nodding off with her headphones on.

You lose yourselves in each other with each grind of your hips, kisses only broken for your need to breathe. You don't care that it's uncomfortable, with the armrests of the chair digging into your thighs. You're more worried about how damp your underwear's getting, molding to your puffy lips and leaving a damp spot on Seungcheol's dress pants when it soaks through. He had a presentation for his last class just before you met here, so he'd been more particular with his outfit today. You, for one, had appreciated it and you're sure more than one person other than you had checked out his ass in those pants. You'd be jealous if you had to, but you're the one sitting on top of him now, undoing the first buttons of his shirt so you can kiss, lick, and mark his skin. You're lying you were still jealous only thinking about someone else staring but you don't blame them.

Seungcheol's hands move from your waist to the back of your thighs, up until they're fondling your asscheeks. He's still aiding your movements as he spreads you for him when one of his hands gets dangerously close to where you're aching for him. Then it's slipping under your panties, feeling the wetness pooling there. He bites his lip, "You're so wet." Spreading your puffy lips with two of his thick fingers, collecting your slick. He sinks his middle one into your heat and kisses you again to swallow any sounds that may threaten to fall from your lips. Your walls pulse, pussy sucking his finger in every time he pulls it back just to thrust it back in. His palm rubs deliciously against your clit, making more of your slick drip out all over his finger down his hand. Then you're taking another. Fuck, he wishes it was his cock stretching your little pussy instead of his fingers.

And he realizes he said his wish aloud. You only get wetter when he voices his fantasies, the sticky sound of his fingers going in and out of you loud in his ears. Your jaw goes slack, lips parting prettily in a silent moan as his fingers hit a sweet spot. He reaches deeper than you ever could, but he's right. His cock would feel so much better. Without any other thought, you grab his wrist to stop him. He pulls his hand away and from under your skirt, watches as you bring it to your mouth and suck his digits. He's going to bust in his pants. He's licking his own fingers and hand clean when you're done and start unbuttoning his pants. It's tight, difficult to move cramped together in the uncomfortable chair, but you manage to pull them down along with his underwear low enough to free him. He lets out a loud gasp when you wrap one manicured hand around his cock and start moving it up and down his shaft, your underwear pushed to the side and digging onto your skin as you guide him to your entrance. "We have to be quiet." you whisper into his lips, voice unsteady. You don't want to get banned from the library though that's not even remotely close to the worse thing that could happen if you get caught. He nods his head impatiently, breaths coming quick.

Your lips barely leave his the whole time. Slowly, the tip goes in and he forces himself to keep still even when you take your time to keep moving lower, your hand still working around him. He tries not to think too hard about the lewd image below your skirt. A shaky sigh leaves him when you sit fully on him. Your nails dig into his shoulders crumpling the fabric of his shirt. You stay like that for a moment, getting used to the feeling of him inside of you again before you start rolling your hips lazily. His own thrusts are shallow, his cock barely leaving your pussy to plunge back in deep. It's the best you can do to avoid alerting anybody of what's going on, while you also refuse to leave even a sliver of space between you, pressed together stealing each other's breath, kissing, touching and moving in sync.

In the dim light, Seungcheol takes everything in; the expanse of your chest visible over the neckline of your shirt glistening. He can feel beads of sweat building on his own skin, seeping onto the back of his shirt. He could stare up at you like this forever, but neither of you are going to last any longer. He can feel it in the way your thighs start trembling, and when your release hits you and you're creaming all over him, he's following right after you. Your lips meet one last time, eyes screwed shut. It's more to muffle any sound than a proper kiss, a little clumsy, before you have to pull away to be able catch your breaths.

You rest your forehead against his, wrapping your arms around his neck, an airy laugh sneaking into your little bubble, "We have to stop doing this."

And he smiles. You can try. He's brings his hands up from your thighs to your hair, feeling the damp strands around your face trying to fix them."You look so fucked out."

You raise a brow, eyes filled with mirth. "Back at you." And you start doing the same for him, fixing his glasses, his hair, buttoning up his shirt. But there's no hiding the afterglow. There's a blush on his face, his lips are swollen from all the kissing. He kisses your palm when your hand lingers on his cheek. It makes your heart skip a beat.

He pulls out, helping you fix your underwear right before you can feel his cum start to drip out of you. You then have to swat his hand away when he starts brushing his fingers over the ruined fabric, the way he bites his lip doing nothing to hide his smile. He's been spoiled beyond repair.

You gather your things, and when you're ready, he's holding your hand to head out. He has to walk closely behind you to hide the ruined front of his pants because even though you were so good to take his cum, there was no saving them from the mess you'd both made. You wish goodnight to the student working the desk, which they return with a tired smile. What you never did notice was the poor boy a few tables to the right. A first year. He'd accidentally dozed off with his head over his folded arms after stressing out over his first university finals for hours. But when he'd come to, he's caught wind of what was happening between the couple in the room. He'd looked away, flustered, burying his face back into his books, shaking his head.

Always the quiet ones, or so they say.

8 : Broken

"Hi."

"Hi." Seungcheol smiles into the kiss you give him in greeting when he opens the door of his dorm.

"You have no idea how sexy you look right now." You say, eyeing his outfit, hands on his sides.

He raises a brow but there's still an unmistakable blush on his cheeks at the compliment, "I'm wearing the ugliest ugly sweater you were able to get your hands on." You're actually matching too, your idea. He won't say but he loves that fact, his possessive side being unintentionally nurtured. Were you thinking the same when you suggested it? The thought drives him even more crazy.

You laugh, "That makes it even sexier."

This time he kisses you. You return it happily, and that encourages him to push you against the nearest wall, hiking up one of your legs around his waist. You press your hands softly to his chest and he gets the hint, pulling back, "Seungcheol, we have to make it to the party."

He sounds as breathless as you when he replies, "Do we really have to?" and it's real hard to resist him when he keeps staring at your lips. He looks right into your eyes before he utters his next words, "I'd rather stay here with you." If you're being honest, you too. But you already told Mingyu you'd go. "Mingyu won't care. He's seeing someone, they'll be there too." It's like he's read your mind and knows he's close to convincing you.

"We should spend time with our friends, otherwise they'd think I'm trying to keep you all to myself."

"What if I want you to?" He wouldn't mind. "We could eat and drink these ourselves." He says, eyeing to the side at the chocolates and cheap bottle of wine you brought along refusing to show up empty handed.

You stare at him and open your mouth like you're about to say something. Nothing but a breath comes out and the shit eating grin he's giving you tells you he's enjoying having left you at a loss for words. "I'm being serious." Is what you say when you regain your voice.

"So am I."

"They'll hate me."

"No they won't. That's ridiculous."

"Seungcheol!"

Unfortunately, despite all his efforts, you end up going. And you're surprised to find it's not some nearly unbearably loud house party with students dancing and drunk everywhere. You arrive at a mansion-like house. There's beautiful Christmas decorations in the garden,a group of people chattering lightly while they have a drink outside in the porch. Inside, more people are sitting down around a big living room, conversation and laughter filling the air. There's a big Christmas tree on the far corner, presents for the Secret Santa game under and around it. On the patio, there's tables set for when it's time for dinner. You see familiar faces and you greet them, others you're not so glad to see.

You walk into the kitchen, where a few other people are lingering around. There you find Mingyu. He's with his date, both talking to who he introduces to you as the host of the party. "You made it!" He beams. When he introduces you two as his favorite couple, you almost die on the spot, cheeks burning. But when Seungcheol's hand in yours only gives you a gentle squeeze and you look over at him, you allow yourself to smile when you see that he doesn't seem to mind. And he doesn't at all. His cheeks could start hurting by how wide he's smiling.

You elbow Mingyu and pull him to the side while Seungcheol and his friend talk. He protests but you shut him up. "Why did you say that?"

"What?" He asks confused, seeing as you fidget and pull at your sleeves until they cover half your hands.

"Seungcheol and I aren't a couple." you hiss back.

"You're wearing matching sweaters." He deadpans. "Labels. But trust me, that'll change soon. He's head over heels for you. You two can't be more obvious."And he sees you smile.

A projector's set and the group in the living room watch a movie. You sit on a bean bag and Seungcheol grabs a cushion to sit on the floor in front of you. One of his hands brushes up and down one your legs where they rest at either side of him absentmindedly. He's seemingly paying attention to the movie, until at one point he's not. Resting his head on your thigh he can't stop himself from nipping your soft flesh playfully, making you yelp. A few people around give you a look,"Sorry, that-really startled me." It's your lame excuse. It's not like there's any jumpscares. Seungcheol snorts and you're very tempted to whack the back of his head. He behaves for the rest of the movie though, almost falling asleep with his head cushioned by your thigh. You eat, and after, you gather once again in the living room to exchange gifts before the group scatters to do different things. You're doing karaoke now, someone giving their own rendition of a Christmas song classic while the rest hype them up as they half nail it until their voice breaks and cracks. You have a turn too, and though he puts up a fight at first, Mingyu manages to drag Seungcheol to the center to sing as well. The few drinks he's had helped him let loose.

He plops down beside you after his performance. Someone else steps up and starts looking for a song. You laugh as he buries his face into your neck. "Did you like it?" He murmurs, his hot breath smelling faintly of alcohol tickles you.

You hum affirmatively, "Loved it." You can't see it but you feel him smile. He's practically clinging to you, leaving kisses on your neck. "Cheol, there's people around." You glance around the room, while the song starts. They're doing pretty good.

"Don't care."

"I do. And you're drunk."

"Am not." He is. He can handle it well, but he's buzzed. And getting a little too handsy. There's a high note and the person singing butchers it. "We've been here for enough time already so we can leave."

"Sure. We'll leave soon." But first you'll get him to sober up a little. "Give me a moment. I'll be right back."

He only wraps his hands around you tighter. "Where are you going?"

"I'm just going to get you some water. Wait here." and reluctantly, he lets go.

You try to make your way around to the kitchen in the big house, only entering one wrong room in the process. Meanwhile, Seungcheol stands up and walks out. The living room was beginning to get stuffy. His skin feels hot, face slightly red, and his sweater itches. He welcomes the cold air outside, taking a seat on an outdoor couch nearby. He doesn't notice when someone slips out after him, leaned back with his eyes closed, but when they sit in top of him, he's smiling when they lean in to kiss him. He kisses back.

You frown when you head back to the living room and Seungcheol's nowhere to be seen. You start to walk back out and come across Mingyu, almost stumbling into him and knocking over the drink in his hand. "Shit, sorry. Have you seen Cheol?"

He shakes his head and offers to help you look for him. Worried he might have sneaked outside while it's cold, you start there. You're quick to find him but you stop right under the threshold, the sliding door having been left open. A chill gust of wind hits your face. It's nothing compared to the scene unfolding right before your eyes that has you stumbling back like you've been slapped.

What he sees when he opens his eyes doesn't make sense. It's not you in front of him, but your roommate. It's like someone drops a bucket of ice cold water over him when he hears a noise, like someone taking a sharp breath, and he looks over to find you and Mingyu standing by the door. He's fully sober now. Mingyu looks the most confused he's ever been. But you. There's a look in your eyes. Something more than disappointment, betrayal, while silent tears roll down your face. You snap out of it, and the last he sees is how you're face crumples up with so much hurt before you spin around in a hurry to leave. Mingyu calls your name, starting after you but he doesn't know what to do.

No.

"Oops. Guess she saw that." Your roommate says faking innocence. But when she turns back to him, she's smiling, uncaring. All her attention is on him, while he's still struggling to grasp what's happened. "I always wondered what she saw in such a dork like you but now I get it. Bet you really know how to use this too." When she tries to touch him, he grips her wrist and pushes her hand away.

"Don't you ever come closer to me again." He spits out furiously pushing her off him, with nothing but aversion in his eyes.

She scoffs indignantly, straightening up, "I wouldn't bother going after her. Do you think she'd want anything to do with you now?" He's just about to head back inside when she speaks again, making him stop "Do you know what happened with her last boyfriend?" He waits for her to finish off. "He cheated on her."

You tune out Mingyu's calls, otherwise almost drowned under the voices from where karaoke's still going on, about to slip out of the house when you knock onto someone walking in. The water bottle you were still holding drops to the ground. You let out a hurried apology, bringing a trembling hand to hide your tear streaked face. You didn't even notice when you'd started crying.

"Your new boy already let you down?" And the owner of the voice is none other than your ex. Great. He's still blocking the front door."It's bad, isn't it?" Taking a guess by the state you're in. "Guess he just needed someone to stroke his ego. You did too much of a good job, and now he's moved on to the next one."

"Is that what happened with you?" You bite back, shoving him out of the way and stepping outside. Usually you're good ignoring his comments, but right now when everything hurts and you're already down his words land like a final blow. Your mind can't help but break down and spin his words around until you start to believe he might actually be right about it. You'd just happened to be there, he saw you were interested and you turned into option number one. A good time, until you weren't even worth that anymore. He didn't see what you saw in him. Maybe you weren't made to have more, mean something to someone, be important in their lives, in his life. You were so naïve, giving so much of yourself for someone to only take and not match. Why did you always took it too far?

Mingyu sees Seungcheol hurrying over not a moment later, "Where is she?" He looks around desperately, urgency in his voice. He's as shaken as he saw you earlier. Everything's gone wrong, like the ground is crumbling under his feet; but life keeps moving on around him, the music, the laughs, the animated conversation. It's driving him insane. He shouldn't have come, he was so close to convincing you to stay back. His mind keeps repeating that over and over.

"She left. Wait- You can't go after her right now. Not like this." Mingyu has to struggle to hold him back. He's about to ask what the fuck does he mean when he catches his reflection on the round mirror above a small table near the front door. He doesn't look any better than he feels. He wipes the red lipstick off harshly and thinks he's going to be sick, the warm and fuzzy feeling from the alcohol before now making his stomach churn dangerously.

It must show on his face, because Mingyu makes him lean on him and begins hauling him to the nearest bathroom. "I have to tell her it's not what it looked like." He's aware of how that sounds. Like a poor excuse. He should've known something was off. You wouldn't have been all over him while he'd been drinking. Your weight on his, your perfume, your lips, all that he knew so well. And now he was risking missing them for good.

9: Now

Your phone had been ringing to the point of exhaust. You put it on silent, throwing it away letting yourself be swallowed by your sheets. Last night when you got to your dorm, you'd sent an email to the student affairs' office requesting for a dorm change. Either you got that, or you'd put a complain on your roommate and get her out. You don't think she'd be opposed to leave, not after you'd run into her this morning. It was more out of impulse than anything, but you'd raised your hand and slapped her across the face so hard she'd only gaped at you, speechless, not daring to hit back. You didn't regret it. She deserved it. The dorm has been silent since she'd walked out the door in the minutes that followed. That is until you hear a knock on the door and someone calling your name. You won't open it. Hopefully he'd leave. But he doesn't. You hesitate near the door whether to tell him to go away or not.

"Can we please talk?" Seungcheol's voice sounds raspy from lack of use or like he'd been crying. If you answered the door, you'll see he mirrors you by how wrecked he really is. His hairs disheveled from how many times he's pulled and stressed his hands through it. He got no sleep last night, dark circles under his eyes.

Silence. He starts to doubt if you're really there, but he'd asked at the desk before coming upstairs and they said they hadn't seen you leave."If you don't want to you can just listen."

"I don't want things to end like this. Fuck, they haven't even started." he lets out a humorless laugh and sniffles when a fresh wave of tears comes, "I'm so sorry, I never meant to hurt you. Last night it was all her. She wanted to pull us apart and I fell for it. I… I know what you saw, that I kissed her too. I never would've done that if I hadn't thought it was you. Never. When I saw it wasn't you I'd kissed I literally got sick and I've been beating myself up all night for how stupid I was. Please believe me." He rests his forehead against the door. "You're the only one I want. I've liked you for so long, you have no idea how much. You spending time with me has made me feel like the luckiest guy ever. I'd never throw that away fooling around." A sigh, "Still, I managed to mess it up."

There's silence for a while. You're thinking he's gone when you're startled by the sound of his voice again, broken."I understand if you need space- Or if you already made up your mind and you can't forgive me… Please tell me, curse me out, whatever you need to do, and I won't bother you ever again."

Nothing breaks the dreadful silence that follows. He really left now. Your own tears haven't stopped flowing and you keep crying leaning against the door.

Later, you force yourself up off the floor and grab your phone. There's countless missed calls and unopened texts from him since last night, a bunch from Mingyu. The ones from Seungcheol stopped coming not too long ago, probably because he was on his way over.

You open the the thread of Mingyu's messages first,

M: Pardon my unfeminist language, but your roommate's a bitch. If I was a girl, I'd slap the shit out of her.

M: It was her! It's all her scheming! You know Seungcheol wouldn't hurt you, he only has eyes for you.

M: You're my friend too and I hate that you're hurting. Please at least let me know you got home okay.

M: Please hear him out. I can't get him to calm down it's bad.

M: The guy's in love with you you know that. He's so pathetic without you.

M: Don't let that girl get away with this.

There's a voicemail too from moments after you ran out of the party. His voice comes rushed at first, knowing he only has a couple minutes and a lot he wants to get in.

"Hey! Please let me know when you get back to your place so I know you're okay. I mean I know you're not- fuck! I saw it too but I know Seungcheol, you know him and he's not like that. He's buzzed even I could get away with kissing him right now." There's a silence. Like he realized that last bit wasn't exactly helpful. You can picture his face of disgust from even saying it. "What I'm trying to say is that that girl took advantage of him. This is exactly what she wanted. Don't rush to conclusions, he's serious about you. I know you two are going to be oka-" he gets caught off.

Now that you read his messages you hope he gets you're okay, all things considered. You only reply to one message directly:

M: Pardon my unfeminist language, but your roommate's a bitch. If I was a girl, I'd slap the shit out of her.

You: I did.

You get a reply almost instantly.

M: That's my girl. I'm so proud of you.

A tiny smile peeks through your tears. He knows not to push you further. All he wanted was to know you were okay. Or alive, at least.

Then you move on to Seungcheol's messages from last night.

Cheol: We need to talk.

Cheol: Answer the phone, please.

Cheol: please pick up

Cheol: I'm so sorry. I don't know why she kissed me. I didn't want her to.

Cheol: It wasn't you. I only want you.

Cheol: You know that, right?

Cheol: Are you back at your dorm? Did you get there alright?

Cheol: I'm coming over.

Cheol: I'm at the lobby they won't let me up. I don't have much time before they kick me out.

Cheol: Let's talk it out please. I know I hurt you and I hate myself for it but we can get past this.

Cheol: Are you asleep?

Cheol: They told me I have to leave. I'll come back tomorrow so we can talk?

Cheol: Please say something. anything.

Cheol: I'm sorry.

He also left a voicemail after none of his calls went through.

"Don't think for even a second that I can like another girl that isn't you. Please, talk to me? Let me know you're safe at least. Fuck, we shouldn't have gone to that stupid party. I would've rather stay back with you. I don't care about anyone else. I love you, alright? Before you even noticed me, it was just you. Then you gave me a chance and I got to know you better. So sweet, smart, kind, funny, irresistible like I knew you'd be. You drive me crazy it was impossible not to fall for you. I don't want this to be it. I want to be with you."

You can tell he'd been crying then too just like you are now. His voice shaky and wet, catching in some parts. It was so raw and honest. He was baring his heart for you. You doubt he could be faking any of it.

You know he isn't.

But the image of him kissing someone else had hurt so much. Your brain kept trying to protect you telling you to run away from the pain before it could cut you open further, that the story was repeating itself. But your heart is telling you to go back to him. You can't let one relationship gone wrong for reasons beyond you sabotage you. Are you going to allow someone else and their malicious intentions to drive you away from whom your heart calls for? So you decide to take one step. You don't feel ready, but you go for it nevertheless.

You: I'm sorry too. We can talk.

Seungcheol goes through exams robotically. Only his lack of focus could cost him a few points from what would otherwise be perfect scores. Even if that were the case, he does not care - at least not at the moment. He'd have the entire holiday break to wallow in self-pity if he wanted to afterwards. - But it's nothing that'd affect his general grade anyway. He's talking to you right after this test, the one from the class you have together. You're only a few rows behind him and it's the closest you'd been the whole week, only catching brief glimpses of each other around campus. The toughest part has been seeing you so retreated into yourself, so dull, and knowing he'd been the cause. He feared you weren't taking care of yourself, but he was no better of an example.

He finishes before most of the rest of the class, but he deliberately stays back until the end of the hour. You're the last two to hand in your papers, then it's only the two of you in the middle of the lecture hall. There's so much to say, but where to start? It's funny, he's been wanting to talk to you for days and now everything in his head's on disarray. His eyes search your face for hope that this won't go wrong.

"I…" you both stop.

"Can I go first?" you ask, figuring it's fair. He already said enough, it's your turn to try. Besides, if you're right, things would get settled quick. You have a feeling. When he nods, you take a deep breath and speak, "Did you mean all of the things you said?" you're pulling at your shirt sleeves. It makes you look smaller than you are already compared to him but you ask looking straight into his eyes.

Seungcheol doesn't miss a beat to answer, "All of it."

"Even when you said you loved me?"

"Not loved. Love." He corrects. "I didn't want the first time I tell you to be like that," It kinda slipped out, "but it's the truth. I love you."

And you're hugging him. This is not how he expected this conversation to go. Honestly he didn't dare to picture how it'd go down, whether they be good or bad outcomes. He was about ready to plead and beg, do whatever you asked of him. But he's wrapping his arms around you tightly like he's afraid if he lets go he'd never hold you again. He kisses the crown of your hair before he rests his head on top of yours "I'm so sorry."

"I am sorry too."

"What are you sorry for?" He's frowning.

"For how I reacted, for doubting you and running without hearing you out."

"I don't think neither of us were in a good state to talk." Then he pulls back. He has to ask, "Are you sure you're okay?" He sees a few stray tears on your face and wipes them off gently.

You nod, and smile at him. "Yeah, it's just- I was so scared."

"Me too." You could've left things like that, but you chose to believe in each other. That you were in it for the long run. He leans down, resting his forehead against yours, "Thank you for coming back."

"I missed you."

"I missed you too. So much."

"Cheol?"

"Mm?"

"I love you." And he's smiling, that big smile that makes his dimples show. You both feel much more lighter now, like you can breathe again.

"I love you."

And you're about to close the small gap between you, when the door opens. You both turn towards it to find the professor.

He stops, staring at your intertwined hands. You think you see a ghost of a smile. "I just came back for this." He walks over to the desk and takes a cellphone out of one of the drawers before he heads back out. "Enjoy your holidays."

"Thanks." "You too."

"Was it me or he smiled at us?"

"It's probably because you stopped spacing out in class because of me."

"Okay that's not what happened."

"Right. You actually spaced out more."

"You're a bad tutor."

"I could do worse."

"Oh I know."

Fin.

Getting out of bed, you decide to drop the bottom of your pajama set, changing the shorts out for a pair of panties instead. You leave the tank top on for now, trying your luck at falling asleep now.

You still feel like dying.

There must be something wrong with the walls, flooring—you don't know. But there has to be something wrong with this room. There is no way it can still be this hot despite all your tries at reducing the heat.

Groaning, you lie flat on your back, staring up at the ceiling. If you can't bear the heat now, what are you going to do when Wonwoo comes back? The two of you have always slept cuddled together and you don't want to change that. But his body heat never does well to you and you end up without any sleep at night.

You're quick to discard your top as well, letting it drop to the ground as you stay in bed in just your panties, the rest of your skin on full display. You close your eyes for what feels like the hundredth time, giving falling asleep another chance.

As much as you'd love to sleep, you don't get a chance to see if the lack of clothing helps you keep the heat down as the bedroom door opens and Wonwoo comes back in, ready to join you in bed. Your name slips past his lips, forcing your eyes open as you question what he needs.

Wonwoo's eyes trail down your body, taking in every inch of your naked skin. There was no part of him that thought he'd be coming here to this. He certainly isn't complaining, though. You, sprawled out on his bed, your hair a mess on the pillow, your chest on full display, your nipples greeting him, and your pussy covered with a simple lacy sage fabric that would be so easy for him to take down.

You watch as his cock grows hard under the fabric of his sleep shorts, your eyes widening. "It's too hot in here," you excuse, turning to lay on your side.

Mistake. Big fucking mistake.

Your breasts squeeze together, appearing much bigger now than they did when you were on your back. Your ass has also joined the sight this time, and it all makes Wonwoo feel like he's going insane. "Tell me about it," he breathes out, unable to take his eyes off you. There is so much for him to look at. He doesn't have enough eyes. "Is this helping?" He steps closer to you slowly, watching as your cheeks flush.

"I didn't have a chance to figure it out yet," you mumble, your eyes following every one of his movements. His shorts rest low on his hips, the rest of his body on full display for you. He always sleeps like this but somehow, it feels much more intimate tonight. Is this how he feels watching you lie here practically naked? Is his head spinning at the sight of you like yours is over him?

"What if I want to make you warm again?" He asks, a smile spreading on his lips as he comes to your side, your head tilted back so you can look up at him. "You're so beautiful, my love."

Squeezing your thighs together, you bat your eyelashes at him. "Depends if getting warm is worth it."

"I think it'll be worth it," he nods, creating a smile on your face as well.

Pushing yourself up, you sit on the edge of the bed, opening your legs so he can step between them. Brushing your hair behind your ears, he cups your face gently before leading down and pressing his lips to yours. You wrap your hands around him without pulling away, leaning back and tugging him with you. With your back flat against the mattress, you let him climb up so he hovers over you, his lips grazing your skin. From your jaw to your breast—he's got it all covered.

Sighing in pleasure, you rock your hips forward as his lips take in your nipple. Your boyfriend's tongue has always been skilled—a fact he reminds you of each time you're naked together. You love when he has his mouth on you, no matter where he decides to find his home. Tonight it's your chest, and you absolutely love it.

Squeezing your other breast in his hand, he makes you moan as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. He pinches the little bud as well as tugs on it, your eyes closed and your head tilted back. You're not sure where to put your own hands, needing to feel all of him. From his broad shoulders, to his chest and waist, down to his ass and then crotch. He groans against your skin as you wrap your hand around his length through the fabric covering him.

"Won," you moan, giving his cock a tight squeeze in hopes of getting some release. He hums, rocking his hips into you.

"I know, baby," he whispers, kissing your breast once more before he pulls back to look at you. He's left a mark around your nipple, one he admires proudly. Letting his hand wander between your legs, he feels how wet you are on his fingers. "Look at you," he coos, unable to hold back a smile. "This is why you decided to sleep naked tonight, isn't it? You wanted us to end up like this."

You hum, unable to tell him no now that you have him between your legs. You wouldn't say that's what you planned all along—you really just wanted to be less hot—but you're also not confident in yourself. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you dig your heels into his lower back and bring him closer. "Will you do something about it?"

Wonwoo groans at the sight of your pouty lips, not hesitating anymore and tugging your panties down, exposing you completely. His shorts are gone next, your naked bodies melting together as he puts his lips to yours once again. You exchange open mouthed kisses as he nudges his tip against your clit, teasing you before he allows himself to dip inside. Your nails scratch onto his back at the stretch you feel, heavy breathes leaving your lips.

He looks down to your connected bodies, biting back a curse as your walls clench around his length. Your breasts move along with him, calling out to his hands again. He takes care of them thoroughly, playing with your nipples while his hips move into yours.

You keep him close to you as he fills you up perfectly—just like he always does. You don't think you'll ever get enough of him. Wonwoo is intoxicating—from his smell to his touches. You feel drunk on him every time you're like this, and tonight is no different.

So many lewd sounds fill your room, you're sure your neighbors will leave complains in the morning. Neither of you seem to care, too in the pleasure to control yourself properly.

Your orgasm approaches first, your walls fluttering around him. You use the thrusts following your release to ride out your high, moaning into his ear. It's when you scream his name as he rubs your clit that his pace shutters, his head falling to your shoulders. You don't need to ask to know he's about to come. "In," you beg. "Please, in."

A loud whimper fills your ears and it takes you a second to figure out it's not your own voice but Wonwoo's. God. A second orgasm comes crashing down your body faster than you can comprehend it, accompanying his own.

He presses his lips to your to contain the cries coming from you, holding you as close as he possibly can, his hands nothing if not loving. Your bodies lock together on the bed, pressed to each other even as he pulls out of you. He kisses your face all over, soft whispers of love etched into your skin as he coos you to sleep.

Turns out you can sleep even when your body is all burning as long as he's by your side.

He turns to find Lee Seokmin—McLaren orange splashed all over him, lanyard swinging, already grinning as if he knows he’s being insufferable. Which, of course, he does.

Mingyu adjusts his cap with a lopsided grin. “Bold words from the guy who once called Eau Rouge ‘kinda cute.’”

“That was one time,” Seokmin says, mock-offended, “and it is cute. In a terrifying, please-don’t-launch-me-into-the-fence way.”

Xu Minghao appears before Mingyu can volley back. The new arrival is in Mercedes gear, impossibly relaxed, sipping an espresso like he has all the time in the world. Minghao never hurries, never sweats, never looks anything less than editorial-spread perfect, even in a paddock crawling with cameras. It’s infuriating.

“Don’t encourage him,” Minghao says, eyes flicking to Seokmin. Then, to Mingyu: “You’re jittery.”

“I’m not jittery,” Mingyu protests, immediately aware that only jittery people insist they’re not. “I’m focused.”

Minghao takes a long sip, unimpressed. “You’re vibrating like a phone on silent.”

Seokmin nearly chokes on his laugh. “Oh my god, he is,” he cackles. “Someone put him in airplane mode before quali.”

Mingyu glares, but it’s half-hearted. This is how it always goes: Seokmin heckles, Minghao observes, Mingyu suffers. He can’t even complain, because the truth is he likes it. Likes that they’re here, together, even in rival colors. Likes that Monza isn’t just a track, it’s their track. The place where they were kids with bad haircuts and bigger dreams, trying to convince each other they’d all make it here someday.

And look at them now. Williams, McLaren, Mercedes. Not bad for three idiots who once got kicked out of a karting facility for trying to draft a security golf cart.

Seokmin slings an arm around Mingyu’s shoulders, nearly knocking his cap off. “Don’t overthink it, Gyu,” Seokmin says cheerfully. “Just drive like hell. If you don’t win, you’re only letting down half of Italy.”

“Comforting,” Mingyu deadpans.

Minghao’s mouth quirks. “Don’t listen to him. Just remember what we said when we were fifteen.”

Mingyu remembers. He remembers vividly. Sitting on cheap plastic seats, knees knocking together, promising each other they’d one day not just watch, but race. That they’d carry each other through, no matter where the grid scattered them.

“Win or lose,” Mingyu muses, “we always meet back here.”

Seokmin nods, unusually serious for a moment. Minghao just sips his drink, but his eyes soften.

Seokmin ruins it, as expected. “Cool. So when I beat you both, I can expect dinner Il Moro, yeah?”

Mingyu groans. Minghao sighs. Just like that, the moment dissolves back into chaos—the only way it ever really works with the three of them.

Still, as Mingyu turns back toward the track, he feels steadier. Ready. Because Monza isn’t just special. It’s home. This time, he’s not just the kid in the stands; he’s the one behind the wheel.

Qualifying at Monza is always chaos disguised as order, though. The track is so fast, so unforgiving, that one slipstream too many or one lock-up at Variante della Roggia can drop you down five places before you can blink. Mingyu knows this. He’s lived this. Still, it doesn’t stop his pulse from thundering when he’s released from the garage, when Williams sends him out into the blur of red, silver, orange, blue.

Minghao is clinical. His laps are precise, as if he’s painting with a ruler. Every apex kissed, every braking point exact. It’s maddening how effortless he makes it look, as if he’s just taking his Mercedes out for a polite Sunday stroll at 350 km/h.

Seokmin is chaos in motion. The rocketship of a McLaren twitches under him, but he wrangles it with surprising grace. Somehow, it works. He’s fastest through Sector 2, the radio full of his whoops and laughter. By the time Q3 ends, he’s snatched pole, punching the air with that face-splitting grin.

Mingyu? He lands a respectable P7. Solid. Reliable. The kind of position that makes engineers nod approvingly but doesn’t earn headlines. He knows it’s good work. He knows Williams is stronger than it’s been in years, that the upgrades are sticking, that the car beneath him is finally something more than a stubborn mule in corporate livery. But when he hears the crowd roaring for Seokmin’s orange car or sees Minghao’s name perched neatly in P2, it’s hard not to feel like the supporting character in someone else’s movie.

On his cooldown lap, the adrenaline settles into something softer. He loosens his grip on the wheel, lets the Monza trees blur past. It’s hard not to think back. To the hell that was Red Bull, to the brutal climb up the junior ladder, to the endless conversations about potential and promise. He’s spent years carrying Williams through development, pulling every scrap of performance out of machinery that didn’t always want to cooperate. Now he’s here, at the sharp end of a new chapter, finally with a car that might fight.

But still. No podium. Not yet.

He watches Seokmin celebrate over the radio, hears Minghao’s cool acknowledgment of his front-row start. Mingyu smiles, even laughs, but inside he tucks the thought away like a folded note: I’ll get there, too.

Because Monza raised him. Monza taught him how to dream. And tomorrow, maybe, it’ll teach him how to stand where he’s always wanted. Up high, champagne in hand, finally shoulder to shoulder with the friends who’ve always believed he could.

Mingyu finds his way to the decisively unglamorous Williams motorhome. It’s not much compared to the chrome-and-marble lounges that Ferrari or Red Bull roll out every weekend, but it’s comfortable in its own way. Blue accents, warm lighting, coffee machines that don’t sputter half the time anymore. Progress.

Joshua Hong sits at one of the tables, helmet still under his arm like he doesn’t quite trust leaving it anywhere else. Old habits from Ferrari, maybe. Back when every move was photographed, every angle scrutinized. He’s scrolling through data on a tablet, lips pressed into a thin, disappointed line. He’d qualified P13. 

Mingyu drops into the seat across from him with all the subtlety of a collapsing deck chair. “You know, staring at telemetry won’t make the car magically faster,” he says delicately. 

Joshua looks up, startled, then huffs a laugh. “Worth a shot.”

Mingyu leans back, folding his arms behind his head. “First Monza with Williams. How’s it feel? Culture shock?”

Joshua considers it, then shrugs. “It’s… different,” he settles. “Ferrari had twenty people fussing over every button I touched. Here, I feel like I’m supposed to make my own coffee.”

“You are supposed to make your own coffee,” Mingyu says, grinning. “It’s character building.”

That earns him a real laugh. Joshua shakes his head. “I’m still adjusting, I guess,” he confides. “The car handles fine, but it’s not what I’m used to. You’ve been here longer, and you make it look easier than it is.”

Mingyu tries not to preen at that. Instead, he tips forward, conspiratorial. “Here’s the trick. Don’t fight the car too much. It’s stubborn. Think of it like… a cat. If you force it, it’ll scratch. If you coax it, it’ll cooperate just enough to get the job done.”

“So you’re saying I should… seduce the car?”

“Maybe buy it dinner first.” 

They both laugh, and the tension in Joshua’s shoulders loosens by a fraction. He taps a note into the tablet, still smiling. “Honestly, thanks. It’s not easy, but at least I’ve got you.”

Mingyu blinks, surprised by the sincerity tucked under the joke. He clears his throat, pretending to study the ceiling. “Well, don’t make it sound like we’re married. You’ll give the engineers ideas.”

“Relax,” huffs Joshua. “You’re not my type.”

“Rude,” Mingyu says, clutching his chest in mock offense. 

But inside, he’s relieved. Relieved that Joshua isn’t bitter, isn’t distant, that the shadow of Ferrari hasn’t made him impossible to reach. Joshua’d made a pretty good case for himself in Maranello red, but then seven-time World Champion Yoon Jeonghan wanted to make a move from Mercedes. It’s the kind of thing you can’t even be mad about, the type of demotion you take with a clenched jaw and a prayer for redemption. 

Williams isn’t Ferrari. It never will be. But maybe, with Mingyu and Joshua, it can still be something worth building.

“Come on,” Mingyu says, pushing to his feet. “I’ll show you where they hide the good snacks.”

Joshua follows, grinning now, and for the first time all weekend Mingyu feels like they’re not just two drivers shoved together by circumstance. They’re teammates. Maybe even friends. And at Williams, that might just be the secret weapon.

Unfortunately, their snack run is cut short. Williams has decided it’s ‘content time.’ Which, in practice, means Mingyu and Joshua are herded into a corner of the motorhome that’s been dressed up with two folding chairs, a blue backdrop, and more ring lights than anyone needs outside a K-pop audition.

Joshua takes it in stride. Professional smile, easy banter with the social media coordinator. Mingyu, on the other hand, is already zoning out. He knows the routine: intro clip, thumbs up, some scripted lines about teamwork and strategy, maybe a ‘who’s taller’ joke if the intern behind the camera is feeling spicy. His brain is already skipping ahead to tomorrow. The race. Monza at full tilt, the slipstreams, the strategies, the chaos waiting to happen.

He half-listens as the briefing drones on. Celebrities expected in the paddock tomorrow. So-and-so, actor. Someone else, pop star. And then.

Your name.

It snags his attention for half a second, the way an unexpected chord does in the middle of a song. Vague recognition thrums at the back of his mind. You’re an influencer, he thinks. He follows you, though he doesn’t remember when he clicked the button. Late-night scroll, probably. He remembers flashes: a vlog with neon signs in Tokyo, a clip of you spilling iced coffee and laughing at yourself, a carousel post full of designer clothing. 

The memory is fuzzy but oddly warm, like a light left on in another room. Mingyu almost lingers on it. Almost.

Then the coordinator claps their hands and announces, “Okay, Joshua first, then Mingyu. Quickfire questions, then predictions for quali and race.”

And just like that, the thought is shelved. Mingyu sits up, shakes the static from his head, and focuses back on what matters: data, pace, tire strategy. Tomorrow is Monza, and Monza doesn’t leave space for distractions—even ones with familiar names and half-remembered smiles on a glowing phone screen.

Come Sunday, the excitement is at a fever pitch. Race day at Monza is a circus, and Mingyu is one of the trained performers.

The morning starts with the usual noise: fans pressed against barriers, chanting names, waving flags. Reporters circle like seagulls over fries, microphones shoved forward in case anyone slips and says something headline-worthy. The Williams garage is a hive. Mechanics shouting tire pressures, engineers glued to monitors, Joshua humming nervously as he tapes up his gloves. Somewhere in the paddock, Seokmin is almost certainly mugging for a camera. Somewhere else, Minghao is almost certainly pretending the cameras don’t exist.

Mingyu goes through his rituals. Left glove first, always. Then right. A tug on each strap to make sure they’re snug. He taps his helmet twice against his knee before handing it to his mechanic. 

Sips water. Sways side to side on his feet like he’s already negotiating Ascari. He jokes when someone asks if he’s nervous. “Nervous? I only panic recreationally.” The laughter helps. 

Then comes the walk to the grid. The roar grows louder, a wall of sound built from engines and announcers and tifosi who’d probably sell their souls for a Ferrari win. Mingyu does the usual handshakes, the usual half-hearted smiles for the cameras. His mind is already moving faster than his feet, lap one unfolding in his head like a storyboard.

The moment his helmet clicks into place, the world changes. The chaos of Monza mutes, as if someone turned the volume knob down to zero. The crowd is still there, the cameras still there, Joshua still fiddling with his steering wheel somewhere in the garage. But to Mingyu, it’s silence. Pure, focused silence.

He slides into the cockpit, straps pulled tight across his chest, the car cocooning him. His visor lowers. His breath echoes back at him, steady, rhythmic. The grid fades to shapes, colors, blurred edges at the periphery of vision. All that’s left is the straight ahead—the red lights waiting to tell him when to leap.

Formation lap. Heat in the tires, brakes biting, the car alive under him. He lines up in P7, nose angled toward possibility. The lights blink on, one by one.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

For a second, nothing exists but his heartbeat.

Then the lights vanish, the world snaps back to deafening, and Mingyu launches. The car surges forward like it’s been waiting its whole life for this one second, and Monza opens wide in front of him.

Monza doesn’t give you time to breathe. Not really. Not when you’re thundering into Turn 1 at 300 km/h with six other cars fighting for the same square of asphalt. Mingyu knows this, braces for it, and still winces as two cars brush wheels in front of him. He darts left, gains one position, loses another. Net zero. Typical Williams arithmetic.

The first laps are pure survival. The car is twitchy in the chicanes, eager to understeer as if it has personal beef with his front tires. “Front end’s gone, it’s like driving a shopping cart,” he snaps into the radio. 

There’s a pause, then his engineer’s calm voice: “Copy, Mingyu. Balance noted.”

He knows they’re used to it by now. He’s affable in the paddock. Always smiling, quick with a joke, the guy who helps rookies find the good coffee machine. But in the car? On the radio? He’s a menace. His friends tease him about it constantly. Gentle giant until you put him in a helmet, then he’s Gordon Ramsay with downforce.

“Why did we pit that early?!” he barks twenty laps later when he’s spat out into traffic. “I’m boxed in by two Alpines who think this is a fu—damn carpool lane!”

“Understood, Mingyu. Let’s keep pushing.”

He groans, but there’s no time to sulk. Ahead, Seokmin is dancing in clean air at the front, Minghao lurking just behind. Mingyu feels the gap between them and himself like a physical ache. They’re fighting for podiums. He’s fighting his steering wheel just to keep the car pointing straight.

He keeps going. He wrestles the Williams through Ascari, feathering the throttle. He throws it into Parabolica with more hope than grip, muttering prayers to the racing gods and a few curses for good measure. Every lap is a scrap, every sector a negotiation.

The radio crackles. “Good work, Mingyu. Lap time’s improving. Keep this pace.”

He exhales, a humorless laugh catching in his throat. “Tell the car that.”

It’s not glamorous. It’s not heroic. But it’s racing. And when the laps tick down and the flag finally waves, Mingyu drags the car across the line. Bruised ego, tired arms, and all. Not a podium, not a headline. Points, still. Points for Williams after spending years hoping for the bare minimum of a finish. 

The checkered flag waves, and Mingyu exhales so hard it fogs the inside of his visor. His arms ache, his neck feels like it’s been wrung out, and the Williams under him is radiating the heat of a dying sun. But the timing screen doesn’t lie: P5. 10 points for Williams. Practically a love letter written in neon.

The radio crackles alive with static. “Mega job, Gyu! That’s P5!”

Mingyu decides he’ll take it. Helmet bobbing against the headrest, he radios back, “Alrighttt, baby!”

“Way to make your girlfriend proud, mate.”

“…Thanks, gu—my what?”

The radio goes suspiciously quiet. No laughter, no explanation, only the faint hiss of white noise. He waits. One beat. Two. Nothing. Mingyu narrows his eyes inside the helmet, muttering, “Yeah, real funny, guys.” 

He imagines the garage choking back laughter, everyone pretending to busy themselves with tire blankets and telemetry screens while actually waiting for the inevitable post-race interrogation.

Still, as he slows the car on the cooldown lap, weaving to wave at the fans, he can’t shake the question. Girlfriend? He’d remember if he had one. He thinks. Probably.

Classic Williams. Work him to the bone, then leave him with a riddle to chew on all night. He can already hear Seokmin and Minghao cackling about it over dinner.

But for now, he allows himself the satisfaction: P5 at Monza. A win in its own way.

Mingyu, sweat-streaked but still buzzing from the race, tugs his fireproof top straighter as he slides into the mixed zone. but P5 has him smiling like he’s just won the whole championship, as he walks into the pen. Fluorescent lights, elbowing journalists, and the faint whiff of rubber baked into the asphalt.

“Great drive today, Mingyu,” someone from Sky Sports barks out. “How did it feel out there?”

He leans closer to the mic, conspiratorial. “Like wrestling a bull on roller skates. But hey, we stayed on track, didn’t explode, and crossed the line in one piece. That’s what we call progress.”

A few chuckles ripple out. He answers questions easily: strategy calls, tire management, how much water he thinks he sweated out. (“About three liters, minimum. I’m basically jerky now.”)

Then a reporter tilts her head, squinting at her notes. “And Mingyu, about the broadcast—?”

“What about it?” 

“Well, it was one hell of a hard launch, wasn’t it?”

Mingyu’s face contorts into polite confusion, like someone who’s been told the ending of a movie he hasn’t seen yet. He opens his mouth to explain—though what exactly, he’s not sure—but before he can string together a defense, his PR handler materializes at his elbow, all professional smiles and efficient steering. “Thanks so much, we have to move on. Next interview, sorry!”

Mingyu is herded away mid-protest, eyebrows climbing up his forehead. “Wait, broadcast? What broadcast? I didn’t even—” His words are swallowed by the crowd as another mic is shoved in front of him.

It takes hours for Mingyu to finally piece it together. By the time he’s showered, debriefed, and shoved into fresh Williams merch, the adrenaline has faded to something heavy in his bones. Only when he’s slouched in the back of the team van, scrolling his phone, does the mystery crack open.

His notifications are a war zone: Seokmin’s texts in all caps (“LMAOOOOO BRO UR FINISHED”), Minghao’s in his trademark straightforwardness (“bold of you not to hide from us”), and about a dozen unread group chat messages with the kind of creative memes that can only be weaponized by friends who know your weaknesses.

Mingyu squints, thumb hovering over the link Seokmin has sent. A screen recording, clipped from the F1 TV broadcast. He taps it open.

The screen cuts to the Williams garage, right after his near-spin-save, the crowd roaring like it’s a goal at the World Cup. Then the camera finds… you.

Mingyu, against his better judgment, has to admit the broadcast director has taste. The lens loves you. He privately does, too, for about half a second. The easy way you smile, the spark of expression that makes the whole shot hum. 

But then his gaze slides to the graphic at the bottom of the screen, and his soul leaves his body. There’s your name, and then the designation.

Social Media Influencer, Partner of Kim Mingyu.

Partner. As in…? 

He doesn’t even know you.

He stares at the tag so hard he’s convinced he’ll find a typo hidden inside. Nothing. Just his name, clean as day, tethered to yours. His stomach does a neat little nosedive. He scrolls back, replays it once, twice, three times, like maybe on the fourth it’ll magically change to something less career-ruining. No luck.

Another message pings in from Seokmin: a string of wedding emojis. Minghao simply adds: “congrats.”

Mingyu slumps further into the seat, phone pressed to his forehead.

The video conference feels less like a meeting and more like a trial. Mingyu sits in his apartment with hair still damp from the shower, clutching a mug of coffee like it’s a legal defense. On his screen: Williams PR, looking like they haven’t smiled since the V6 era, and you. An innocent bystander dragged into the mess, appearing far too composed for someone accused of having a secret relationship with him.

God, Mingyu thinks, unfair. 

Even pixelated through mediocre Wi-Fi, you look good. Distractingly good. How is it possible to look camera-ready in a Zoom call? He looks like a raccoon caught stealing snacks, and you look like a magazine spread.

“Let’s run this again,” one of the PR managers says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Are you or are you not in a relationship with Kim Mingyu?”

You sigh, hands raised in a calm denial. “We’re not,” you say, and your voice is pitched just a touch differently from whatever tone you use for filming content. It fascinates Mingyu. “We’ve never even spoken before this.”

Mingyu nods enthusiastically. “True. I’d remember if we had.” Then, realizing how that sounds, he backpedals. “Not because you’re forgettable. You’re, uh—very memorable. Obviously. Just—” He clears his throat. “Point is, this is our first conversation.”

Your brows lift, amused despite the situation. “Thanks, I think?”

PR is unamused. “This isn’t a joke,” they insist. “The broadcast explicitly tagged you as Mingyu’s partner. The narrative is running wild. We need clarity.”

Mingyu leans toward the webcam, adopting his most trustworthy expression. Unfortunately, makes him look like he’s about to confess on a reality dating show. “We’re telling the truth,” he retorts. “No secret relationship. No scandal. Just a very confused driver and a very unlucky influencer.”

“And you’re certain?” PR presses.

“Yes,” you say firmly. “Absolutely.”

“Yes,” Mingyu echoes. Then, almost reflexively, “Although—I mean, hypothetically, if there were ever a relationship, we’d probably be, you know, supportive of each other’s careers. That’d be nice. Not that this is that. Because it isn’t.”

PR stares. You try not to laugh. Mingyu wants to sink through the floor but can’t help sneaking another glance at you, wondering if the meeting could possibly end with something besides his professional funeral.

The Zoom call sputters to an end not long after. PR smiling too tight, lawyers muttering about statements, and Mingyu signing off with a half-wave. The second his laptop screen goes black, his brain decides to betray him. Naturally, the first thing he does is type your name into Instagram.

He tells himself it’s just curiosity. Research. Due diligence. Absolutely not stalking. Except, two scrolls in, he’s already leaning back in his chair, eyebrows climbing as your follower count glares at him: 512,000. Half a million, he thinks to himself. That’s… several Monzas full of people. Great.

He knew you did commentary on motorsport—he’s seen your posts, the ones that float onto his Explore page between dog memes and teammate thirst edits—but it turns out you have a whole empire attached. There’s a makeup brand. Campaign shots. Tutorials with numbers in the six digits. Mingyu taps one absentmindedly and is immediately greeted with perfect lighting, perfect editing, and perfect you.

What really makes him grin is when he stumbles across a clip with a familiar face: James Vowles, the Williams team principal, standing awkwardly in front of a camera while you shove a mic toward him. “James, be honest,” you say, “what’s harder, running an F1 team or trying to blend liquid eyeliner in under three minutes?”

James blinks like a deer in headlights. “…The eyeliner?”

“Correct,” you chirp, before turning back to the camera. “That’s why he runs the cars and I run the tutorials.”

The video cuts with James chuckling, clearly defeated, and Mingyu can’t stop the bark of laughter that escapes him. 

Mingyu doesn’t mean to fall down the rabbit hole, but that’s exactly what happens. One video turns into five, five turns into twenty, and suddenly he’s a full-blown archeologist digging through the ruins of your Instagram.

There you are with F2 drivers, teasing them mid-interview until they’re blushing like schoolboys. There you are at an IndyCar paddock, chatting with a team principal as if he’s your next-door neighbor borrowing sugar. Mingyu leans closer to the screen with every swipe, eyes darting between your captions and the way you laugh, quick and clever, always a beat faster than whoever’s in front of you. He finds himself grinning at his phone like an idiot. 

The hours slip away without him noticing, the digital equivalent of quicksand. His thumb keeps scrolling even though his brain is half-asleep, his body heavy in his bed. Then—there it is. A photo buried deep in your feed, posted more than three years ago. Younger you, hair a little messy, no glam team in sight, standing high in the Monza nosebleeds with a grin that threatens to split your face in two. The caption is nothing but a string of exclamation points and a blurry shot of cars in the distance.

Looks like he isn’t the only one who’d dreamt of Monza.

Mingyu stares at it, soft amusement tugging at his mouth. He barely registers the way his thumb hovers, then double taps. A small heart flashes red before his phone slips in his hand, the screen dimming. The last thing he knows before sleep drags him under is your wide smile from the grandstands. Bright, unpolished, impossible not to look at. 

Somewhere in the background, the quiet horror of having just liked a three-year-old photo waits for him in the morning.

The thing is, Mingyu doesn’t notice right away. Why would he? He sleeps like a log, wakes up like one too, and the only thing on his mind is coffee and cardio. So there he is, dutifully jogging on the treadmill, earbuds in, pretending this is about fitness and not an excuse to outrun his anxiety, when TikTok does what TikTok does best: ruin his life.

The video pops up innocently enough. Caption in neon text: “Did Mingyu just soft-launch a girlfriend???” A voiceover kicks in, suspiciously gleeful. “So, Mingyu liked this three-year-old photo of our favorite influencer—yes, three years old, folks—and here’s the proof.” 

Cue screenshot. Cue zoom. Cue circle around his username.

Mingyu’s foot falters. His treadmill betrays him. One mistimed step, and suddenly he’s half-tripping, half-flailing, clutching for balance. His earbuds yank out with the violence of divine punishment.

A man of precision on track, publicly defeated by a treadmill and a phantom like. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Mingyu swears they’re multiplying—these PR meetings. Same conference room, same slideshow clicker, same headache. This week it’s Baku, and instead of tire strategy or track notes, the PowerPoint behind the comms team might as well be titled How to Manage Your Totally Real, Definitely Not Imaginary Girlfriend.

He sits there, arms crossed, pouting like someone stole his dessert. He’s already said it a hundred times: you’re not dating. Apparently, the Internet has spoken, and the Internet doesn’t exactly care about facts.

“We just need to be clear in messaging,” one PR manager says, pointing at a bullet point that reads Keep It Vague.

“Vague?” Mingyu repeats, voice pitching with incredulity. “What’s vague about ‘I don’t know her’?”

Someone else sighs, like he’s the problem child. “It’s not about accuracy, Mingyu. It’s about optics. If you push too hard, it looks defensive. Defensive looks guilty.”

“So now I’m guilty of… not dating someone?” He leans forward, gesturing wildly. “You hear how that sounds, right?”

The silence that follows suggests yes, they hear it. No, they don’t care.

Mingyu slumps back in his chair. He’s all out of exasperated arguments. The PR team drones on about narratives and fan sentiment graphs, but it washes over him. Water on a duck’s back. Finally, he just sighs, mutters something noncommittal, and waves a hand. Fine. Believe what you want.

By the end of the hour, his pout has calcified into resignation. If the whole world wants him in a relationship he doesn’t have, he’s not going to win the argument today. He gathers his things, ducks out before someone can hand him another bullet-pointed nightmare, and calls it a draw. For now.

Mingyu swears he’s not thinking about you. Not at all. Not when he’s reviewing track notes, not when he’s staring down the tight castle section in Baku. He’s perfectly disciplined, focused, and absolutely not distracted by someone with sharp wit and a suspiciously radiant Zoom camera presence. Nope. Not him.

Until the morning of qualifying, that is.

Instagram stories. A quick scroll, nothing serious, until there you are, framed in blurry orange and papaya. A McLaren paddock pass swinging around your neck like a guillotine blade pointed at Mingyu’s sanity. He stares, brows furrowing with something suspiciously close to betrayal.

Of course it’s McLaren. Of course they’d play the long game. If Williams accidentally branded you his partner, McLaren’s apparently out here auditioning you for the role.

He tells himself to let it go. To focus on the race. To be a professional. Instead, he’s suddenly opening his DMs, staring at your name in the chat box. His thumbs hover. He types. Hi.

Deletes.

Types again. Wow!!!

Deletes harder.

What does one even say? ‘Hey, didn’t know you were in town, hope papaya orange brings out your eyes’? ‘Cool pass, traitor’? ‘Please stop looking this good while I’m trying to not die in a street circuit’? Every attempt looks ridiculous the second it leaves his brain.

With the resignation of a man already defeated, he sets the phone down. He’s done. He’s above this. He’s a professional athlete, not some lovesick fanboy—

He picks the phone back up. One more try. Just one. He thumbs in the lamest reply in human history, something so bare-bones he can feel his ancestors shaking their heads at him: Nice lanyard lol.

He means to delete it. He means to backspace, to retreat into silence, to salvage dignity.

But his thumb betrays him a second time.

Sent.

A beat.

Delivered changes to Seen. 

Every vein in Mingyu’s body goes cold-hot-cold. You’ve seen it. The lamest message in the known universe. No time to unsend, no room for excuses. It’s done. He’s doomed.

Baku may be a monster, but nothing terrifies him more than waiting for your reply.

Mingyu stares at his phone like it’s a bomb he accidentally armed. He’s mentally drafting an apology tour when the notification banner pops up.

|   yourusername: thanks. it’s from mclaren, though. 

Okay. Professional. Polite. Mingyu exhales, shoulders sagging, and immediately thumbs out a reply. 

|   min6yu_k: Knew that. Was just testing you. 

There’s a pause, long enough that he wonders if you’ve muted him forever, but then another bubble appears. 

|   yourusername: u’re terrible at tests, kim.

He grins despite himself, typing fast.

|   min6yu_k: That’s fair. In my defense, I don’t usually text mid–Grand Prix scandal.

|   yourusername: a scandal you created by liking a post from 2021?? 🤨

Mingyu winces, caught red-handed. He considers doubling down, then decides self-deprecation is safer.

|   min6yu_k: Guilty

|   min6yu_k: Sorry about all of it, by the way. I didn’t mean to drag you into weird rumor mill territory.

This time, your response comes quicker. The words are still measured, but there’s a softening he can almost hear.

|   yourusername: it’s fine lol. not like you paid f1tv to do it or anything 

|   yourusername: just wasn’t expecting to wake up with people tagging me as ‘f1 wag of the year’

Mingyu laughs out loud, loud enough that his trainer shoots him a look. He taps back:

|   min6yu_k: Honestly, you deserve the award just for surviving that Zoom call.

Your reply takes longer this time, but it’s worth the wait.

|   yourusername: don’t get used to it. m not doing another emergency pr summit with u

|   min6yu_k: Noted. One PR trauma bonding session only 👍

The typing dots linger for a moment, then vanish. Finally:

|   yourusername: anw no promises about seeing u around the paddock 

|   yourusername: but good luck in quali 🍀

The words land softer than he expects. A pat on the back he didn’t know he needed. Mingyu reads them three times before tucking his phone away.

He qualifies P4. He’s not saying it’s because of you, but he’s also not saying it isn’t.

Qualifying P4 feels like the kind of small miracle that makes you think maybe all the treadmill trips, the PR scoldings, and the humiliating Instagram accidents were worth it. But Sunday has teeth. By lap twenty, Mingyu’s strapped into a seat that might as well be a bull ride with branding. The car is twitchy, the balance gone, and his voice is chewing through radio static.

“Why am I losing power out of turn two?!” he barks.

Pit wall comes back too calm for his liking. “Telemetry shows everything is stable, Mingyu. Keep managing.”

“Stable? Stable?! I’m wrestling a washing machine on rollerblades, how is that stable?”

He gets silence. The kind of silence that says we don’t know either, please don’t crash. By lap forty, his jaw is locked, shoulders aching, and he’s screaming again. “This thing is undriveable! Brakes are gone, rear won’t hold! Do you want me to park it or what?”

“Negative, keep pushing.”

He pushes. All the way down the order until the flag waves and the numbers slap him in the face: P16. From the high of P4 to this. A freefall with no parachute. He sits in the cockpit longer than he should, helmet pressed against the wheel, before finally peeling himself out.

The paddock microphones descend like vultures. One of them doesn’t even start with a question about the car. “Mingyu, fans noticed your girlfriend was seen wearing McLaren colors today. Any comments on that?”

His jaw ticks so hard it could crack. Sweat’s still streaking down his temple when he levels them with a stare sharp enough to cut wire. “Next question.”

Another tries again, reshuffling words but not intent. Mingyu’s answer doesn’t change. This time, colder: “Ask about the race or don’t ask at all.”

There’s always background noise in the paddock. Engines, chatter, cameras clicking. Right now all he hears is the roar of blood in his ears, louder than any crowd. P16, and apparently, he still can’t shake you from the headlines.

Mingyu does what he always does after a race gone sideways: he disappears. Not Houdini-level, but close. Sunglasses, cap pulled low, hoodie large enough to smuggle an entire pit crew under. He walks through the Old City, trying very hard not to look like someone who just drove an F1 car into the ground and then got roasted on live television.

The Old City is perfect for this. Stone walls, narrow alleys, that golden glow of lamplight softening even the sharpest edges of his mood. He likes it here. Always has. There’s something about Baku at night that feels like the world is willing to forgive him, at least for a few blocks.

Which is exactly when he rounds a corner and nearly collides with you.

Of course. Of course.

You blink, step back, and immediately clock the situation. “Right,” you say lightly, hands going up in mock surrender. “I’m guessing you don’t want company right now.”

Mingyu could laugh if it didn’t sting a little. You’re not pitying, and that almost makes it worse. Pity, he can swat away. This gentle assumption that he needs space? That’s harder to argue against. His throat goes tight, but he manages a faint grin from under the brim of his cap.

“Depends,” he says. “Do you count as company or cosmic punishment?”

Your smile tilts, not unkind, and you shake your head. “I’ll take that as my cue. Good night, Mingyu.”

You step past him, and he lets you, every nerve screaming to ask you to stay. To hang around. To just talk about anything that isn’t tire degradation or whether P16 is a character flaw. He swallows it down, watching your figure fade into the lamplight until he’s left alone with his disguise, his hoodie, and the city that always seems to know when he needs to hide.

Mingyu tells himself it’s fine. People bump into each other in crowded old towns all the time. One awkward encounter doesn’t mean anything.

Then he sees you again twenty minutes later, bent over a display of silver bangles at a stall, the shopkeeper coaxing you into trying one on. He’s half tempted to call it a simulation glitch.

By the third run-in—this time at a clothes shop where you’re holding up a linen shirt to the light—Mingyu is actively bargaining with the universe. Once is a coincidence. Twice is… funny. Three times? That’s fate with a capital F. Someone’s writing this, and Mingyu is the unwilling protagonist.

He ducks into a little restaurant tucked against the curve of the city wall, hoping for anonymity, peace, maybe a plate of kebab big enough to eat his feelings. Instead, the hostess leads him straight to a table—and there you are again. 

Not at his table, mercifully, but at the one directly across, angled perfectly so the two of you sit like some deranged parody of a date. Mingyu covers his mouth with a hand like he’s trying not to laugh at the world’s dumbest punchline. You catch his eye just long enough to arch a brow, equal parts really? and don’t even start.

Dinner becomes an Olympic-level charade. He stares at the menu too hard. You sip your drink with the exaggerated grace of someone being watched, which, to be fair, you are. Whenever your gazes almost meet, you both snap your attention back to your plates like guilty schoolkids.

Some small joke you must have thought of on your own occurs to you, because you duck your head, shoulders shaking, and laugh into your meal. The sound is warm, unguarded, nothing to do with him. For the first time since the race, Mingyu feels something slip in his chest. His mouth tugs up, almost against his will, into a smile. 

Three days. That’s how long Mingyu gets to breathe before the next firestorm.

Barely seventy-two hours of pretending the Internet has moved on, and then PR summons him as if he’s a schoolboy headed for detention. Mingyu slumps into the conference room chair, hood still up from the drive over, and immediately they spin a laptop toward him.

The photo in question: Baku’s Old City, the kind of shot that belongs on a travel brochure. A jewelry stall gleams with silver chains and glassy trinkets. There’s Mingyu—hood pulled up, cap tugged so low it shadows half his face, but his height and frame basically scream yes, it’s him. His posture is a dead giveaway; he has never in his life managed to look inconspicuous. A few steps away, there you are. Not talking. Not even facing each other. Just existing in the same atmospheric frame. The Internet, of course, has already branded it confirmation. Hashtags piling up by the second. Think pieces forming. Fans congratulating themselves on being right all along.

“Really?” Mingyu squints at the screen. “This is the smoking gun? My back?”

“Your recognizable back,” one of the managers corrects, pinching the bridge of their nose like they’re suppressing a migraine. “Do you have any idea how quickly this is spreading?”

“Quicker than my car on Sunday,” Mingyu mutters, because sarcasm is the only weapon left in his arsenal. He’s barely armed, but it’s all he’s got.

The room doesn’t laugh. Of course it doesn’t. He’s talking to people who categorize memes as communication risks. They don’t have the range.

Mingyu tries, weakly, to defend himself. He explains you weren’t together, that you hadn’t even exchanged words, that coincidence is not the same thing as a relationship. He gestures with his hands, sprawling explanations across the table, hoping volume and dramatics might soften the edges of disbelief. It’s pointless. His PR team waves him off. They’re already drafting statements, debating whether to ignore or confront, arguing over hashtags that will inevitably backfire. One of them says ‘brand synergy’ with a straight face.

Mingyu sinks lower in his chair, jaw tight, cap brim nearly touching the table. He knows the drill by now. No matter what he says, the narrative’s already running laps without him. On the outside, he’s exasperated. On the inside, though, he’s quietly grateful.

Because if the vultures had gotten photos of those dinner tables, side by side in the Old City, chairs angled just so, him biting back laughter as you laughed into your meal—then that would’ve been ruined, dissected, cheapened into content. He can already imagine the captions: soft launch confirmed, same restaurant, same night, what more proof do you need?

But they don’t have that. All they have is his back in front of a jewelry stall, a sliver of coincidence blown into mythology. Which means he gets to keep the dinner. He gets to keep the sound of your laugh tugging his mouth into a smile. He gets to keep it as his, that moment. Untouched, unpolished. 

Mingyu resolves to keep his head down. Or at least he tries to, though it’s hard to look subtle when you’re six-foot-something and wearing a fireproof suit. The only thing louder than the Internet whispering about him is the uncooperative Williams underneath him.

Singapore: he retires, engine coughing out before he can even call it a night. America: he crosses the line dead last, gritting his teeth while the checkered flag waves like mock applause. PR tells him to keep smiling, but even he can’t fake cheer through the smell of burning rubber and disappointment.

It’s not all bad. Mexico: pit lane start, every commentator politely predicting doom. Mingyu claws his way up, lap after lap, until the scoreboard flashes him into the points. Las Vegas: the lights, the noise, the neon chaos, and the Williams wrestled to P6. For a moment, it almost feels like proof. Proof that he belongs here, proof that the fight is worth it.

He races, races, races. The weeks blur together: flights, hotels, meetings, helmets, grids. Always noise, always expectation.

In the gaps between, when the adrenaline fades and the world is still, he tries not to think of you. Not your giggle across a dinner table in Baku. Not the idea of you lingering at the edges of his story like some subplot he isn’t brave enough to read aloud.

He tells himself it’s better this way. That racing is enough. That winning—even scraps of it—is enough. But sometimes, when the garage finally empties and he’s the last one there, he catches himself staring at the shadows, half-expecting them to laugh the way you did.

The next time he actually sees you, it’s not in an ancient city or the dawn of the paddock. Instead, it’s a charity gala. One that’s not supposed to be a battlefield, but unspools like one anyway. The moment Mingyu spots you across the ballroom, every carefully rehearsed sponsor smile crash lands into nothingness. The chandelier above gleams, champagne flutes clink, and Mingyu’s standing there with a bow tie that suddenly feels three sizes too tight.

“Don’t look now,” Minghao murmurs, which is, of course, the universal sign to definitely look now. Seokmin cranes his neck shamelessly.

“Oh, she’s here,” hums Seokmin. “No wonder he looks like he just saw the light of God.”

“I do not look like that,” Mingyu mutters, but his ears betray him, turning a shade redder than the Ferrari livery he’s sworn to loathe.

Minghao raises his glass. “You’re short-circuiting.”

“Am not.”

Seokmin grins, cruel and delighted. “You’re buffering.”

Mingyu glares at both of them as if sheer willpower can keep his dignity from combusting. He risks one glance back, and there you are, catching his eye. For a beat, the whole room fades. The music, the chatter, the endless speeches. Just you, framed in soft golden light.

On instinct, Mingyu lifts a hand in a wave that feels ridiculously small for someone his size. It’s awkward, a little sheepish, but honest. When you acknowledge him with the faintest smile, a nod in return, it’s enough to reset his entire internal system. He’s still Mingyu—Williams’ exasperated problem child, PR’s recurring nightmare—but in that moment, he’s also just a boy shyly waving across the room.

For the rest of the night, Mingyu tells himself he’s not hovering. He’s not orbiting. He’s not casually re-aligning his path through the gala ballroom so that every champagne refill, every polite handshake, somehow puts him within fifteen meters of you. 

No. He’s just… navigating. Strategically. Like he does on track. Except instead of overtaking Boo Seungkwan, he’s dodging billionaires in tuxedos and trying to stay within your view.

Minghao notices first. “You’re circling,” he muses. “Very predator-and-prey of you, Kim.”

Seokmin grins. “More like a golden retriever lost in a sea of penguins.”

Heat creeps up Mingyu’s neck. He ignores his friends, throwing a suppositious glance towards where you are, laughing at something someone’s just said, light catching the edge of your glass. He short circuits all over again.

By the time he finally intercepts your orbit, you beat him to the punch. “You know,” you say, eyebrow raised, “for someone the Internet keeps calling my boyfriend, you’re surprisingly bad at just coming over to talk.”

Mingyu groans, half-burying his face in his hand, but laughter spills through his fingers. “Unbelievable. Even you?”

“Even me,” you confirm, smile tilting into smirk territory.

“Great. Fantastic. Love that my fake relationship is just as good at roasting me as my real friends.”

“Maybe you should work on your approach,” you suggest, tilting your head.

“Oh, because sneaking up on you at a gala is already peak suave?” he shoots back, earning the smallest laugh from you—a sound he pockets instantly.

The two of you slip into small talk, the easy, low-stakes kind. Complaints about the too-fizzy champagne, mutual side-eyes at the overzealous photographers, gentle mockery of the violinist who’s going a little too hard on Vivaldi. Mingyu lets himself just stand there, conversation flowing between you, thinking maybe he doesn’t mind the world’s favorite rumor if it means he gets to hear you laugh again.

One of the photographers is relentless. Mingyu swears the guy has been circling like a shark all night, lens gleaming, waiting for the perfect strike. He and you have already dodged him twice. Once by pretending to be fascinated by the dessert table, another by Mingyu faking a very urgent bathroom trip. Now, cornered by the bar, there’s no escape route except straight through.

“Just one picture,” the man insists, camera half-raised. “For the fans. For the story.”

Mingyu shoots him a look that hopefully communicates: if you say ‘story’ one more time, I’ll actually combust. Out loud, he goes with: “We’re good, thanks.”

You’re already shaking your head, polite but firm. Still, the photographer doesn’t budge. He leans in, coaxing, pressing, eyes flicking between you and Mingyu as if you’re a headline just waiting to be printed. Mingyu sees it. That flicker of unease in your shoulders, the way your hand tightens around your clutch. You’re not pitying him, not annoyed—just uncomfortable. Which, for Mingyu, is more than enough incentive to do something.

He doesn’t think. He just acts. One hand lifts, finds the small of your back, rests there with enough certainty to draw a line in the sand. “We’re trying to stay lowkey tonight,” Mingyu says, tone calm but edged with finality. It’s the kind of voice that isn’t loud but leaves no room for argument.

The photographer hesitates, caught off-guard, before lowering his camera. Mingyu doesn’t wait for him to regroup. With a gentle but decisive pressure of his palm, he steers you away, guiding you back into the flow of the gala crowd.

Only once you’re safely out of range does Mingyu let out a breath and mutter, half-groan, half-laugh, “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but thank god for the world’s slowest string quartet.” He tilts his head toward the musicians in the corner, whose dirge-like tempo is the perfect cover for his quick exit.

You glance up at him, eyebrows raised, lips pursed into a thin line. He shrugs, hand hovering at your back for a beat longer  before he reluctantly pulls it away, conspiratorial grin slipping in. “What?” Mingyu says. “Every fake boyfriend has to earn his keep somehow.”

You don’t even need to speak before he feels the lecture coming. “You know you basically poured gasoline on the rumor mill just now, right? You could’ve left it alone, but no. You had to…” You gesture vaguely toward the part of your back where his hand had been seconds earlier. “That.”

Mingyu runs a hand down his face like he can physically wipe away the accusation. “What was I supposed to do? Just stand there? Watch you squirm while some guy shoved a camera in your face?” His voice pitches, equal parts exasperation and self-defense. “Come on, you looked uncomfortable.”

“I would’ve managed,” you say, chin tilting stubbornly.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want you to ‘manage’,” Mingyu shoots back, his words clumsy but earnest. “I wanted you out of it. So I got you out of it.”

The two of you stand there, simmering in a disagreement that’s half bickering, half something else. Mingyu crosses his arms, jaw tight, but his mind races—conspiratorial, frustrated, and maybe just a little guilty because you’re not entirely wrong. He did fuel the rumors, didn’t he?

You sigh, breaking the stalemate. 

“Still.” Your voice softens, reluctant but sincere. “Thank you, I guess.”

That’s all it takes for Mingyu’s defenses to flicker. His shoulders drop a fraction. “You’re welcome,” he says, low. Then, because he can’t resist, he adds, “Next time, I’ll let the paparazzi have you. Just to balance the damn rumors.”

The Qatar desert sun leans heavy against the track, and Mingyu is sweating before he’s even in the car. The second-to-last race of the year, and he’s wound tight as suspension springs, desperate for a podium that keeps dangling out of. He doesn’t know why he feels this bone-deep need to prove himself—maybe to the team, maybe to the sport, maybe to himself. Maybe all three.

He tries to focus. He really does. Helmet on, mind narrowing to the thousand moving parts of a race. Brake points. Tire temps. Strategy calls. Don’t think. Don’t drift. Just lock in.

But there’s whispers in the garage, the kind of background chatter he’s learned to ignore. Except this one snags his ear like a hook. Something about you. About you being here. About Williams, of all teams, deciding they’d much rather have you floating in their hospitality suite than pretending they’ve still got control of their season. He’s not even sure it’s true, but the rumor curls through the air, and suddenly it’s in his bloodstream.

Mingyu pretends not to care. 

He pretends really, really hard. The flutter in his chest betrays him, tapping against his ribs like it’s got its own engine. He clamps down on it, tells himself it doesn’t matter, tells himself he’s got work to do. He’s here for the car, the laps, the fight. Nothing else.

Except—if you are here, somewhere in the paddock, he can’t help but wonder. 

Would you be watching him? Would you be laughing at Williams’ gallows humor, or would you be looking for him on track? He’s not sure which answer makes his heart race faster.

Helmet visor down, lights above flickering red. Mingyu tells himself he’s chasing a podium. Somewhere in the mess of adrenaline and nerves, he knows he’s chasing something else, too.

Mingyu qualifies P7, which is not bad considering the Williams spends half its time threatening to explode. He tells himself a podium is still in reach—if strategy plays nice, if the car behaves, if the gods of motorsport are in a generous mood. He’s clinging to optimism like it’s oxygen, and it almost feels convincing.

Joshua, later, is leaning against the pit wall with arms crossed. The two of them are trading notes on tire wear when Joshua tilts his chin toward the paddock and says, casual as ever, “Your girlfriend’s here.”

Mingyu blinks. “Excuse me?”

Joshua doesn’t even look up from the tablet. “Your girlfriend. Over there. By the garage.”

For a beat, Mingyu thinks it’s a joke, the usual ribbing. But then Joshua’s expression doesn’t change, doesn’t even twitch with irony. He’s dead serious. Which means Joshua doesn’t think he’s teasing. Joshua actually believes it.

Mingyu groans, head tilting back. “Oh my God. Not you too.”

“Too?” Joshua finally glances over, eyebrows raised. “So you’re not denying it?”

“I—Joshua.” Mingyu levels him with the most exhausted look he can muster. “We’ve talked, like… three times.”

Joshua shrugs, unbothered. “Looks like more than that.”

Mingyu mutters something unprintable under his breath, already feeling the weight of inevitable defeat. If even his own teammate has crossed over into the conspiracy camp, then resistance is futile.

Sighing in the tone of a man trudging toward his own execution, Mingyu straightens his cap and makes his way toward the garage. He catches sight of you just where Joshua said, sunlight catching against your profile. Despite himself—despite the sheer ridiculousness of it all—he feels that stupid flutter in his chest again.

He clears his throat. “Hey.” Pause. “Apparently I’m obligated to greet my… uh, girlfriend.”

The word hangs there, dry as dust, but his goofy grin betrays him.

You’re leaning against the garage railing when he arrives, Williams blue catching the lights just right. It makes your skin look luminous, your eyes brighter, your whole presence impossible to ignore. Your shirt hangs loose but sharp, tucked just so, sleeves rolled like you know exactly what you’re doing. Hair pulled back neat, a few strands escaping like they’re in on some private joke. To Mingyu, you look like the team’s best-kept secret and a fashion campaign rolled into one.

“P7,” you say in greeting. “Impressive. I heard your radio, though—are you sure half of that wasn’t just dramatic improv?”

Mingyu puts a hand to his chest, scandalized. “That was high-quality communication. Shakespearean, almost. I was painting a picture of the car’s suffering.”

“Mm. Sounded like a soap opera,” you reply, amused. “Very moving, though.”

He narrows his eyes at you, but his grin gives him away. “You know what’s really moving? How much better you look in Williams blue. It’s offensive, actually. You’re making the rest of us look underdressed.”

You laugh, batting him away, but the flush in your cheeks is there. Mingyu, pleased with himself, settles beside you. You’re mid-sentence about the car’s performance when the joke in your tone suddenly sharpens into conviction.

“It’s not hopeless, you know,” you say, leaning forward a little, eyes alight. You’re not even looking at him; you’re eyeing the FW47 car. “Williams has the aero figured out in theory. They just need to optimize the mechanical grip and manage tire degradation better. If they get that balance right, you could be fighting solid midfield every weekend. Maybe higher.”

Mingyu stares. 

You’re animated, passionate, talking with your hands like you’re sketching blueprints out of air. He catches the curve of your mouth, the fire in your words, the way your voice lingers on possibility. He’s so caught up in the sight that it takes you arching a brow for him to realize his mouth is hanging open.

“What?” you ask. “You’re gaping.”

“Uh—” Mingyu’s brain short-circuits, and before he can stop himself: “You’re hot.”

Silence. His eyes go wide. “Wait, no, I mean—you’re smart. And hot. But also smart. Like, terrifyingly smart—”

Your cheeks are crimson now, but you’re laughing through it, hiding your face in your hand. Mingyu groans into his palms, wanting to melt into the garage floor. Somehow, though, when he risks a glance, you’re still smiling at him.

That evening, his hotel room is blessedly quiet. No engineers running simulations, no PR managers breathing down his neck, no Joshua pestering him with unsolicited advice about hydration. Just him, the glow of his phone, and the exhaustion settling deep in his bones.

He’s halfway through convincing himself to sleep when his screen lights up with a message from Minghao. One link, no explanation. The cryptic efficiency of someone who knows exactly how to ruin his peace.

Mingyu taps it. Regrets it immediately.

A post from paddock photographer Kym Illman. A candid, crisp shot from the garage earlier: you in Williams blue, laughing so hard you’ve gone pink-cheeked. Mingyu is right beside you, caught mid-smile, teeth on full display. The picture is practically weaponized charm, the kind of thing PR dreams of and Mingyu personally dreads.

The caption reads, Mingyu and his partner sharing a light moment in the garage. Williams bringing more than just fresh energy this weekend.

Mingyu groans into his pillow. Partner. Partner! He’s losing the war, one pixel at a time. The entire Internet is now a scrapbook of moments he can’t explain, strung together into a narrative he never signed off on.

He should be annoyed. He should be typing some half-hearted denial to Minghao right now. Instead, his thumb hovers over the image, holding it just long enough for the save option to appear. Because the photo—well. It’s good. And he likes the way you look with laughter spilling out of you, the way he looks like someone worth laughing with.

A part of him hopes it’ll double as a good luck charm. Spoiler alert: Sundays care very little about luck. 

Starting at P7 isn’t bad, Mingyu tells himself. In fact, P7 is great. P7 is ‘you can claw your way to the podium if you don’t blink’ territory. He repeats this as he straps in, as he flicks through his steering wheel settings, as he forces his breath steady. Williams isn’t exactly giving him Excalibur here, but he can still fight with a butter knife if he swings hard enough.

For a while, it even looks possible. He’s hanging on, toe-to-toe in the midfield, saving his tires like he’s babysitting toddlers hopped up on sugar. He’s patient, disciplined, calculating. The radio crackles with encouragement: “Nice work, Gyu. Keep this pace, we’ll have options.”

Mingyu believes him—until strategy decides to do the Macarena in traffic.

“Box, box, box,” comes the call, too late for an undercut, too early for an overcut. He emerges behind a train of cars that are slower than dial-up internet, and his entire plan unravels. “

Why did we pit there?” Mingyu demands. “Whose idea was this?! Are we trying to set a Guinness World Record for Most Time Wasted?”

The pit wall gives the vague, corporate answer. Mingyu groans. Fine. Reset. He can still recover.

And then it rains.

Not much, at first. A drizzle, the kind that makes you question your windshield wipers. But here, on slicks, it’s Russian roulette. “Rain on Sector 2,” his engineer says. “Copy?”

“Copy,” Mingyu mutters, then immediately fishtails. “Never mind, un-copy.”

His rear steps out in a slow, cinematic spin. Tokyo Drift but with zero style points. He pirouettes once, twice, kisses the runoff. Somehow, he avoids the wall. “Car’s fine, car’s fine,” he says quickly, like he can ward off damage with words alone.

The problem is, he’s lost chunks of time. The car won’t grip. He’s skidding through corners like a toddler on rollerblades. The radio comes in: “Box for inters?”

Mingyu sighs. “Sure,” he grits out. “Let’s just throw darts at a board at this point.”

The inters don’t save him. The track dries faster than his patience. He’s hemorrhaging positions. Every lap is another cut. “We’re losing pace,” his engineer says wryly.

“Thank you for the breaking news,” Mingyu shoots back. “Next you’ll tell me water is wet.”

The final straw comes when he spins again. This time, a lazy half-turn that stalls him dead. He tries to rejoin, but the gearbox protests, the engine coughs, and the car gives up. A stubborn mule in carbon fiber. Yellow flag. Out. 

He rips off his wheel, slams it down. The radio captures the wreckage of his mood, the flare of his temper: “Unbelievable. I swear, this car fucking hates me. Every weekend, it’s like, ‘How do we ruin Mingyu’s life today?’ Well, congrats! You nailed it! Ten out of fucking ten!”

Silence on the other end. Even PR can’t spin this one.

When the marshals push his car away, Mingyu leans back in his seat, helmet hiding his expression. He should be furious. He is furious. But underneath it all, he’s just tired. Tired of chasing podiums that slip like soap through his fingers. Tired of trying to wrestle miracles out of machinery that won’t cooperate.

The post-race gauntlet is merciless. Mingyu peels himself out of the car like a man molting out of regret, and it only gets worse from there. Cameras swarm. Microphones appear. The interviewers all carry the same tone—pity dipped in professionalism—as they circle around the elephant in the paddock.

“Unfortunate race today, Mingyu. Talk us through the spin?”

Talk us through the spin. As if he doesn’t replay it on loop every time he blinks. He pastes on a smile that doesn’t reach anywhere near his eyes and offers up the same canned lines: “Yeah, tough one. Strategy didn’t play out, rain caught us off-guard, car was tricky to handle. Happens in racing.” 

He knows he sounds like a Wikipedia page of excuses, but it’s either that or full meltdown live on Sky Sports.

By the time he’s herded into the Williams garage for the debrief, his nerves are frayed down to threads. The engineers argue over telemetry, strategists snipe over rain calls, and Mingyu sits there, nodding, calculating how many laps it would’ve taken to at least limp into points.

The salt in the wound? Minghao and Seokmin, beaming on the podium screens. Another champagne spray. Another trophy kiss. Mingyu tells himself he’s happy for them. He tells himself a lot of things. Deep down, jealousy coils tight, acidic, like he’s been made to clap for someone else’s birthday party when it was supposed to be his.

When the meeting finally dissolves, he slips out, jaw tight, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. That’s when someone steps in his path. He doesn’t even clock who it is before snapping, sharp and venomous: “What now?”

And then he sees.

It’s you.

You blink at him, startled but not retreating, your brows quirking. Mingyu’s stomach plummets. Fantastic. Just brilliant. He’s spent weeks trying to convince you he’s not a complete disaster of a human being, and here he is, barking at you like a cornered dog.

His voice comes out too fast, too eager to undo the damage: “Wait, sorry—God, I didn’t know it was you. I thought—you know what, doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have snapped at all.”

You don’t make it easy for him. You don’t make it hard, either. You just… take a seat. Mingyu follows suit. Against the garage wall, it’s just you and him on two ancient, folding chairs. There’s no pity in your eyes, no lecture in your tone. He’s so grateful it nearly undoes him.

Silence stretches, the kind that crackles like static. He braces for something clinical—strategy notes, soft condolences. Instead, you tilt your head and ask, entirely out of nowhere: “What’s your favorite color?”

Mingyu blinks. Of all the questions—“My… favorite color?” 

He sounds like you just asked for his PIN number. “Uh. Red. No—blue. No—wait, not like Williams blue, more like… the sky when it’s just about to storm. That kind of blue.” He hears himself ramble, and it horrifies him for a beat. You’ve gone and messed it up, boy. 

You only hum, thoughtful. And then you don’t say anything else. The silence settles again, which is somehow worse. After about a full minute of silence, you smirk. “You know, customarily,” you say, “when someone asks you a question like that, you’re supposed to return the favor.”

He jolts, eyes widening. “Oh. Right. Yeah. Uh—what’s your favorite…” His brain does a lottery spin of topics—movie? food? pet names?—and somehow lands on, “Circuit. Yeah. What’s your favorite circuit?”

That gets you to light up, as if you’ve been waiting all day for someone to ask. You launch into a passionate spiel about technical corners and elevation changes, about how Suzuka is poetry in geometry. Mingyu listens, trying not to gape like a tourist at the Louvre, but he’s certain his mouth does fall open somewhere between ‘cornering’ and ‘apex.’

He  stares at you for a second longer than he should, caught between admiration and amusement. Then he almost-smiles. “See, I was expecting like… Monaco. Because pretty. But no, you’re out here giving me a TED Talk.”

“Sorry for having taste,” you say, mock-prim. “Alright, your turn again. Favorite meal?”

“Easy. Ramen. Any kind. Preferably the kind I don’t cook myself.”

You laugh. “Convenient. Okay—favorite childhood cartoon?”

He groans like this is torture. “Do you realize this could define how you see me forever? Fine. Pokémon. Basic, I know, but Growlithe was my guy.”

“Predictable. I would’ve pegged you for a Dragon Ball kid.”

“Oh, I was,” he says, pointing at you. “But you only said one. See? I have integrity.”

The back-and-forth continues, questions traded like contraband in a classroom: least favorite subject in school, dream vacation spot, worst haircut. With each answer, the weight on Mingyu’s shoulders eases. Somewhere between your exaggerated gasp at his confession of once owning frosted tips and his genuine interest in your love of late-night beach walks, he realizes he’s smiling without forcing it.

For once, post-race, he isn’t counting what he’s lost. He’s cataloguing these tiny answers instead, tucking them away for when they might someday matter. If that day were to ever come at all. 

Eventually, the night winds down, and reality starts tugging you back toward your own obligations. Mingyu catches the shift in your body language before you even say it. You stand, brushing invisible lint off your outfit, and tell him you should go.

“Already?” he asks, trying to sound casual, like this doesn’t gut him just a little. “No dramatic farewell speech?”

You laugh and lean down to give him a quick hug, perfunctory at best. It barely counts. It’s more like a polite tap of shoulders than anything else. Mingyu blinks. Stares. Then, with a blooming grin that’s both incredulous and shameless, he says, “You know, for someone who’s supposedly my girlfriend, you’re really underselling it.”

Your eyes sparkle, the corner of your mouth quirking upward. “Oh? You want a better one?”

Mingyu opens his mouth to reply, but it doesn’t matter. Suddenly, you’re wrapping your arms around him properly. Fully. No half-measures, no polite shoulder-tap. Warmth, pressed close enough to fry every neuron in his brain. He goes statue-still, breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat. For a terrifying second, he thinks he might actually forget how to function.

Instinct finally kicks in, and he hugs you back. Tentative at first, then firmer, anchoring himself like you’re the only stable point in a world that keeps tilting sideways. He could get used to this. Too easily.

You shift, about to pull away, but his voice escapes before he can stop it. Softer than he means to, vulnerable in a way he almost never allows himself: “Five more minutes.”

You freeze, then settle. He feels you smile against his shoulder.

“Five minutes,” you echo, teasing but warm, and Mingyu prays for time to go slower.

For once, everything actually goes Mingyu’s way.

It’s not perfect—he doesn’t leap onto the podium in a blaze of champagne glory—but it’s close. Close enough that he can taste it. Strategy is sharp. The car holds steady. He dices through midfield battles with a mix of sharp elbows and prayer, and when the checkered flag falls in Abu Dhabi, he’s crossing the line in P4. Four. Just shy of the podium. The kind of finish that makes your stomach twist with both pride and irritation, because how dare happiness arrive dressed as almost?

The radio crackles to life before he’s even cooled the car down. “P4, Mingyu! Amazing job. That’s points secured and top eight in the championship. What a season.” The voice from Williams is beaming, practically hugging him through the static.

He leans back in the cockpit, sweat stinging his eyes, and laughs. Half in disbelief, half in exhaustion. Top nine. He’s in the top ten of the driver standings. Something he wouldn’t have dared to scribble in the corner of his notebook a few years ago. Something that felt galaxies away when he first climbed into a car that could barely finish races without a prayer and duct tape.

“Thanks, guys,” he says into the mic, voice a little rough. “Really. Couldn’t have done it without you. Let’s keep building. I’ll be back next season stronger than ever.”

There’s a cheer on the other end of the radio. He closes his eyes for a second, the lights of Yas Marina still blazing around him, and lets himself feel it. Not a podium. Not yet. But damn close. Close enough to know he’s not dreaming anymore.

Mingyu is still humming with adrenaline, his race suit damp with sweat, when the microphones swarm again. Only this time, the air feels different—lighter, buoyed by the fact he’s just hauled a Williams across the line in P4. 

The first interviewer grins. “Mingyu, incredible finish today. You must be thrilled.”

Thrilled doesn’t even cover it. He rattles off something about the car being strong, the team executing perfectly, about how every pit stop felt like choreography, and the words actually sound like him, not a hostage video. He can feel himself grinning in a way that won’t peel off his face for days.

Then, inevitably, the pivot: “And we have to ask… there’s been a lot of talk about the support you’ve had this season, especially from someone seen often by your side. Care to comment?”

The universe clearly has a sense of humor. Mingyu knows who they mean. Of course he knows. He’d be blind not to. When he scans the garage edge, you’re not there. No quick eye roll, no sly smile, no subtle cue to help him dodge or play along. Just an empty space where you should be, and suddenly his chest aches more than his arms did wrestling the car through Turn 9.

He could dodge, like always. Crack a joke, laugh it off, turn the question into smoke. That’s the script. But he’s loose with joy, too full of something he can’t swallow back down. So, instead, he leans into the mic and says, “Honestly? I couldn’t have done it without her support. Through the highs, the lows, the complete disasters—she’s been there. So… yeah. I’m grateful. More than I can say.”

The crowd of reporters buzzes, hungry for more, but Mingyu only smiles, sharp and secretive. It feels good to give a bit, to let the truth slip through the cracks. It feels good to say your name and have it be associated with his. 

His PR team gives up for the season. After a week of frantic emails, ‘damage control’ meetings, and increasingly desperate drafts of public statements, they stop chasing him down hallways with their iPads. Mingyu stops pretending he’s going to answer them, too. At some point, it just isn’t worth the effort. The world seems to have decided what it wants to believe, and honestly? He’s too tired, too giddy from Abu Dhabi, to keep trying to redirect the narrative.

It’ll blow over, he tells himself. You’ll ignore it. Ghost the rumors into silence the way you do everything else you don’t want to dignify. He’s almost convinced himself when, the next day, he scrolls through Instagram and sees it.

Your story.

It’s grainy phone footage, taken by someone else in some sports bar miles and miles away from where he is. The audio is terrible, bass thumping, people yelling over each other. But there you are, unmistakably you, at the center of the chaos. Jumping up from your barstool when Mingyu’s Williams crosses the line P4, screaming like you’ve just witnessed a miracle. You clap your hands to your mouth, eyes bright, and laugh into your drink, glowing with secondhand victory.

Mingyu stares at his phone. Then he laughs. Loud, ridiculous, unguarded laughter that startles the poor Williams junior engineer walking past his hotel room door.

Without even thinking, he hits the reshare button. Adds a caption that’s half joke, half confession: Best cheerleader I could ask for. Even from across the world. 🩵

Two doors down, his PR person heaves out an exhausted sigh when she gets the Story notification.

The break kicks off the way all bad ideas start: with Minghao declaring, “What’s the point of being young, rich, and stupid if we don’t at least borrow Toto’s yacht?” and Seokmin immediately agreeing. Mingyu, who’s usually the voice of reason, somehow becomes the designated captain within the hour.

Now here they are, bobbing off the Sardinian coast like three very expensive criminals. The sun is ridiculous, the sea too blue to be taken seriously, and Mingyu is already rehearsing how he’ll explain this in court. (“Your honor, it was peer pressure. Also, Minghao had the keys.”)

They sprawl on deck chairs with sunglasses and cocktails that Minghao insists are ‘balanced,’ though Mingyu suspects they’re about 80% rum. Seokmin kicks his feet up and points his glass at Mingyu. “So. You and her.”

Mingyu groans. “No. Not this again.”

“Yes, this again,” Minghao says, far too pleased. “You’ve been dodging since Singapore. It’s getting embarrassing.”

“It’s not like that,” Mingyu insists, though even he doesn’t buy the dryness in his own tone. He sips his drink to hide it, though the concoction mostly just makes him cough.

Seokmin grins like a man who’s spotted blood in the water. “Bro, you reshared her Instagram story with a caption. A caption! That’s couple behavior.”

“Friends can write captions,” Mingyu says weakly.

“Not sweet ones,” Minghao counters, leaning back with all the serenity of a Bond villain on vacation. “You basically confessed.”

Mingyu tries to wave them off, to redirect, to point out the literal stolen yacht situation that seems way more pressing than his alleged love life. But they don’t budge. The teasing circles him like seagulls, relentless, pecking at every excuse.

Finally, he just throws his hands up. “Believe what you want. I’m not explaining myself anymore.”

Seokmin and Minghao exchange a look that says everything. The case is closed, the verdict unanimous. Mingyu is dating you. Mingyu does not get a say.

He stretches out on the deck, lets the sun burn his cheeks, and tells himself it’s easier this way. Besides, he thinks, half-smiling into his glass, there are worse people to be your alleged significant other. 

The yacht feels different once Minghao and Seokmin’s girlfriends arrive. Before, it was three idiots pretending they knew how to work a boat. Now, it’s candlelit dinners, more bottles of wine, laughter that rings across the water. It’s picturesque. Romantic. A setting from a movie poster.

Which is fine, really. Good for them. Great, even. But somewhere between the second glass of wine and Seokmin serenading his girlfriend with a Bruno Mars impression, Mingyu realizes he has become… the fifth wheel. The extra chair at a table for four. The stray sock in a neatly folded pair.

He tries to roll with it. He raises toasts, he laughs too loudly at Minghao’s jokes, he even helps refill glasses with all the grace of a man auditioning for ‘world’s most eligible bachelor.’ The longer the night goes, the clearer it becomes—this is Couple Island, and he’s accidentally booked himself a ticket.

Sometime after midnight, drunk and fed up, he makes his escape. Slips away from the warm glow of fairy lights and clinking cutlery, out onto the quieter deck where the sea hushes against the hull. His phone feels heavy in his pocket, reckless and inevitable. He doesn’t think twice. He just hits call.

The screen lights up, and after a few rings, your face appears. Half lit, eyes squinting, hair mussed from sleep. “Mingyu?” you murmur, voice low and scratchy. “Do you know what time it is here?”

“It’s morning, right? Perfect timing,” Mingyu grins, though it’s crooked and hazy. “You’re my breakfast call.”

You blink at him, unimpressed but too tired to argue. “You drunk?”

“Drunk on friendship,” he says, then groans, flopping onto a deck chair. “Okay, maybe also wine. But mostly on friendship. Terrible, terrible friendship.”

Your brows lift. “What happened?”

Mingyu presses the heel of his hand to his forehead as if he’s the world’s most tragic hero. “They brought their girlfriends. Minghao and Seokmin. Both of them,” he whines. “I’m the fifth wheel. Do you know what that’s like? To be the odd one out on a yacht? It’s humiliating. I’m like a decorative throw pillow. Nobody needs me, but I’m here.”

You laugh softly, trying to smother it in your sleeve, but he catches it. He narrows his eyes at the screen. “You’re laughing at me.”

“I’m not,” you say, still smiling. “I’m sympathizing.”

“You’re doing it very poorly.”

“Go back inside, Gyu. You’ll forget all about this in the morning.”

He sighs, dramatic as ever, tipping his head back to look at the stars. “Maybe. But right now, it feels like the saddest movie in the world. Mingyu: The Fifth Wheel. Nobody would buy a ticket.”

“I’d buy a ticket,” you say quietly, already slipping back toward sleep.

Mingyu is three drinks past good judgment. Sardinia is wasted on him; the stars are blurred, the sea hums like a lullaby, and yet the only thing he cares about is the faint glow of his phone screen. Specifically, the sleepy face blinking back at him from thousands of miles away.

“Do you know,” he keeps on going, slurring through it, “future scholars are going to study this moment.”

You voice is muffled by your pillow. “Scholars?”