For a few minutes, he attempts to pay attention to the documentary lighting up the screen on the wall ahead. You were the one that picked it — some wild tale about mother-daughter recluses in New York — and he finds it hard to give a shit about it without your usual commentary. Your hot takes are his favorite part of any movie night, after all.

He’ll be the first to admit that he’s never been good at keeping his eyes off you. Try as he might, he can’t glue his gaze to the television; each glance in your direction sticks longer than the one before it, testing the waters. Minutes slip away just like this until he completely caves, turns his head fully, and stares at you outright. 

You still don’t seem to notice.

His brow scrunches up as he watches you, caught in the middle between concerned, confused, and amused by how absolutely ridiculous you look right now. When he speaks, he tries to sound stern, like he isn’t fighting the urge to laugh.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” is all he gets in response. 

You don’t even look his way. If anything, you tense harder now that his attention is on you. 

None of it makes sense. Not the weird gap you’ve left between your body and his, your total refusal to look him in the eye, or the fact that there wasn’t an argument to precipitate any of this distance. It’s a symptom with no apparent cause, and it’s totally baffling. Brain-breaking, even.

Frowning, Vernon scoots himself across the bed to get closer to you. 

You don’t reciprocate. 

He tugs gently at the hem of your sweatshirt in a silent plea for your attention and receives radio silence in response; unless he counts the way you swallow thickly.

Which, for the record, he does not.

This close, Vernon can feel the anxious energy pulsing out of your tensed-up body in waves, so he leans away and props himself up on his elbow. Desperate to know what broke you and how to fix it, he mutters, “What is happening right now?”

Ope. 

It comes out harsher than it was supposed to, reading more like annoyance than worry, so he immediately clears his throat. Gently and with a brush of his knuckles against your hip bone, he tries again: “Are you okay? Did I do something to make you mad at me?”

A fly on the wall might get the wrong impression and think he stroked you with a live wire instead.

“Oh, my god. No!” You sputter with a jolt, shifting gears quickly from vaguely on-edge to horrified. You shake your head so frantically that Vernon fears you’ll detach it. “No, you haven’t done anything. I’m fine, I just —”

He interjects with a laugh, “— I don’t necessarily believe that —”

Visibly cringing with every muscle in your body, you cover your face with your hands. Not long after you take a deep breath does a meek voice slip out through your fingers, sounding beyond embarrassed.

“I’m so incomprehensibly horny right now that I can’t even look at you.”

For a second, it’s dead silent because he can’t quite process how much of a weirdo you are, or how completely and hopelessly enamored he is with you. But then the dam breaks. His laugh comes out so forcefully that you pull your hands away from your face, eyes wide.

“Is that so?” He smirks, nodding his head towards the television. “Grey Gardens really gets your motor running, huh?”

Absolutely aghast, you swat at his bicep. Then, you sling your arm over your eyes and groan, “I got my period. It has turned me into a sex-crazed monster, I fear.”

Vernon nods in understanding, even though you can’t see it, and hums, “Ahh.”

And he leaves it at that, only because you seem to have more that you want to say. Something you want to ask, maybe, or a reason you may want to give for not jumping his bones at the first opportunity. He’s down, he thinks without hesitation, so long as you are.

But you don’t say anything.

Maybe you aren’t actually down after all, and that’s why you won’t look at him. Shit, are you embarrassed? Should I say something? Silence falls overtop like a weighted blanket, smothering the two idiots who can’t tell whose turn it is to talk. 

Do you or do you not want this right now?

You mumble something that he can’t catch, so he nudges your side gently with his knuckles to encourage you. Just as nervous, you repeat yourself without looking at him, “Period sex is supposed to help with cramps, I think.”

He thinks he’s read the exact same article you have. More than that, he wishes you’d look over at him and see for yourself how completely unbothered he is by this concept.

“If you think about it, it’s kind of like a natural lubricant,” you add in a voice that’s even smaller than before.

Your shyness really might kill him, so he reaches over to grab your hand and gently pull your arm away from your eyes. It’s the first time you’ve looked at him since you laid down — since you put your self-imposed no-contact order in place — and he feels his stupid heart swell.

For what it’s worth, he feels his dick twitch, too.

You open your mouth to speak again, likely to continue your unnecessary campaigning; Vernon is having none of it. He tugs your wrist just enough to tilt you inward, then he kisses you hard enough to shut you up. A tiny whimper slips out of your lips when he pulls away, and it almost makes him regret his decision to do so. 

But Vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “I don’t need a sales pitch. You will never — ever —  have to convince me to fuck you.” 

Your eyes crinkle at the corners, like this is somehow news to you. It shouldn’t be. He’s told you a thousand times in as many different ways how thoroughly crazy you drive him just by existing so closely to him, but maybe you didn’t take him seriously then.

To emphasize his point, he slips his hand under the hem of your sweatshirt and finds your bare waist with the pad of his thumb. It spirals slowly against your warm skin, making both of you dizzy. Then, sick of the distance, Vernon dips his head down to press a kiss to your temple. 

“Like, ever,” he murmurs, lips following the curve of your jaw. 

Soft, slow kisses trail behind him as he travels down to your lips. Your head tilts further backwards with every single one, providing him with more and more access. 

He states it matter-of-factly because, to him, it is. “I’m down so bad for you that it might be terminal.”

“Oh?” 

You try to laugh but turn to putty when his palm rests fully on the curve of your waist and pulls you flush against him. The surprised gasp you let loose confirms his suspicion: You can feel how serious he is, affirmation throbbing against your abdomen in time with his heartbeat. 

Vernon smirks to himself, relishing your reaction, and bypasses your mouth entirely. A moan escapes from you, soft like an exhale, as his lips move slowly down the length of your neck. Every so often — just to feel you shiver — he flicks the tip of his tongue along the delicate skin he finds there.

“It might be messy…” 

The rest of your needless warning gets lost in a dreamy sigh as he suckles at the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. Shifting even closer, your desperate fingers reach out and cling to his t-shirt.

Vernon licks a stripe over the galaxy blooming on your skin. He hums, hand traveling upwards from your waist, “Don’t care about a mess.”

And he means it. 

Mindful of any soreness, he smooths his hand over your left breast and massages it tenderly, swearing to himself that he’ll throw the whole fucking mattress out if that’s what it comes down to. For you, he’ll race across town on foot to buy another one, and — fuck it — if the store is closed, he might just break in.

You’re growing impatient; your fingers let go of his shirt and tangle themselves in his hair.

“So needy,” he chuckles low in his chest, teasing. “You know, I think you’re lying. I think it is this bat-shit insane documentary that’s driving you wild, and you’re too embarrassed to admit it.”

“Stop,” you whine, dragging out the vowel sound. 

You don’t, though; you throw your left leg over his right thigh and shimmy forward until your cunt grazes his dick. Involuntarily, he groans at the warmth radiating off your core. Every part of you drives him just the slightest bit insane. You seem to know it, he thinks as he watches your pupils dilate in real time.

But he can play games, too, so he rolls his hips forward and grinds against you. He pushes you further, “Don’t get me wrong, baby. I’m not kink-shaming you —”

“Hansol Vernon Chwe!”

Oh, shit. Government name?

“— I’m just a little surprised, I guess.” He sighs with a shrug. “Think you know somebody…”

Your impatience is scribbled all across your scrunched up face. It seeps into your voice when you crash back against the pillows and huff, “Can you please stop fucking with me and start fucking me?”

“Sex-crazed monster, huh?” Leaning over, Vernon punctuates his question with a quick press of his lips to yours.

You whimper, “I’m so serious. I might explode.”

“Then go take care of whatever you need to take care of.” He kisses you again, smiling so fondly that his eyes may even be twinkling. “And I’ll go get a towel.”

You wait until Vernon clears the threshold before launching yourself out of bed at breakneck speed. Stumbling all the while, you race off to the adjoining bathroom and shut the door forcefully behind you. When it clatters against the frame, you finally admit to yourself that you might be a little bit eager.

Maybe.

Opting to keep your baggy, bleach-stained sweatshirt on, you wiggle out of your shorts and — what he refers to as — your crisis diaper. The high-waisted, frumpy, beige panties are utilized exclusively during your period, and to your surprise, they’ve remained spotless. It’s only ever the pretty and expensive pairs that wind up as collateral damage, isn’t it?

As they pool around your ankles, you can’t help but think that Vernon’s nickname for them is pretty spot on. That’s partly why you figured he might need to be talked into this. Unsated arousal aside, you feel as far from sexy as you can possibly get.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts, kick what you’ve discarded into a pile near the hamper, and let your sweatshirt shift down to cover as much of your ass as it’s capable of managing. You grab a square of toilet paper; then, you go to work excavating the wad of cotton that separates you from everything you want in this life. 

It is within the realm of possibility that you’re a little bit eager and a little bit dramatic. 

Perhaps.

After discarding the evidence in the small trash can under the sink, you wash your hands as if you’re about to step into an operating theater and not the bedroom you spend half your life in. When you finally feel sterile, you lift your head and catch your reflection in the mirror. Instantly, you make eye contact with the painful, hormonal pimple on your chin — the one you’ve been waging a retinoid war against for days.

“Bitch,” you mutter, like calling it names will be the one thing that finally gets it to shrink. Of course, your plan doesn’t work, but you feel a little less powerless. That’s good enough, you think. At least, as good as it’s going to get.

Now half-naked and certifiably unobstructed, you tiptoe back to your bedroom much more carefully than you left it. Vernon enters from the opposite doorway at the same time, jumping slightly the second he notices you. You ignore his frightened eyes and glance down at the crisp, white towel he’s clutching.

You open your mouth to suggest anything otherwise, but he beats you to it. His eyebrows shoot up his forehead as his mouth widens outwards, a self-aware rectangle. Otherwise expressionless, he lets go of an atonal, “Aaaaaaah”, that tells you he’s caught on.

He says nothing else before turning around and walking back the way he came. You have to bite down on your lips to keep from cackling.

That one’s mine, you think, still as infatuated as you were at the start. I chose that one.

While he’s gone, you try not to move, not to breathe too heavily. Vernon said he didn’t care about a mess, but when he said it, he was speaking theoretically with his hand on your tit. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d spoken recklessly with your body melting under his touch.

As far as you know, he hasn’t had any experience with this mess in practice. He could wind up finding you about as sexy as you currently feel — to wit: not at all. So, erring on the side of caution, you turn yourself into a statue and wait for the boy and his towel to find you again.

When he comes back, he plants a drive-by kiss on your unsuspecting mouth before skirting right around you. With shocking finesse, he grabs the corners of the — thankfully — black towel, which unfurls in the seconds before he flicks it upwards. It lands perfectly in the center of the bed, flat without needing to be fussed with.

“Wow,” he mutters to himself, taking in his clean work with raised eyebrows.

The impressed look is still on his face when he turns around, but you don’t have time to comment on his feat because he laughs as soon as he sees you.

“Kinda look like Donald Duck with the whole top-on, bottom-off situation.”

I chose this one?

You pout with an indignant gasp, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not wearing a sailor hat, so…. bad analogy. Rude, even.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he snakes his arms around your waist and pulls you in close. You stumble a little on your way into him; the jury’s still out about whether it’s his hushed tone or the sudden movement that trips you up.

Between his thumb and index finger, he gently captures your chin. You follow along with his unspoken direction, tilt your face up to meet his. This close, you can see your own reflection in his pupils, black dilating against the warmest shade of brown you’ve ever seen.

Vernon takes a moment of silence as he takes in your features, and he studies them so intently that his eyebrows crinkle on their own. He sighs, sounding so completely serious. “You might get prettier every time I look at you.”

It’s unclear if you’re melting, or gushing; and if it’s the latter, you can’t say which biological process is at fault. Thankfully, the hand at the small of your back keeps your weak knees from buckling when his lips brush over yours.

“Even if you’re dressed like Winnie the Pooh.” 

You feel him smirk even before you hear him laugh at his own joke. Then, you feel his hand slide down to cup your bare cheek, squeezing affectionately. You want to tell him that this analogy is still inaccurate because you’re not wearing a crop-top; but he gently instructs you to ditch the sweatshirt and get on the bed, and your body moves automatically. No questions asked.

Carefully, you crawl up onto the mattress, then you center yourself on the towel. Still on your knees, you tilt your head curiously and ask, “Where do you want me?”

“Anywhere,” he breezes, pulling his shirt off and tossing it onto the dresser nearby. He amends, “Everywhere. All the time, and then some.”

“Better be careful,” you tease. “Talking like that might have consequences. You may never be able to get rid of me.”

His joggers are the next to go. Your sanity follows shortly thereafter, hungry eyes lingering on the imprint of his cock underneath his boxer briefs. You have to clamp your mouth shut to keep from drooling.

Brown eyes sparkling, he steps closer to you, kicking his pants aside as he goes. “Be careful,” he echoes, not a hint of cockiness to be found — just softness. “Saying it like a threat doesn’t make me wish it’s not a promise.”

I choose this one.

Crossing all the way to you, Vernon reaches the bed and climbs up with significantly more grace than you did. The mattress dips under his weight as he kneels right in front of you, mirroring your posture and causing your stomach to flip with anticipation.

You can’t help yourself; you lick your lips and look up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Naked, please. Like, right now.”

“Damn, I gotta do this myself?” Incredulous, he holds his hands up while glancing pointedly down at his underwear, then back at you. 

You arch an eyebrow, unfazed. 

“Depends.” You shrug. “Do you want to keep them? Because I really will rip them off of you.”

He concedes quickly; he always does. Sighing, he shakes his head and tuts, “Sex-crazed monster,” before pushing his briefs down his thighs. His length hangs heavy between you, but you swear you can feel its perfect ache inside you already.

You have a one-track mind, so you don’t hesitate to reach out and wrap your hand around him. A groan crawls up from the bottom of your chest when you feel the weighted warmth of his cock in your palm. You don’t hold that back, either.

“Fuck,” he sighs, head tilting as far backwards as it’ll go. Unexpectedly, he laughs. He doesn’t catch the quizzical look you shoot him, though he explains himself anyway, “Your hands are so fucking cold, but it feels so good.”

Swiping your thumb over his tip, you spread the pre-cum you find there down his shaft and stroke him slowly. He grows harder with every gentle squeeze, every pass of your fist. 

“We’re learning a lot of new shit about each other today.” You lean forward to pepper kisses across his collarbones. The hum of your mouth against his skin when you talk makes his cock twitch in your hand. “You might have a temperature kink and a thing for Winnie the Pooh.”

He snorts, nowhere near serious, “Shut the fuck up.”

“Make me,” you counter smugly, and you do mean it.

Vernon tilts his head forward to stare back at you. You’re already turning into a puddle, but if the look he gives you says anything, it’s that your melting isn’t enough for him. His voice is low and velvet-lined when he responds, “How about I just make you cum instead?”

“That could work, yeah.” You shrug.

He runs the pads of his fingers down each side of your waist to your hips, then back again; and each time he does it, you shiver. Reflexively, your back arches, chest pressing against his.

At this, he smirks, “It could? Maybe?”

“We can workshop it.”

“Or,” Vernon so generously offers, “You can turn around and lay down on your stomach. You know, if that’s sufficient.”

It’s not until you whip around and flop down onto the towel that you realize you never responded with words. Oh well. You figure he gets the point, judging by the quiet laughter you hear as he settles with his knees on either side of your upper thighs.

You don’t know what his next move will be — you don’t care, either, as long as he moves in your direction — so you don’t anticipate his palms flattening against your bare back, applying perfect pressure with his thumbs while he rubs away the soreness at the very base of your torso.

“Oh, shit,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut as the heels of his hands work out the tension in your muscles. “Have you always been good at this?”

You feel his chest brush against your shoulder blades when he hovers over you. Against the nape of your neck, he murmurs, “Nope.”

He kisses down your spine, mouth trailing after his hands as they work their way back down your body.

“Lemme guess — you read an article? Studied up?”

You get a snicker, then an affirmative hum, then another kiss. This time, it’s at the curve of your spine, just above your ass. Seconds later, he’s kneading the doughy flesh of your cheeks until your whole fucking body tingles.

That’s when it hits you:

Under normal circumstances, Vernon would be face-first in your pussy by now. Devouring you in earnest, like he’s starving. He can’t do that now — and you don’t blame him — so he’s making up for what you both view as a loss.

God, you want him.

One hand disappears from you, but you don’t have to guess where it went. You can hear the barely-there hiss of breath through his teeth when he takes his cock in that hand; as well as the very faint shift of his palm while he pumps himself.

“You’re gonna have to navigate, baby. I dunno how sensitive you are like this, what’s too much — any of that, so you need to tell me how you want me to move.”

Suddenly dizzy over how badly you need him, all you can muster is a nod. Vernon must want a verbal acknowledgment, though, because he leans back over you with one hand bearing his weight beside your head.

He kisses your shoulder and urges you, “Please say so if you need to stop or switch it up. Don’t wanna hurt you, sweetheart.”

“I will,” you breathe. “But I can’t even articulate how much I need you inside of me right now, so please — pretty please — fuck me.”

The tip of his nose bumps your temple affectionately. Right beside your ear, he teases, “With a cherry on top?” And it vibrates down your whole goddamn spine.

“Vernon!” You whine, burying your face in the comforter. It’s muffled, but you warn him nonetheless, “Don’t make me come back there.”

“Aish. Calm down, sex monster.”

The instinct to twist around and glare at him over your shoulder is strong, but every feral urge you feel is stronger. So, when he tells you to spread yourself open for him and tilt your hips back, you do so without even a hint of complaining.

With the crown of his cock slipping through your folds, inching towards your entrance, you hear him curse under his breath. Suddenly self-conscious, you finally crane your neck to the side and glance back at him. 

“We don’t have to,” you whisper. “If it’s gross and you don’t want to anymore, I get it —”

He balks at your suggestion without letting so much as a beat pass. “None of that, sweetheart; no spiraling. I’m just trying to figure out the logistics of, like… how to survive how good this already feels.”

Struck dumb, all you can muster is a peep, “Oh?”

“Shit, yeah.” His response comes in a low groan. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”

It’s a good call on his part, a suggestion you’re glad to have taken, because the pressure of him entering you is intense enough to knock the wind out of you. Empty lungs likely would’ve led to your untimely demise.

You whimper, already overwhelmed with the combination of pain and pleasure; the best kind of ache. The little, breathy moans must freak him out, however, because his fingertips caress your waist as he checks in: “This okay?”

Your limp arm lifts off the mattress, which you’ve melted fully into, and you form a circle with your index finger and thumb to indicate that you’re okay. The light is bright fucking green; you’ve just maxed out your capacity for speech.

Vernon continues his slow thrust forward, giving you ample time to adjust to his size.

“Oh my god,” he grunts, “This is — shit, I can’t believe we haven’t done this before. If I knew how good you’d feel like this, I wouldn’t have waited around for you to ask me.”

That hits like a truck.

He was waiting on you. 

You spent months convincing yourself that he’d need to be convinced, and chickening out before you could raise the idea. Months, and months, and months, of craving him during your werewolf transformation; wasting away over a shitty assumption that Vernon is anything like the people you’ve been with before. 

Christ. 

His credit for putting up with you is long overdue.

Too tongue-tied to speak any of that out loud, you settle for a summary that you hope conveys the message: “I love you so fucking much.”

Mindful of how deep it will push him into your cunt, he leans down over you carefully. Weight balanced on his knees and forearms, he envelopes you in his body heat, trails kisses across your shoulder, and echoes your words back at you between each one.

“Is this too much?” He whispers, rolling his hips slowly.

You feel him everywhere, with every drag of his cock along your walls; and you can’t tell where that throbbing sensation is coming from, him or you. 

You shake your head and sigh, “‘s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Like he knows it’ll unravel you, his large hand comes to rest over the back of yours. His fingers slip through the spaces between and squeeze you much more gently than the vice grip you hold on the bedding below you. He keeps holding you — just like this — through every movement.

The sensation of being this surrounded, this loved, this whole crashes over you like a wave and knocks you off balance.

“I’m so close,” you pant, voice as ragged as your breathing. There’s nothing that he isn’t already giving you with every deep, deliberate thrust into your heat; but you beg nonetheless, “Please, please, please —”

His speed doesn’t increase, but the intensity does. The smack of his hips colliding with your ass does, too, and you feel it reverberating in your bones. Buried as far inside of you as he can be, cock tip kissing your cervix with every high tide, length rolling across your g-spot with every low.

You cum so hard — so completely, invoking every single muscle you have — that you forget how to breathe. With a choked-out gasp, you squeeze your eyes shut and let your orgasm devastate you. 

“Fuck!”

Vernon gets caught up in the current, too, grinding desperately against you until he’s swept up in your wake. You feel him twitch inside you as his release floods, leaving you so lost in his warmth that you feel boneless underneath him.

His face winds up hidden in the crook of your neck, somewhere amidst the baby hairs that cling to the sheen of your sweat. You feel his lips fluttering against your skin when he laughs, “Oh…my god.”

“Mmphf.” You nod weakly in agreement. Beyond blissed, your body still tingles too much to move.

Slurring, you add, “‘s good. ‘s really…”

The rest of that thought dissolves into something between a moan and a yawn.

Just as tired, Vernon pats your ass cheek affectionately and mumbles, “Well said. No notes.”

You tilt your head far enough to free your face from the sheets. When you do, you find your boyfriend fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes open. In the rare seconds he can, he looks back at you in a daze that seems even more adoring than it does fuck-drunk.

“I think I need to hibernate now,” you announce. “Think you just fucked me so well that I need to take a sabbatical.”

He counter-offers, “Shower first, then sabbatical?”

You wiggle so that you can pull your joint hands to your mouth. You can’t kiss him properly while he’s laid out on top of you, but you can press your lips to the back of his hand and hope he feels how much of you that you pour into it.

It was a blessing and a curse, loving someone equally hellbent on winning. It made you an unstoppable team at backyard sports and drinking games — downright formidable, really — but it also led to both of your mouths writing checks your asses didn’t really want to cash.

A series of bad bets, just for the sake of it.

Just like this one.

“How are you holding up, petal?” 

Soonyoung sounds smug, but he’s asking through gritted teeth. 

“Better than you, I think,” You respond breezily because you’re unbothered, not because your body begs for you to sigh. “Sweet of you to ask.”

He hums in response, amusement so clear that he may as well have laughed instead. Either way, you feel that vibration in your chest, which is all but pressed to his. Arms linked around his neck, you lean in closer until you can nudge the tip of his nose with yours. The tiny shift in your posture makes your breath catch in your throat, but you swallow it back.

Instead, you smirk, “Not thinking of tapping out yet, are you, baby?”

When he lifts himself up to scoot closer to the back of the couch, you know exactly what he’s up to. Shameless, you think, trying to steal territory like this. The sole consolation you get from his movement — apart from the obvious — is that he looks like he’s full of regret for his choices. You are, too, of course.

Among other things.

“Could do this all day.” He smiles his way through a bold-faced lie. His palms run up your thighs, making you shiver; but then he pats them so innocently, you want to scream instead. “‘m perfectly comfortable. I might even fall asleep like this.”

Oh, you bastard.

It kills you to do it, but you refuse to take this dishonesty sitting down — well… — so, you take back the weight you’d balanced on your bent legs and center it. Gravity grabs you by the hips, pulls you down until he has nowhere left to run. Then, like a fucking masochist, you signal every muscle in your body to tense.

To your dismay, Soonyoung cracks, but he doesn’t break. He simply mutters, “Fuck,” and squeezes his eyes shut, sucking in a breath through his teeth that he then releases with a hiss.

“Sorry, did you say something?” Eyes wide and smile coquettish, you’re ready to devastate him whenever he deigns to lift his lids. “Didn’t catch that, baby.”

As it turns out, you’re not at all prepared for the look he gives you when his eyes reopen. There’s dark, and then there’s whatever the fuck has gotten into him to make his pupils dilate like that. Involuntarily, you clench. This time, he doesn’t flinch.

“You act big and bad now,” he drawls, grinning wolfishly. “But if I blink too hard, my cock could kiss your cervix. You know that, right?” Fingers scratch lightly at the goosebumps on your thighs. He knows you know; he’s buried too deep not to. “That if I have a sudden… coughing fit, for example, I could wind up rearranging your guts?”

You do your best to ignore the way his words make your pulse race. After all, you have an endgame to focus on. Only two options remain: fight nobly and risk him winning, or take him down with you. 

Fuck it.

He gave you the idea himself, didn’t he?

You sniffle for a moment, eyes flashing with mischief for even less time, and then you unwrap one arm from around his neck. With the crook of your elbow freed, you fake a sneeze; cunt clenching hard around his length while your hips jerk forward, dragging him along with you.

It was a calculated risk on your part. Unfortunately for you, you’ve never been great at math. That delicious friction is enough to grab you tight and fling you off the cliff without reservation. You tremble as you float, whole body alight with the orgasm you’d been fighting for the fifteen minutes since you sank down onto him.

Thankfully, Soonyoung isn’t any better off. He cums hard, hips jolting up to meet the underside of your thighs. Cock twitching and spilling, he groans like you’d done far more than just keep him warm. And despite the lack of physical exertion, you’re both panting — embarrassingly so.

“I fucking win,” he cheers faintly. Fist raised, weakly and triumphantly, he drops his head back against the couch. In an instant, his eyes flutter shut; he doesn’t see the way your nostrils flare.

You snort, “In what world?”

“Don’t be a sore loser, petal.” He chides you. He cracks one eye open and hits you with a lopsided grin. “I held out a full second longer.”

“You did not!” You gasp, smacking his chest with a muted thump. “The nerve of you, Soonyoung — the absolute gall!”

He flattens his mouth into a straight line. His eyes narrow the same way, unimpressed. “I only came because you did. Might’ve been a domino effect, but you fell first.”

“So, we both lost, then,” you huff, crossing your arms indignantly.

He flattens his palms against the cushion below, sits up properly, and steals a kiss from your pouty lips. 

“Nah,” he hums. Unsatiated, he steals another. “Think we both won.”

The worst part about it all is that you look so unbothered by it all. You’re laughing through conversation with your parents, who sit on the opposite side of the table, like Mingyu isn’t on the brink of passing the fuck out beside you. Like his slacks aren’t squeezing the life out of him in the same torturous way your hand is. 

You’re moving so slowly that the table cloth doesn’t even flutter with your secret ministrations.

He knew you were a devil, but what fresh hell is this?

“— feeling okay?”

Mingyu has to blink himself back into reality to realize he’d been spoken to. Your father, who Mingyu had thankfully met before tonight — and made a positive, sustainable first impression on — looks concerned. His eyebrows furrow the same way yours do when you’re worried.

“Sorry,” Mingyu starts by clearing his throat. He flashes a smile that makes your mother blush, not unlike the way you usually do. “I was daydreaming about that galbi jjim from earlier. Don’t know if I’ll ever eat better.”

That’s a lie, he thinks immediately. Dessert is one seat over, fingertips whispering over his inseam, and Mingyu’s mouth is already watering at the thought. But he’s stuck. You’re untouchable as long as the pair of you are at this table, and you’re untouchable upstairs for more reasons than one. 

Your mother is flustered — so is Mingyu, but for an entirely different reason — and she glances up at your father. His smile is a flat line, but it reads like approval. She elbows him gently.

“See, yeobo?” She quips, “I told you he was charming.” 

Then, she turns to look at you with a firm nod. “You picked well.”

“To be clear, Mingyu picked me,” You laugh, waving your free hand dismissively.  “With the amount of girls queuing up for his attention, he had options — a lot of them. I just lucked out.”

At this, he short-circuits, so much so that he nearly sprays the wine he’s sipping all over the table and your unsuspecting parents. 

“Oh, no, no. Not even close,” He sputters, earning a surprised giggle from your mother. Faked offense pulls the corners of his mouth down, puckers his lips into an pout around his words. “I had to beg for your phone number, if I recall —”

“Did you really?” Your mother gasps. Her hand flies up to cover her mouth, as if she’s watching one of the daytime dramas she’s always talking about.

Your father looks smug as he reaches his arm out over the table, fingers closed over his palm. The hand you aren’t using to commit unspeakable crimes lifts to meet his fist over the acorn jelly, knuckles tapping lightly. 

Your father smirks, “That’s my girl.”

You look at Mingyu fully now, not from the corner of your eye the way you had been. It’s downright spooky how your face can look that innocent at a time like this. That is, until you bite down on your plush lower lip.

Fuck.

Is he about to faint? He really might faint.

“Okay, fine. You’re right,” You demur with a shrug.

That sweet smile of yours is unbelievably misleading, but goddamn, does it look good on you.

“I didn’t make it very easy for you, did I?” 

He tries not to clench his jaw when you flatten your palm and squeeze the highest, innermost part of his thigh. He fails miserably. After all, you’re running out of real estate; and Mingyu’s running out of resolve. 

This is it for me, he thinks. Remember me as I was: a fucking simp.

Thankfully, both of your parents stand up to carry dishes off to be washed. They cross the threshold into the kitchen and miss the way Mingyu’s head slumps back against his chair. So desperate and defeated, he ignores the way his skull aches after colliding with the oak backrest.

He squeezes his eyes shut and waits for the sweet release of death.

When their footfalls are no longer audible, Mingyu assumes they’re out of sight. You shift, but he doesn’t crack his eyes open until he feels the heat of your breath on the shell of his ear. His gaze locks on the ceiling when you whisper, “Can you blame me? It’s so cute when you beg.”

If his dick strains any harder against his pants, the zipper may break.

“You’re trying to kill me,” Mingyu gulps. He shakes his head, voice wavering. “Baby, I’m gonna drop dead in your childhood home — on Christmas, no less — and it’s gonna be all your fault.”

The tip of your nose nudges the side of his face as you place a kiss on his earlobe. The white knuckle grip he holds on the edge of the table is the only thing keeping him together, and you know it. Still, the feather-light touch of your fingertips finds what it’s after. They trace the outline of his bulge through his slacks, and before he can stop himself, Mingyu audibly sighs.

He’d tell you to stop if he could jumpstart his brain. That’s a lie, he corrects himself. He doesn’t want you to stop; he just wants you. Wants you so badly that it hurts.

“Attempted murder,” Mingyu mumbles helplessly.

God, he’s pathetic.

Head slumped to the side, he finally allows himself to look at you. Immediately, he has to wonder: is there anyone who wouldn’t beg for you? He’d be on his knees in a heartbeat if your parents weren’t loading a dishwasher, several meters away. He’d clear the table himself, too,  if sweeping his arm overtop and sending silverware to the ground counted for anything.

Unbothered by the internal crisis you’ve started in him, you stroke him slowly, like you have all the time in the world to end him; and not a care at all that you might get caught in the process. The kiss you leave on his jaw is so soft — and so laughably chaste, all things considered — that he’s not sure it even happened. To keep from pleading out loud, he grinds his teeth even more harshly together.

Are you there, God? It’s me, Mingyu.

His prayers are answered immediately, which makes him a little bit suspicious — and a lot more feral.

You hum, amusement downright musical, and he shivers. “I’m going to help them finish down here. Wait for me upstairs?”

When Mingyu shoots up to his feet, the force of his thighs against the underside of the table threatens to flip it. The remaining wine glasses wobble in place, but thankfully, you’d all killed the bottle some time ago; no drop is left to be spilled. He still cringes at the close call, though. With a grimace, he mutters rapid-fire apologies — whether to you, the glassware, or the God of Dirty Thoughts, he’s not sure. 

You trap your bottom lip between your teeth to keep from laughing, which Mingyu appreciates. His clumsiness would have been embarrassing if he wasn’t so incomprehensibly horny. All that blood flow has been redirected away from his brain, though, and his dirty mind can’t focus on how not cool he’s being about all of this. 

Just you, that little smirk on your lips, and the million ways he wants your mouth on him.

Once he steadies himself, it only takes a second for Mingyu to race towards the stairs. Any and all chill he might’ve had is left behind him in a cloud of dust.

It’s downright cartoonish, the way he scrambles up the steps — stumbling, knees colliding with the hardwood as he goes — but it’s effective. He reaches the landing in record time, then all but kicks open the door to your childhood bedroom. As soon as the doorknob collides with the wall behind it, Mingyu freezes in place.

That wall, he realizes, is the only barrier between your room and your parents’. Worse, your old bed is set longways against that very wall. And because the hits just keep on coming, it’s a twin bed. 

With a frilly purple duvet and shockingly minimal surface area, no less.

Horrified, Mingyu steps forward and places his hand flat against the small mattress. It doesn’t take much pressure to make the bed springs squeak — when has anything ever gone his way? — and that revelation nearly has him screaming obscenities at the ceiling.

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

How is he supposed to fuck you under these conditions?

Frantic, he closes the door behind him, shuffles forward, and drops to his knees next to the bed. At his height, the frame barely reaches his midriff. Clearly, his life is a fucking joke.

Elbows now resting on the mattress, Mingyu clasps his hands together and leans forward to rest his forehead against his knuckles.

He’s never tried this before — not earnestly, anyway — and he doesn’t know where to start. Whatever the reason, he’s sure he can’t pray to any listening deity to let him get his dick wet. Anyone who hears his cry would smite him on the spot, he thinks, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Before he can settle on a prayer, footsteps sound off on the stairs just outside the door. The words are muffled; but there are multiple voices, which tells him that one or both of your parents have joined you on your journey upstairs. Suddenly, Mingyu is overcome with guilt. 

He’s in their home, having eaten their food — and now he’s a full-blown heretic, wanting nothing more than to devour their daughter like a man starved. But he can’t because, if he does, they’ll hear every dirty detail and —

Mingyu is many things, but he is not quiet.

You are, however, and he can barely make it out when you say, “Thank you, again, for dinner. And for letting us stay overnight.”

“Oh, don’t you dare!” Your mother peeps. Mingyu freezes, knowing in the rational part of his brain she can’t see him, but unable to stop himself. “It’s our pleasure! Really, it’s a long drive back for you two —”

Your father interjects, “— and Mingyu must be exhausted if he’s already in bed.”

For personal reasons, he thinks as he squeezes his eyes shut, I will be passing away.

There’s a moment of silence in which you must be hugging your parents goodnight, then there’s the quiet creak of the door opening. Footsteps, then more silence — you pausing for a moment, likely taking in the sight of him, then the door shutting softly behind you.

He can’t hear your approach over the hammering pulse in his ears, but he can feel the warmth of your body when you stand closely behind him. On instinct, he leans back onto his heels. A reflex of your own, you card your fingers through his hair and turn him into putty.

As embarrassing as it is to reckon with the fact, Mingyu acknowledges that the massage of your fingers might make him cum in his trousers.

“Were you praying?” You whisper, giggle evident despite the hushed tone. Your fingernails rake gently over his scalp; he swallows hard.

Mingyu is past the point of attempting nonchalance, so he confesses immediately. “Need divine intervention at a time like this. A twin bed? Parents? I’m doomed.”

“Maybe.” You lean down over his shoulder to purr into his ear. “Doomed or not, you look so perfect on your knees.”

That comment reverberates down his spine, ricochets off every vertebrae as it goes. He has to bite down on his fist to keep from groaning. It sure as shit doesn’t stop his eyes from rolling back in his head.

You drop your hand from his hair to trail your fingers down the length of his neck, then across the top of his shoulder. As you do, you step out from behind him and into his line of sight. You, illuminated only by a small, butterfly-shaped lamp, confirm his suspicions:

Ariana Grande was right all along. God is a woman.

You maintain eye contact as you reach behind your back and begin unzipping your dress. The burgundy fabric pools at your bare feet, having slipped right over the silkiness of your thighs without issue. If he wasn’t already in his knees, Mingyu would’ve dropped the same way.

“How confident are you that you can be quiet?” You ask softly. “Stakes are high, and you’re normally so vocal.”

Right out of the gate, he trips.

Mingyu responds with bravado and without whispering, “I can do it.”

Then, he slaps his hand over his big fucking mouth.

Biting back a smile, you reach out for the collar of his shirt. The buttons are undone with care, like any and every decibel is too much of a risk. You hum as you continue your work, “We can make it a challenge, then. If you can stay quiet, I’ll let you cum.” 

He lets you slide his shirt off his frame as soon as you’re finished with it. It lands where your dress did, wrinkling white on top of red.

“If you can’t  —” You pause and gesture down to his belt buckle, which he’s already gripping tightly to. It’s undone before you can blink, which causes the side of your mouth to twitch upwards. “— I’ll stop.”

Mingyu nods, more determined than he’s ever been, and pushes himself to his feet. Less nimbly than you, he fumbles desperately with the button and zipper at the top of his trousers. Eventually, he frees himself and they drop, too. They land with a muffled sound before being kicked blindly aside.

Your gaze drops to his briefs, pupils dilating when you see the mess you’ve made of him. The dark grey fabric is close to black at the tip of his dick, arousal seeping into the fibers and tattling on him. That is, if the blatantly thick imprint of his length hadn’t sold him out already.

His knees threaten to buckle all over again when he sees a flash of pink swipe over your lips, wetting them as your eyes grow even darker.

No, he really might cum on the spot.

You step over your discarded clothes. Closing the distance, you flatten your palms against his bare chest, push up on your toes, and kiss him properly for the first time in hours. His only instinct is to whine like a fucking baby when his lips part and you lick into his mouth, but he refuses to break this close to the starting whistle.

No, Mingyu will keep his shit together. He has to keep his shit together — even as you suck his bottom lip into your mouth and release it swollen with a pop.

“What do you want, baby?”

He doesn’t know if it’s his chest or your hands that are burning up, but a wildfire spreads as you run your palms down from his pectorals to his abdomen. Every muscle in his body tenses as your touch lowers. His lungs seem to, too, because he struggles to keep his breaths even.

Your fingers hook under the waistband of his briefs, knuckles tickling against the sensitive skin underneath his hip bones. You continue your questioning, as if he trusts himself to answer.

“My mouth?”

Oh god.

He wants it all, always and every which way, but he knows he won’t last a goddamn second in your throat — and you know it, too, even before he furiously shakes his head. 

Eyes laser focused on you, he does his best to beg without words. The puppy-dog eyes win you over every time.

When you smile at him like that — petal soft, still so devilish — he audibly sighs. There’s no helping him, he knows it. It’s a reflex, a rubber mallet to the knee. Thankfully, you let that breathy concession slide; let his briefs slide, too, until they drop unwanted around his ankles.

Mingyu is so hard that it hurts.

He’s a throbbing, leaking mess when your hand finally — fucking finally — wraps around his cock. Experimentally, you give him a light squeeze while you work the length. Your gaze flicks upwards to gauge his reaction, wrist rolling when you reach the crown.

If he had to guess, Mingyu would bet that he’s turned purple with the effort it’s taking to keep his needy mouth shut. But your eyes twinkle up at him and you tell him that he’s beautiful; and suddenly, his chest and cheeks go a shy shade of pink.

“Lay down, pretty boy,” you whisper, nodding your head towards that shitty little bed.

As he stretches out onto his back — to the best of his ability, with his heels nearly dangling off the end — he swears on his life that his friends can never know how weak he gets when you call him that.

You place your hands on his chest to keep your balance, lifting one leg over his until you’re straddling him. Your right knee settles uncomfortably between his leg and the wall, but you don’t complain. Instead, you look him dead in the eye and pull your fatal, black thong to the side.

Even in this piss-poor lighting, Mingyu can see the way your darkened eyes glint. He’s spellbound — there’s no other word to describe it.

One hand takes hold of his cock and lines it up to your cunt. The other raises to your lips, index finger extended. You tease him without saying a word, and he hears it loud and clear.

Oh, he’s going to be so good for you.

That’s what he tells himself until your arousal makes contact with the tip of his cock. That’s what he repeats in his head, over and over, when you sink down and gush around him, slick dripping to coat the centimeters that don’t quite fit inside of you. What he says out loud, elongated and definitely above a whisper, is:

“Fuuuuck.”

You quickly lean over his chest to cover his mouth with your hand. Though your pulses are both racing, he’s less focused on his total, abject embarrassment than he is on the amusement that causes your mouth to curve.

Keeping your hand where it is — for the good of everyone, really — you nip at his earlobe. He waits for the inevitable consequence of his actions.

Goddamn it. How stupid does he have to be to forfeit a prize like you?

“You don’t listen very well, baby,” Your hushed tone drips like honey into his ear. Involuntarily, his hips jerk upwards, pushing further into your wet heat.

Any distance is too much.

“But you feel so fucking good —”

Again, he ruts against you when your teeth graze his earlobe. Under your palm, his whimpering is unintelligible, but that doesn’t stop him. You catch his groan in your hand before it can hit the air.

“— might have to bend the rules for you.”

It’s torture. 

Mingyu knows you’re moving this slowly to avoid upsetting the box springs below, but whether or not there’s method to the madness, it’s still unbearable.

You swirl your hips in a way that makes his vision go white at the edges, grind down into his lap with quiet precision. He can feel that soft, spongy spot hiding behind your front wall; and he can hear those delicate little sighs as you fuck yourself deliberately.

He can feel his mind go blank, too, moments before your cunt milks him for all he’s worth. You don’t stop once he spills himself inside of you — you won’t, he hopes.

“Oh, shit,” you whimper, almost inaudibly. “I’m so close.”

The hand not covering his mouth disappears between your legs. If the way your eyes roll back is any indication, you’ve found what you were looking for. 

The sight of you is too much for Mingyu to handle. Nipples peaking through the translucent fabric of your bralette, wrist moving in the opposite direction of your hips, eyelashes fluttering while you rub spirals into your clit. Perfect, top to bottom.

Mingyu cums again when you do, refractory period be damned.

And when you collapse down onto his chest, walls still fluttering around him, he encircles you with his arm so tightly that he can feel you trembling through the aftershocks. With your face now nuzzled into the crook of his neck, the tables turn.

“Fuck,” you mutter. The sound is mostly lost against his skin, but there’s enough volume to make you both start to snicker.

You kiss his neck, nudge him with the tip of your nose. Whispering, you ask, “Not bad for a twin bed, huh?”

Mingyu snorts. “Kinda feels like high school. You know, parents on the other side of the wall, cute little bedspread,” His voice trails off so he can press his lips against your temple. Voice low in your ear, he smirks, “Nutting within thirty seconds.”

Your muffled laughter shakes his shoulders, too. Then, you fall into a silence so easy he’s sure you’ve fallen asleep on top of him. To his surprise, you peep, “I didn’t think this through.”

He hums inquisitively in response. You crane your neck to meet his eyes. 

You inhale deeply, then sigh, “I have to waddle down the hallway of my childhood home to the bathroom — right past my parents’ door — and pretend like we didn’t just do what we did.”

Mingyu flashes you a wolfish grin that catches you off guard. Your eyebrows raise in anticipation.

“Need some divine intervention, sounds like. Maybe if you pray about it —” 

smut tags― exhibitionism, voyeurism, big dick cheol, HUGE dick mingyu, top/dom(ish) cheol, service top/shy/bottom(ish) mingyu, embarrassment kink???, mentions of porn, masturbation, phone sex kind of?? idk he calls mingyu so he can listen to the shit he’s seeing, alcohol consumption, finger fucking, clit stimulation, unprotected sex, tit fondling, raw grinding,  oral (f & m receiving), deepthroating/facefucking, making out, dirty talk, pussy drunk men, cock drunk reader, double vaginal penetration, riding, missionary, finger sucking, cum stuffing, desperate desperate people!!! 

~

Mingyu ran from a lot of things. He ran from his ex fiancée when she cheated, he ran from new opportunities out of fear of losing what he already had, ran from a cop once as a teenager for streaking near the old folk’s home. Running wasn’t exactly something he’s fond of but, more often than not it’s what his heart tells him to do.

As stated, the last time he ran away was when his fiancée was found in the bed he paid for with her co-worker. That’s when his need to run came in the most handy, having no qualms with giving her the apartment and everything in it. His job allowed him to leave without much of a financial hit, her’s wouldn’t. 

The ring he bought stayed on her finger for some reason, the home he made became one she shared with any man that wasn’t him. It’s okay though, because to him, she can have it. He’s much more comfortable starting over than she would be. So, that’s what he does. 

He has money, he has a good job, and now he has a lovely house of his own on a quaint little street on the other side of town. Far far away from her. 

Starting over is equally as exhausting as it is exciting but, Mingyu keeps his chin up throughout the process. Making an empty house his new home, working his job as if his entire intimate life didn’t just fall apart, and of course, preparing himself to mingle with the new neighbors. 

A month after moving, Mingyu had made platter after platter of food for neighbors as his greeting in an attempt to make friends. Many accepted and returned his dishes washed and unscratched. All are friendly to him but, the majority of people in this neighborhood are middle aged and a bit out of his league. There is one pair of neighbors who appear more around his age though, and interested in actual friendship with him. The pair who brought his dishes back full of their own offer of a decent dinner for him to eat on his own time. 

Despite the majority of people living on this street being polite and fond of him as a newcomer, this specific couple appears to be the only ones without an entire family. Just like Mingyu. No children, free time to go out on the weekends, no minivans or babysitters coming every day during working hours. Naturally, he internally clings to the idea of them being his new friends, because his old group of friends consisted of his ex fiancée and her tight-knit group of pompous women and their boy toys. 

Seungcheol is the husband’s name, and briefly he met you alongside him a few times. He assumes you must have your own interests to cater to, because each time he finds himself on his own front porch with Seungcheol talking and joking around, you rarely come with him. Save for the one or two times you did stay to hang out for a couple of hours.

After a few months, he’s managed to sprout friendship with the man next door who has a pretty wife with a ring on her finger. Mingyu tries not to internalize that he was supposed to be living the way Seungcheol is. Maybe he’s a bit jealous of the happiness in Seungcheol’s eyes when he talks about you, or maybe it makes him feel like he either wasn’t good enough as a partner, or his ex simply just didn’t love him anymore. 

Still, even with the slight jealousy, Mingyu is comfortable around him. He’s never clicked with another man so quickly in terms of friendship, at least not without several shots of hard liquor to get himself comfortable. It’s definitely different with his neighbor. 

The guy is open, kind, and occasionally pretty funny. He comes over a few nights a week with the claim of “man-time”. It’s been at least fifteen times since he officially met Seungcheol and comfort comes alongside him when he sits on this porch and they fuck around about menial things. Hanging out with him is arguably like a breath of fresh air. 

Seungcheol though, he takes note of a lot of things that Mingyu doesn’t quite seem to notice himself. One, any time he mentions his wife, Mingyu’s eyes falter a bit. Two, he is clearly a single man and Seungcheol can’t quite grasp why that is because he’s a handsome dude, with a level personality. Three, there are slight self-deprecating jokes coming from Mingyu at least five times an hour and it’s starting to make him wonder. At first it can be funny, but after a while it kind of stops being a joke. 

So, here they are, joking and having a nice conversation on Mingyu’s porch. It’s a Friday night and Seungcheol assumes they’re close enough by this point to really talk. You’re in the back of his mind, making offers, smirking about the new neighbor, laying down the interest flat out after merely meeting with him a few times. If Mingyu really is a single man, and if he’s as open minded as he seems, perhaps laying down some hints and an invite can help him out of this clear slump that he tries to pretend he’s not in. 

“What about you? Do you have someone in your life?” Seungcheol asks after a solid twenty minutes of gushing about you. Internally knowing what he says about you is true, but also trying to sell the idea of how wonderful and sexy you are. He leans back as he studies Mingyu, noting the way he stiffens at the question. 

Again, it’s clear that Mingyu is a single man with the way he’s always in this house alone before and after work. On the weekends, he’s sitting on his porch waiting for Seungcheol to come join him. Sometimes there’s a doubt though, because looking at him, anyone would believe he is taken. He is down to earth, funny, kind, handsome as hell. Maybe he does see people and Seungcheol just never catches it. 

“Ah, no,” Mingyu avoids eye contact, trying to laugh it off as he confirms Seungcheol’s suspicions. He wants to talk about what happened though. He hasn’t been able to talk about it, and honestly, Seungcheol seems like a trusted friend at this point. “I was with someone for six years, asked her to marry me, and then we broke it off. That’s why I’m here now.”

“Oh yeah? Starting over, huh?” Seungcheol nods politely at him, figuring something like this may have happened. “Can I ask what happened?”

Mingyu shrugs nonchalantly, looking at Seungcheol with a carefree face and a smile.

“She wasn’t the most faithful, you know how it goes with those sorts of things, I guess.” 

Seungcheol studies his face a bit more, seeing straight through that carefree attitude and noting the immense amount of hurt Mingyu must feel. 

“I don’t, actually.” Seungcheol starts, watching Mingyu’s brow rise in confusion. 

“Oh, that’s lucky.” He responds with a defeated shrug, almost wanting to roll his eyes. “You might be the first man I’ve ever met who hasn’t dealt with infidelity at some point. Even just as a teenager.”

“On the contrary,” Seungcheol says with a smirk, leaning towards Mingyu as if he has a secret to tell. “We fuck other people all the time.”

Mingyu stares at him as he processes those words. Unsure of it that means they both are cheating out of spite, or if they’re about to divorce or something. 

“Sometimes in the same bed.” 

Oh. 

“At the same time.”

Seungcheol dead pan stares at Mingyu, searching for a reaction to his words. There have been many times where he and his wife invite someone to their bedroom, and many more times where the person ended up so freaked out that they ghosted the entire situation. Perhaps out of fear that Seungcheol doesn’t know what he’s doing with his wife. Many people can’t seem to fathom that possessiveness, jealousy, and competition aren’t part of the deal. 

You married Seungcheol and he married you long after the two of you started doing this. The trial period was over before it even started. He loved watching you be pleasured, and you loved the way he looked at you as it happened. Of course, not all of the sex involves other people, but it never hurts the marriage when a third shows up. 

“Oh–” Mingyu swallows around his dry throat, mind running in several directions at once. He’s not sure how to respond to that information. “That’s cool, I guess.”

Seungcheol stays silent, smirking a bit at the way Mingyu, so huge and broad, stutters to find the words to say. It’s not like he straight up invited him, not yet at least. 

“I couldn’t imagine doing that, considering I just left my fiancée for fucking someone else.” 

Seungcheol nods both understandingly and apologetically. People do tend to mix up the two. Is it cheating when he watches another man or woman fuck you? To some people, yeah but, monogamy is natural for many people. 

“I assume she didn’t tell you that she would be fucking someone else.” Seungcheol shrugs, leaning back again. “I can imagine that even if she did tell you, you’d not have allowed it, right?”

Mingyu nods. 

“It puts my stomach in knots to think of someone I love wanting to be with someone else.” 

“That’s fair,” Seungcheol starts, glancing away and thinking of how to word what he wants to say. “What if someone else wanted you to fuck the person they love?”

Mingyu freezes again, unsure of if he’s thinking too hard about that question, or not enough. 

“I’m sorry, what?” He asks defensively, looking his neighbor dead in the eye. 

“I’m not saying you have to take up this offer but, I mean, you’re a single guy. I’m a married guy, with a wife who is incredibly curious about you.” 

Mingyu continues to process the words, still overthinking it. 

“Is this a joke?” He asks in a quieter voice, whispering as if the entire neighborhood can hear them. 

“Are you attracted to her?” Seungcheol continues to press, wondering what it’ll take to get a simple yes or no out of him. He notes the way Mingyu’s ear goes red, and can’t tell if it’s because of the offer or because he’s afraid to call another man’s wife attractive.

“Here, let me rephrase,” He starts over, leaning forward again. “My wife thinks you’re, in her own words, ‘beautiful.’ She asks about you every time I come home from hanging out here, and she’s starting to get persistent.”

Mingyu, still at a loss for words, slowly nods. 

“She’s pretty, yeah.” He says, now leaning himself toward Seungcheol and raising a brow in curiosity. 

“As a single man, are you looking for love or are you looking for fun?” Seungcheol continues, prying answers out of him and smiling at the way it seems he was right in believing there is interest here.

“I just got out of a six year relationship, I’m not trying to do all of that again,” Mingyu shakes his head in disappointment. “Not for now, at least.”

“So, do you want to fuck my wife?”

Silence. 

Seungcheol pinches the bridge of his nose momentarily, seemingly frustrated.

“Look, does it help to know that I want to watch you fuck my wife?”

Louder silence. 

“Okay, you clearly need some time to think. Just, if you’re ever interested let me know. I can open the blinds if you want, like a sample or something.”

Seungcheol can see the way his eyes glisten at that offer through his silence. The wavering interest igniting right then and there. Ah, a voyeur, what a perfect addition to this neighborhood of dry vanilla cake. It’s not strange at all to see a monogamous man watching his footing in this situation, but the offer to watch is an entirely different thing from an offer to join right off the bat. Especially since there needs to be boundaries set if he decides he does want to fuck you.

For instance, when did he last get tested? Considering he got duped by his ex, that’s important. Does he like it raw? Does he know the ass belongs to Seungcheol? Etcetera. 

“Can you say something? I’m starting to feel like I’m making you uncomfortable.”

“Ah, sorry. It’s just–” Mingyu leans back with a sigh of relief at the general questioning being over and done with. “Yeah, I need to think about it.”

“Don’t think too hard,” Seungcheol laughs. “It’s getting late so, if you need me I’ll be fucking my wife.”

Mingyu watches him stand on his feet and follows the action. Feeling both closer to him and also in a rut of wondering if their entire friendship will rely on whether he wants to fuck his wife or not. Should he like, hug him goodbye or something?

He stands awkwardly as Seungcheol studies him even more. 

“Just think about it, really. She loves being watched too, if you don’t want to be involved directly.” 

God, he can feel how red his ears and face have become, surely Seungcheol knows by now that the interest outweighs the concerns. And as Seungcheol turns to head down the steps, he calls out to him. 

“Let’s say I’m interested but unsure of how to go about it, what then?”

Seungcheol turns to him and smiles, taking a few steps closer so that he doesn’t have to yell out to him. 

“It’s sex. If you know how to fuck, you fuck.“

“And if I’m not entirely ready to throw myself into your marital bed?” 

“Just let me know, like I said, opening the curtains isn’t the most insane sexual practice.”

Mingyu being the person looking through those curtains though…is it really not as insane as he’s thinking it is?

~

“So…?” You ask as soon as Seungcheol comes through the door, clinging to him with doe-eyes and a smile. 

“He seems interested but,” Your husband slides off his shoes and heads straight for the couch to lay against it in a huff. “I don’t know. Just found out his ex cheated on him after like six years, I think the whole idea spooked him.”

“Ah, damn.” You look to the floor, and then make your way onto the couch with him. “What did you say?”

“I asked him if he wanted to fuck you.”

You narrow your eyes at him before rolling them with a frustrated sigh. 

“Why would you ask him straight up like that? I cannot believe you pride yourself in being the talker of our sex life. It’s no wonder we have trouble finding people to join.”

Seungcheol looks at you with a fond smirk.

“Would you feel better if I told you that he admitted to thinking you’re pretty?”

You smile, warming up next to your husband and feeling entirely safe here. 

“What about if I told you that right before I came back home, he said he was interested and just didn’t know how to go about it?” 

A bigger smile forms on your face as you look up at him, devious eyes glistening in the warm lighting of your living room. 

“I offered that he can just watch instead. If he takes up that offer, it won't be long before he’s banging on our front door ready to show us a good time.”

You reach up to brush some of his fringe out of his face before releasing a dreamy sigh. 

“He’s so big. Like, even from here I can tell he must be packing. I hope you’re right.” You say as Seungcheol rolls his eyes, knowing damn well that Mingyu is your type and you’re probably never gonna shut up about him.  “Can’t believe someone cheated on that.” 

“Alright, alright.” He playfully complains, shoving you back against the couch and practically smothering you with his form as he flops down on you. “He hasn’t accepted yet, save those compliments for if he joins. He seems pretty shy, probably likes to be doted on.”

“Ooh, shy?”

“Oh yeah, for sure. He was actually stuttering when I made the offer, I don’t think he noticed how red his face got.”

You chuckle at the mental image of Mingyu being shy. You only had to meet him a few times to grow interest in him, but on first glance you’d think he would be the dominant type. It’s a welcome change that your husband thinks he’s the opposite.

“Do you think If I joined you next time, he might be more inclined to pull it out or something?”

“Absolutely not. I can imagine he wouldn’t even come out of his house if he saw you on his porch after what I said to him.”

“God, he’s cute.”

Seungcheol nods against you in agreement, finally pulling his weight from you and standing on his feet. 

“Yeah, it’ll be fun to see where this leads. Now if you’ll just follow me to the bedroom, I also told him I’d be fucking you tonight so I’d like to make good on my promise.” 

Fortunately for you, Seungcheol never makes a promise that he can’t keep.

~

For days Mingyu contemplates the things his neighbor said. Over the short time he’s known him, he clicked into friendship so easily and felt like he could trust him. Apparently, Seungcheol felt the same way because spilling all of those intimate details right there during a regular hang out was a bit out of the blue. Then again, he can’t imagine a married man would simply offer for anyone to fuck his wife, so the pros definitely outweigh the cons of this situation.

If it was a joke, he thinks he would know by now. All he’s gotten from Seungcheol since then is pleasant conversation as if the offer was never made to begin with. Which somehow makes it worse because he wants to talk about it. He wants more clarity. 

God, since then, he’s had nothing but intrusive thoughts of fantasies he’s never considered before. He’s so horny out of his mind on a daily basis thinking about it, especially now that he doesn’t have his ex fiancée around. Porn has never been so loved by him until now. Even when he was a teenager, he never jerked off this much just to calm his thoughts. 

The various types of porn he’s viewed within the past five days is insane. The post-nut guilt hit him pretty hard at first, sending him into both a sex crazed and sex starved stupor but, the interest only heightened from there as he would eventually start searching up porn related to the exact thing he’s been offered. 

On the sixth night of contemplation, he peeks through his blinds at the house next door and notes the silence. He knows some wild things must happen in that bedroom and he wants to know what it is. Naturally, he starts searching up some keywords without really knowing what any of it entails. 

He watches cuckold video after cuckold video, feeling his opinions of fucking another man’s wife validated by the amount of people who seem to love it the way he wants to. Then, exhibitionism comes into play. He watches at least ten videos involving said kink, his cock growing so pathetically hard at the fact that this could be a reality if he wants. Then, voyeurism.

Good lord, that’s him. All of these videos, at least in the ten more he watches, he can easily put himself in the shoes of watching. Which only makes it more arousing when he lands on a video that is clearly scripted, but entirely too similar to what his kind neighbors offered. 

There, a man watches through his window, palming himself as a woman gets absolutely railed against her own window. The camera pans to and from both ends of the scenario, for five minutes he watches the woman get fucked from the man’s window view, and then for another five minutes, he watches the man pleasure himself from her view. 

He watches intently, weeping cock twitching each time he closes his eyes and realizes that if he wanted it, that could be him. He could be the stranger in his window watching his neighbors get eachother off, except Mingyu isn’t a stranger. 

He doesn’t even need to watch the video to imagine now. Thousands upon thousands of videos comfort him in the idea that yeah, maybe involving himself in a marriage that isn’t his own is okay. Seungcheol is a handsome guy, and pretty beefed up himself. Then there’s you, such a pretty fucking woman, walking around like you don’t like to get fucked by multiple people as your husband watches.

Goddamn, if there’s any couple he’d want to be involved with, it would be you and your husband. 

Okay, maybe he’s interested and maybe that interest plays out the next day. Or rather, the next evening. Another Friday night, when Seungcheol usually comes over to hang out except this time Mingyu doesn’t respond to his texts until much later. Out of both nervousness and his own mind games hyping himself up. 

If he’s gonna watch, he doesn’t want Seungcheol to see him a mere hour or two before it happens, at least. 

Now though, ten at night, he hyped up his cock the same way he hyped up his mentality. When he’s horny, it’s much easier for him to work up the courage to lay down his own hints, to show his own interest, and to play along with things he’s never delved into. 

Mingyu: Hey um 

Seungcheol: here I was thinking you were ignoring me or something

Mingyu: can i ask about something?

Hell yeah he can. 

Seungcheol: oh? you finally warmed up to the idea? 

Mingyu: i’m just curious. 

Seungcheol peeps out his own window to see Mingyu’s blinds very quickly close.

Seungcheol: why’d you back away from the window? 

Mingyu: i don’t know, i feel like a weirdo

Seungcheol: i invited you to watch me fuck my wife, Mingyu. 

No response.

There’s a few moments of silence on Seungcheol’s end as he turns to you and flicks his head to the window. 

“I’m ninety percent sure he wants me to fuck you in front of that window right now.” 

“Oh?” You perk up in interest, hopping up from the bed and running over to the window beside your husband and peeking out. “Open them up then. If he watches, he watches.”

Seungcheol nods, looking down at the silence of his text messages and smirking. You’re right, if Mingyu wants to watch, he will. 

And so, as you go make yourself up in the bathroom for a good first impression, Seungcheol is quick to work himself up now too. Given, the two of you were about to call it a night and simply sleep since the day was quite exhausting, this is a welcome change of events. After all, Seungcheol knows how you act when you’re both horny and exhausted. He’s sure Mingyu will love it if he works up the courage to just look.

After a few minutes more of silence from Mingyu’s message box, you make your way back into the room and stare at the window. 

“Is his bedroom lined up with ours?” You ask, quirking a brow. 

“I assume so, yeah.” Seungcheol shrugs, still palming against himself lazily to get ready to put on a show.

“Oh, this could be really fun.” You say, now moving toward the window and pulling at the curtains to move them completely from Mingyu’s presumed view. 

Seungcheol follows suit, raising the blinds so fast that the sound is almost laughable.

“Should I go ahead and take off my clothes, or?” You ask now, noting the way Mingyu’s blinds are still very much closed. 

“Put this on, tie it loosely and let it fall open for him.” Seungcheol smiles, handing you the silk robe you only ever wear when a third is joining you. 

“Oooh, perfect. Let him pine for it.” You laugh with a wiggle of your brows, stepping away from the window to completely undress and put on the robe. 

Seungcheol finally texts Mingyu again when you get yourself situated, right there in the view of his dark and silent home. 

Seungcheol: blinds are open, feel free to watch.

Thank god Mingyu has read receipts on, because right as Seungcheol goes to lock his phone and play with you, he notes that it’s been read and instantly glues himself against your back. 

“He read the messages, keep your eyes at his window, see if he watches.” Seungcheol whispers before snaking an arm around you and slipping it under your robe to instantly rub against your clit. 

You do exactly as he says, gluing your eyes to the window directly across from you as you slightly spread your legs and grip the windowsill. Seungcheol is good at this, always great with putting on a show too. You know for a fact that even if Mingyu doesn’t watch, you’re going to be seeing stars whenever your husband deems it appropriate. 

“You think he’s gonna do it?” You ask curiously, trying not to immediately lose yourself to the feeling of his fingers against your clit, or the hand he’s currently slipping through your robe to grope and squeeze your tits. 

“We can only hope, until then, just enjoy it.” Seungcheol smiles against your neck, kissing the back of it before resting his chin on your shoulder, trying to work you up to where you start to slowly lose your sanity like you always do. 

It works out perfectly for him, knowing that whether Mingyu watches or not, he’s going to make damn sure you’re taken care of. His fingers expertly slide up and down the delicate folds of your arousal, and his other hand pinches and rolls your nipple to the point that it’s swollen and sensitive. His kisses against your neck become peppered and gentle as he feels your legs start to shake a bit each time his fingers reach your clit again. 

You try to turn your head to look at him, but he laughs again. 

“No, keep your eyes on the window.” He says in a raspy whisper, pressing his barely clothed cock against your ass. Thankfully, he’s adjusted himself to where just the tip pokes out of his boxers and feeling the coolness of the silk robe offer a delicate sensation, it satiates his needs for now. “Feels good even like this, right?” He asks, sliding his fingers down to tease with your hole. 

You nod against him, breathing in deeply and turning to jelly against him. You love and hate the way he makes your body react. It’s hard to keep your eyes on that window across from you when you’re being offered sheer arousal right behind you. 

“Mm, you always get so wet when you know someone might be watching.” Your husband compliments you, dipping his fingers in before sliding them out again and running them up to swirl around your clit with more pressure than before. “God, you’re really soaking my fingers already babe, he doesn’t know what he’s missing out on–”

You let out a small moan, frustrated that you want Seungcheol to be right. If only Mingyu would take the two of you up on the offer. If only he would actually glimpse even for a moment. You clench at the idea of those blinds opening, grinding harshly against Seungcheol’s hand with a desperate sort of sound. 

Right then, you see movement next door. Seungcheol can tell with the way your pussy grips his fingers tightly when he slides them back into you, and you let out a genuine and desperate moan. He flicks his eyes up, now noting the movement himself. 

The way you writhe your body at the mere confirmation that Mingyu is watching is insanely erotic to your husband. Whether it’s out of curiosity or if it’s out of arousal, it doesn't matter. He loves the way you get so turned on so fast, and with this being the situation, he’s not surprised that you seem more desperate than usual. Plus, the fact that those blinds stay parted shows that Mingyu likes what he’s seeing, and you couldn’t be more aroused by the thought of what he must be doing behind the veil of his own window-blinds. 

Seungcheol chuckles gently in your ear as you continue to lose your mind on his fingers, he can tell that now you’re moving to turn both him and Mingyu on, rather than just him like moments ago. You grind more, you whine more, you get increasingly more wet. 

And as you stare forward to the little space in Mingyu’s window where his eyes sit, you grow more and more frustrated with the way he doesn’t open the blinds up. You want to see him too, you need to see how he likes to touch himself. 

Seungcheol can tell through your frustrated moans that you need more, and like the doting husband he is, he offers a solution fairly quickly. 

“What’s wrong?” He coos, fucking his fingers in again at an angle, deepening them inside of you and holding your waist in place. “He’s not giving you what you want, is he?”

You nod brokenly, finally tearing your eyes from the window and shooting a pleading look to your husband, rolling your eyes back only slightly when his fingertips bump the soft and sensitive spot inside of you. 

“Use my phone, text him.” Seungcheol smiles, holding your waist in place tighter so he can fuck his fingers in at a harsher pace. You tremble in his grasp, unsure if you can even process the idea of texting right now. “Tell him to let you see him.”

You nod, smiling through the sensitivity of your g-spot being repeatedly assaulted, clearly on purpose, surely to have you going fucking feral. Reaching for the phone, your hands are trembling as you unlock it and read over the messages from before with Mingyu. His curiosity is hopefully strong enough to actually stick around for the next however long, because god, you want him to see you fall apart. 

Seungcheol: open your blinds, let me see

Mingyu watches you text as your body jerks with each hidden movement of Seungcheol’s hand under that robe, and when his phone goes off he almost panics. Almost. He drops his length and grabs his phone in one hand while using the other to keep the split of his blinds open enough to keep watching. Fighting the feeling of appearing like a damn stalker, despite his hips rubbing his achingly hard cock against the trim of the window. 

The way Seungcheol stares from behind you, the way you smirk through faces of pleasure at what he’s doing to you, at what he must be saying to you. Mingyu has never felt so fucking aroused watching someone have what he wants. The way you skew your head to listen to what your husband is saying, the way his hands move to places he can’t see. Arguably, you look like the most fuckable person on this planet at the moment and it’s incredibly difficult to not want to fuck something, anything, right now.

Mingyu knows he’s done for if he so much as grips his own cock by now. So quickly the thought of doing this made his pathetic cock weep against his briefs, and now, seeing it happen in real time just across the yard. Yeah, he could come within seconds if he doesn’t try to control it. Upon reading your text though, he finds himself following precise directions and opens the blinds for you to reveal himself. 

His face flushes seeing you in full without the blinds cutting off his peripheral vision. It kind of hits him differently realizing he’s in his own quiet bedroom fucking himself to the image of you propped up against the window for him. It’s embarrassing and he feels entirely pathetic when you look at him like this. Both so far away and so close at the same time. His senses are heightened tenfold the moment he sees you react. 

An accidental moan splills from his lips, the sound breaking the heavy silence of his home and echoing through the walls as if to tell whatever ghosts that live here that he definitely wants to fuck around with the married couple next door. Your attraction to him only heightens the confidence he holds within himself.

You, on the other hand, can feel your arousal drip out of you and onto your husband’s hand at seeing Mingyu coming into full view. Your hand grips at your husband’s, clumsily allowing yourself to feel the sheer force of how his fingers are plunging into you just at the right moment. You roll your head back briefly, basking in the pleasure of being fucked and watched.

“Don’t look away babe,” Seungcheol says, flicking his eyes to Mingyu. “He’s so hard.”

You weakly lift your head again, opening your darkened eyes and looking directly at the man through the window. His hair is a mess, fanning across his forehead, and he’s shirtless, revealing the abs you only assumed he had at first glance. His cock is heavy against his dark gray briefs, stretching the fabric out enough to tell you that, yeah, he is packing. 

You make eye contact with him, staring straight into his eyes as you press your ass back and against Seungcheol, who readily accepts the movement and presses his cock directly against you with a soft sigh of his own. 

“Already?” He whispers to you with an amused chuckle, stilling his fingers and dropping his other hand to toy at the tie of your robe, hopefully so it falls open naturally at a quicker pace now that you appear to be losing it. 

“Right now.” You respond in a desperate voice, hiking one leg up against the table off to the side and feeling your robe instantly fall open. 

Your eyes devour the image of Mingyu’s mouth falling open in what you can only assume is a moan at your naked body being revealed to him. Instantly, you shoot your hand to your chest and start toying with one of your nipples for him. Shooting a hungry gaze straight across the way and making obvious suggestions at him through it. 

Seungcheol from behind you is seemingly in his own little world when he shoves his boxers down and arches your back with his palm so that your ass lifts for him, instantly you can feel his cock between your legs. He takes a step back, pulling you with him and removing your leg from the table to position you in a way that if Mingyu looks hard enough, he can see the way his cock will slide beautifully between your thighs. 

“Not yet babe, let’s play first.” Seungcheol soothes you through the disappointed sigh of your leg being pulled down. You were so ready to start fucking immediately, but of course he wants to make a good first impression. “Hold your legs together.”

You listen perfectly, feeling Seungcheol’s cock slide easily between your thighs. 

“God, fuck–” He moans, feeling the wetness of you drip down onto his length as you squeeze your thighs together as tightly as possible. “He would go insane over you.”

“He already is,” You chuckle weakly, staring at the way Mingyu’s hand snakes under his briefs and tugs against himself. “I want to see it so bad.” 

“Mm, yeah, I bet you do.” Seungcheol responds mindlessly, loving the feeling your thighs offer to his desperate length. “Tell him then.”

Right then, Mingyu can see a mischievous little smile form across your lips as he struggles already not to release against his perfectly cleaned window. The way Seungcheol manhandles you is one thing, with his big hands gripping onto your flesh just to pound his cock between your legs– fuck. But, the way both of you stare straight at him is another. Mingyu might be obsessed with the way the two of you touch each other intentionally to get all three of you off. So badly does he want to be right there in the room, hearing you in his ear, watching Seungcheol kiss across your skin and massage your pretty sensitive pussy. One that he hasn’t entirely even gotten to see yet. 

Then, he jumps as his phone rings. 

From your end, you watch as he jumps out of surprise, glances at his phone, then back at you, shaking his head with a wince as he grips his cock again. 

“He’s not going to pick up.” You comment as the tightened squeeze of your thighs loosen up with disappointment. 

Seungcheol is instantly smiling, letting his cock fall from its place of stimulation and is pulling you back, back, back. Offering a full view of him falling back on the bed, with you falling with him. 

“Show him your pussy.” Seungcheol says, reaching around you to open your thighs as if you’re a grand prize for this little sex game of trying to seduce a broken hearted man.

Seungcheol knows he has an entire list of positions he could do to get Mingyu just as desperate as you get. Usually, presenting his wife’s pussy at another man is enough to have them making decisions they previously doubted. He hopes Mingyu reacts the same, because if he’s being totally honest with himself, saying no to you when you’re spread out like this is a fucking sin.

You stare at Mingyu when your husband spreads your legs, pussy pulsing around nothing more than the stare being directed at it. And there, sitting on Seungcheol’s hips with your back facing him, you easily hold your legs open and slide your fingers down to circle your clit. 

You stay like that for a moment, squinting to see Mingyu’s reaction and noting the way his hand fucks faster under the fabric of his briefs. You want him to go harder, so hard that he needs to take that last remaining bit of clothing off of him so that you can see. Thankfully, Seungcheol’s cock lies right below where your ass is sitting , and it’s easy to grasp it and hold it up against your folds. You grid against it gently before swirling your clit along the length of him, still staring at Mingyu with a smile. As if to tell him, “this could be you.”

The way Mingyu’s hand moves faster is one thing, the way he looks more unashamed now compared to when you first saw him in that window is another. The way his arms flex as he keeps his cock hidden beneath those briefs, jerking himself off desperately as if you can’t tell he’s struggling not to moan loud enough for you to hear even from here, it’s too fucking erotic. 

Never have you and your husband had a neighbor to play with like this. Typically, you’re being watched in the same room, this is something entirely different. This is insanely arousing and you can feel your pussy clench each time you’re reminded of how fucking sweet this deal could be.

“Play with yourself,” Seungcheol continues to instruct through a half-moan, feeling the way you rub his length against you as a form of masturbation. “I’ll call him again.” 

This time, you note how the phone rings once before Mingyu is fumbling to answer. You see the way his hand stills to put his focus on saying “hello?” as if he doesn’t know it’s you and your husband. As if the people calling him aren’t watching him fuck himself. 

Seungcheol starts immediately though, his words driving you insane enough to know Mingyu would have to react in a way that sends him over edge too.

“You wouldn’t believe how wet she is,” Your husband boasts without greeting him back, putting the phone on speaker and lying it next to the two of you. “I bet you would love to bury your tongue in her right now, wouldn’t you?”

Mingyu nearly stutters as he hears the words, staring at the way you hold Seungcheol’s cock right where you want it to grind against. It’s so much to be able to see and hear what’s happening, and it’s like something in his head clicks. He’s so fucking turned on that he feels like he’s going insane, so he puts his normal, level-minded self to rest. No room for embarrassment when his cock is already aching for the couple who seem to want him just as bad. 

“Fuck, yeah,” Mingyu sighs out, lying his own phone down against the window sill and fucking his hips forward into his hand. His briefs now stretched out to the point that they truly are more of an issue than anything else right now. “I would, god, how wet?”

You moan at how desperate his voice sounds, now pressing your clit directly against the head of Seungcheol’s cock and deliberately making yourself moan from pleasure. When he flashes his cock to you though, fuck. Just barely he lowers his briefs, palm teasing himself in such a harsh way. He looks so pretty over there, all alone, watching someone else get to play with you like some kind of pervert. 

“That’s it,” You say, knowing he can hear you. “Let me see you.” 

Mingyu does, shoving his briefs down entirely now, allowing you to imprint the image of how thick and heavy his length is in your brain permanently. 

“I can already imagine how good it would feel to have you stretching me out,” You half-groan, now inching your husband’s cock straight to your hole and preparing to fuck the daylights out of him. “I knew you’d have a cock just as pretty as you.”

Seungcheol chuckles from behind you, entirely aroused by the way you talk to another man, a more shy man. He can tell how desperate you are by now too, especially with the way you toy with his cock as if you picked it up from a store shelf and it’s not attached to him. He loves it. And when he sits up, wrapping his arms around you to also see Mingyu, he smiles. 

Fucking both of you are totally gone. Even from here he can tell Mingyu is losing his mind over you. Thankfully, you deserve nothing less and Seungcheol couldn’t be happier to play off of the way you both seem to want each other terribly. 

“See this?” He says, snaking his hand around you to move his cock and spreading your pussy lips.”Can you not see how wet she is?”

Both of you can hear Mingyu’s muffled groan before you see it, his head falling forward against the window as he stares down at his hand and the way he fucks it. You’re entirely satisfied, because you know what he’s thinking. You can see how badly he wants it, and your husband does nothing but remind him of it. 

“Do you want me to fuck him?” You finally ask, pushing your own agenda and raising up on your knees to situate yourself right above Seungcheol’s length, where he takes over and holds it in place for you. 

Mingyu’s eyes shoot back to the two of you and he nods before breathing out a small “Yeah…”

He doesn’t seem like much of a talker, but it could still be stage fright. Even if he isn’t the one on the damn stage. You can imagine he would get better at this if he accepts the invite of your open blinds on more than one occasion. 

Seungcheol chuckles again at him, the breathy tone of his voice is quite obvious to him. Mingyu is holding out, he doesn’t want to come too soon and end the fun.

“You heard him babe, ride me.” 

Instantly, you’re sinking down and feeling the harsh stretch of Seungcheol’s cock pulsing inside of you. Your drawn out moan rings in Mingyu’s mind as he watches the slow descent. Only now noting how big Seungcheol’s length is, and seeing how well you take it. He twitches in his palm, eyes nearly rolling back to escape the overwhelming arousal that floods his thoughts. 

Mingyu isn’t sure if either of you are aware, but he can hear how wet you are through the phone. When you slide down and start bouncing your ass, all while staring forward at him, he can hear it pour out of you. The slapping of your ass landing against Seungcheol is a beautiful sound, and he does his best not to moan through it and muffle those sounds out. 

He stares straight back at you, thinking hard enough at how he fucks the circle his fingers create. He’s losing his breath when he fucks his fist in time with the way you bounce, tuning into your face and imagining that he’s the one you’re riding. No offense to Seungcheol, it’s nearly like he doesn’t exist right now considering he’s almost entirely hidden by you. 

That doesn’t last too long though, because Seungcheol makes himself well known through his breathy words. Dirty talking in a way that somehow, Mingyu still finds himself shocked by it. The words turn him on, he can only imagine how you feel about. 

“Fuck, babe, you’re so tight. I bet you’d love to be spread out for both of us,” Seungcheol says at first, gripping your thighs and basking in the way you squeeze his length each time Mingyu does something to turn you on. “Don’t you think he would love to feel how you drip from this?”

Mingyu feels so shameless, and for some reason it feels okay. Your husband is dirty talking to you about him and it’s insanely sexy when he hears it. Already stuttering his hips in his palm, especially when he notes that Seungcheol moves his hands to your pussy and spreads it open again for him. Offering him the perfect view of his length sliding in and out of you. 

“Would love to see how this pussy gets filled up, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Unsure of if Seungcheol is talking to you or to him at this point, Mingyu answers without thinking. 

“Fuck, fuck. Yeah–” Mingyu says with a cut-off groan, holding the base of his cock so tight he feels like he can’t breathe. He can’t release yet, he has to keep going. 

You moan loudly at his breathed out answer, nodding your head frantically at the confirmation, answering for yourself shortly after. 

“You’d make me come so fast, Gyu, I know you’d know how to fuck me,” You start, not realizing the shortened version of the name you’d called out.

And then he moans brokenly through the phone which instantly has you leaning yourself back, and lying against Seungcheol’s chest. He falls back with you, holding you and once again and moving his fingers to your clit, his cock still pounding in at the perfect pace. 

“Fuck, she’s there–” Seungcheol grits out, feeling your orgasm wash over you and grip his cock insanely tightly. “Goddamn, feels so good babe, that’s right.”

Mingyu, watching and listening, instantly releases the grip on the base of his cock, staring straight at the way Seungcheol stuffs his length inside of you. The nickname you called him echoes in his head, and then he stutters out a broken sob as he feels his own orgasm wash over him, and just like him, you’re also listening. 

He must hold his breath when he’s close, or maybe he’s just way more shy than he appears to be, considering what he’s doing right now, but you don’t mind as you ride your own high. Ears popping shortly after when Seungcheol continues to chase his own pleasure within your dripping heat. 

Strangely enough, even Seungcheol is shocked at how fast he comes from this. Releasing a mere two seconds after you relaxed around him. You can feel him pulse inside of you as you lie against him, pussy still on full display, cum dripping out of you in a beautiful scene for Mingyu’s eyes to devour.

And devour, they do. Mingyu just stares, head spinning as he ignores the spurts of cum hitting his window and dripping down onto his carpet. His hand is also drenched in his own heat and he makes no attempt to move afterwards. Arguably, he’s still aroused by the image of the way your husband fills you up with his own seed, and the way you’re so full of his cock that it dribbles out and onto your thighs. 

God, he wants to lick you so bad. Even now, fully spent and his sober-mind coming back to him, he wants to taste you. 

“Mingyu,” Seungcheol calls out, breaking the silence with an out of breath voice. “You still watching?”

There’s another moment of paused silence.

“Yes– I am.” 

Seungcheol smiles, nuzzling his face against you and your neck as you continue to lean against him out of breath. Slowly, he pulls out of you, once again spreading you open for Mingyu to see, allowing the rest of his cum to drip out of you. 

“Take a good look, because this pussy went fucking insane over you.” 

Mingyu does look. He has been looking. Honestly, it’s almost embarrassing at the way his cock twitches with interest again, so fucking fast after having already been emptied. 

“I’ll be coming over tomorrow to discuss this.” Seungcheol adds nonchalantly, easily going from filth-talk to casual-talk. “Get some rest.” 

“Goodnight, Pretty boy,” You call out with a dazed smile, finally moving yourself off of Seungcheol and adjusting your robe back onto your shoulders. 

And right before Seungcheol hangs up the phone, both of you smile at each other at the way Mingyu lets out, in the tiniest voice for such a big man, a gentle little “Goodnight.” 

~

By morning, Mingyu nearly forgot Seungcheol said he was coming over. It wasn’t until the afternoon when he managed to get the image of you getting off out of his mind that he remembered there’s supposed to be a discussion about it. 

Embarrassment hits him harder than it ever has, thinking about what he was doing for both of you to see. It wasn’t just a show for him, he put one on for the two of you as well. 

When he makes his way back into his bedroom, he tries to ignore the fact that your blinds are still open, and there’s no one in the room. He pauses briefly, once again trapped in the on-going loop of what he saw happening on that very bed just the night before. 

It feels like he’s doomed when Seungcheol comes over. He could just not answer the door but it doesn’t change the fact that he lives right next door and he already came all over his window before your very eyes. Before Seungcheol’s very eyes. He’s already crossed the boundary into someone else’s marriage and despite loving the idea of it, it’s scary. It’s not something he’s ever considered doing before meeting the two of you, and now, he’s kind of just confused as to how all of this works. 

Like, it almost seems too sweet of a deal. You’re a beautiful couple, who is he to be able to watch what you do with your husband? What’s the catch? 

Well, he comes to find out that there isn’t much of a catch at all. Seungcheol shows up with a warm smile and a gift of wine. It felt welcoming but, insanely awkward with the way it’s the first time Mingyu has ever been offered a hug by him.

They hug. Seungcheol fucking hugs him to say hello with that expensive ass bottle of wine as if to say “nice cock, my wife loved it.” 

Seungcheol does pick up on the awkwardness though, stepping through Mingyu’s door and inviting himself in. After all, it’s only appropriate at this point. He keeps his smile though, loving the way you woke up in a good mood all thanks to Mingyu letting his curiosity get the best of him. 

“Don’t be like that,” Seungcheol says, glancing around the house and nodding in approval that it doesn’t appear to be entirely barren. He kind of expected the house to not feel like a home, because that’s usually what single men do. “You can back out anytime you want.”

Mingyu, somehow, feels eased by those words. His heart thumps against his chest at the thought of never doing it again though. Which is kind of weird to him. 

“Sorry, I just don’t really know how to act around you after that.”

Seungcheol offers him a warm smile again, seeing himself to the kitchen and opening the drawers. 

“We can talk about that,” He waves him off, still rummaging through a kitchen that isn’t his own. “You got a corkscrew?” 

Mingyu nods, trying to make his huge frame seem as small as possible by tip-toeing past his neighbor with the huge cock and opening one of the only drawers he didn’t get to. He pulls out the corkscrew and hands it to him, making no attempt to look into his eyes even for a second. 

“Oh my god, loosen up.” Seungcheol rolls his eyes, shoving Mingyu by the shoulder playfully and heading back to the bottle of wine.

Mingyu feels slightly comforted by the fact that maybe he can loosen up with a bit of wine in his system, but getting to that point feels like it’s going to be hell. He’s never felt so embarrassed. 

“Sorry,” He responds in a small voice, grabbing two random cups and following Seungcheol. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to expect out of this whole thing, like,” 

Seungcheol cuts him off with a wave of his hand.

“That’s why I’m here to talk to you about it. Clearly this isn’t something you’ve done before, it’s not like we didn’t want you to get off or anything. You’ll come to learn that we enjoy this kind of thing.”

He pauses as he opens the bottle, shifting it to the side now to grab two cups and look at Mingyu. 

“If you end up not enjoying it, there’s always someone else we can find to take up the offer.”

Mingyu very nearly panics, hoping it doesn’t show plainly on his face as he takes over pouring the wine. Seungcheol picks up on people so easily, watching Mingyu shake his head slightly at the words and pour a suspiciously nervous amount of wine into both cups. 

“That’s the thing though,” Mingyu says, popping the cork back into the bottle and already taking a swig of his wine. “I did enjoy it.”

Seungcheol raises his brow, nodding his head in encouragement and grabbing his own cup before following Mingyu to his living room.

“Good, I’m glad you had fun. Let’s talk about it then.”

Mingyu knows it’s inevitable, and hopefully within the next hour, he won’t feel so cautious in talking about it.

~

“You know, usually I wouldn’t let her come so fast,” Seungcheol shrugs, standing to grab the bottle of wine and bring it into the living room. “I tend to try and get a few out of her but she just wasn’t going to let me. Did you see the way she grabbed it and sat on me? I couldn’t have stopped her even if I wanted to.” 

The way Seungcheol talks loudly and comfortably about it is kind of soothing. Given, this is probably why they’re opting to hang out inside of the house rather than outside. This is a private matter, an intimate one, even. 

“She slept like a rock afterwards, and is now insisting we keep the blinds open at all times to view at your discretion.” 

Mingyu stutters a bit, scooting his cup towards Seungcheol and hoping he pours another generous amount into his cup. Already, since he doesn’t drink too often these days, he can feel the buzz and comfort settles within him as Seungcheol seemingly dotes on him. 

“What I’m trying to say is, our blinds are permanently open unless you’d rather not do this. Alternatively, the door is open too, but,” Seungcheol pauses so he can sip his drink. “You’re going to need to get tested first if you want that thing anywhere near my wife.”

Mingyu shifts slightly, squeezing his legs together uncomfortably as his wine bubbles in his belly. 

“I’ve already been tested. My ex cheated on me with god knows how many people, you think that wasn’t the first thing I did?”

“Smart man,” Seungcheol claps him on the shoulder, now leaning in a bit too close for comfort if Mingyu were still in his embarrassed mind-state. “We get that you’re shy about all of this, but I’ve gotta tell you, her pussy really did grip every single time you moaned.”

Mingyu’s eyes start to shine at the compliment, for some reason feeling like he’s on top of the world hearing that. 

“Felt like I was being strangled, honestly.” Seungcheol laughs before going quiet. “So, what do you think?”

Mingyu pauses, staring at his cup and then at his neighbor. 

“I, um–” He sighs out of frustration, wondering why he can’t articulate a damn sentence with confidence. “I liked watching, I guess. Not sure if I’m ready to just…”

“Come fuck my wife?” Seungcheol says playfully before immediately gripping Mingyu’s shoulder and laughing fondly at him. “Take your time. Like I said, the blinds are open and we have a pretty active sex life. I can imagine you’re going to wonder how I’m not milked dry yet.”

He already wonders that.

“But I do want to say, if you decide to actually come over and show her a good time, there are rules to that.” 

Mingyu quirks a brow, unsure of if his mind is running in a way that will let him take down mental notes. 

“First of all, she’s protected so as long as you can provide proof of your test you can come in her all you want, she likes that but, you’re not touching her ass.”

Mingyu nods, shrugging nonchalantly and surprised he even responded that way. 

“She likes it rough but she doesn’t know you enough yet. Don’t slap my wife, don’t grab her neck with the intention of choking her, and don’t call her any type of degrading name. Not yet, at least.”

Wow, his brain is actually taking down the mental notes perfectly. Even with these rules, he’s not entirely into hitting the person he wants to be inside of, not unless they ask anyway. 

“That’s it. Those are the rules.” Seungcheol says with a shrug, taking another drink and tapping his foot on the floor. “What about you? For possible future endeavors, what’re your terms?”

There’s a long pause. Mingyu is totally unprepared to make rules for a situation he’s never even been involved with before, but he does his best. 

“Well,” He breathes out, blowing a strand of his fringe up from his forehead in a huff. “I don’t know. Don’t put anything in my ass?”

“That’s no fun,” Seungcheol deadpans, then nods. “But fair, okay. What else?” 

Mingyu continues to let his eyes wander around his living room as he thinks of things he doesn’t like sexually. 

“I really don't know. I’ve mostly just had vanilla sex. I can tell you what I do like?” He admits, knowing that all of this is just in case.

“Alright, go on then.” Seungcheol nods, now topping off their drinks. 

It’s actually hilarious to him, hearing Mingyu list off the most mundane sex acts. He does his best not to chuckle at the mention of “blow jobs, I like those.” Instead, he offers something along with that, interrupting him.

“Ever been deep throated?” Seungcheol asks, watching Mingyu breathe in because it’s like he lost all of his breath trying to list off things he likes. “Like, you know, ever face-fucked?”

Mingyu nods, then shakes his head, then nods. 

“Define both of those. I mean, my ex never really let me hold her head in place, but I tried once. And don’t even get me started on the way she would refuse to continue if she gagged even once.”

Seungcheol shakes his head in pity.

“Man, you’re gonna love my wife.” 

~

Well, to put it lightly, Mingyu might, definitely, insanely, obsessively be in love with you. Not in like the “leave your husband” way but more in like the “i want you so bad and know that i’m allowed to have you if i’d just stop being a little bitch about it” way. 

It’s been another entire week since Seungcheol came over to discuss things with him and even more so now, is Mingyu’s mind in the gutters. He’s thankful he’s good at his job, almost able to do everything needed without much thought behind it because if that weren’t the case, he would probably be fired by now. 

Fired for being too horny at work isn’t something he ever considered would happen to himself, and though it hasn’t and probably won’t, he isn’t too shocked at this point to be learning more and more about these hidden little interests that only came to light when he met you and your husband. 

Those blinds do stay open, and that little bedside lamp in your bedroom has become one of his favorite things. One, because it illuminates the way your body moves when Seungcheol inevitably fucks you, two, because it’s actually a pretty nice lamp and he kind of wants one for his own bedroom. 

And god, his window. His poor fucking window. Four out of the seven nights since Seungcheol came over has he been standing right there, blinds open, getting himself off. He knows he’s a pervert by this point. He embraces it now, knowing for a fact that you’re also embracing it, and even Seungcheol is too. 

The embarrassment that hits him after each time he releases hurts much less than the post-nut guilt of all that porn he was watching before all of this happened. He’s not sure why, but there’s something inside of him that tells him it’s because he’s wanted. He’s being fawned over by an entire married couple and it makes his confidence go through the fucking roof. 

That second time he stood at his window, he was still unsure of it. But now, three more sessions later, he finds himself considering the offer of being in the room. Each time he thinks he should do it. You know, like release his cock mid-jerk off session just to run next door and barge into the room to bury himself inside of you, all while Seungcheol allows it to happen and praises him for manning up to do it. 

He hasn’t yet though, because most of the time he struggles to pull his eyes away from how fucking good the two of you look together. And you know, to him, when he thinks about actually being in that room with the two of you, there’s still some shame left in him about it. 

Something about the idea of joining a married couple despite how much he loves watching them, the idea of them asking him multiple times to work his body on you, the idea of them leaving their blinds open just so he can get off at his own volition. 

It’s such an insane fantasy come to life and the shame he feels about actually following through stays despite it wavering with each time he watches and listens in by calling you himself to hear you moan. 

Again, by now, an entire week later and several sessions of pure voyeurism, he questions that shame and wonders how much it’ll take to ignore it. Next time for sure he’s going to go over there. Next time, he’s going to put that shame to rest like he did the first time with simply watching. 

That next time doesn’t happen though, because you’re not wandering around your room naked for Mingyu to see when his alarm goes off. Because yeah, it’s kind of a ritual now to look out the window and nod a little “good morning” to you and your tits.

When he looks outside near the afternoon, both cars in your driveway are gone and it hits him over how fixated he is on the two of you. It feels almost empty seeing the two of you gone on a weekend, when Seungcheol is usually texting him to see if he wants to hang out. 

By this point for him, yes, come over please. 

Then, relief washes over him when he hears Seungcheol’s car pull into the driveway. The amount of pining within Mingyu at this moment is driving him insane. It’s only four in the afternoon by this point and his mind is reeling. Going miles a minute and honestly, he needs this overwhelming feeling to be eradicated. 

He needs to do it. 

~

Seungcheol is shocked as he sits eating his dinner to the sound of a knock at his door. He’s swift when he stands to his feet and answers it. 

“Oh, was gonna text you to hang out after dinner–” He pauses, realizing this is the first time Mingyu has ever been on his doorstep save for when he greeted them with a meal after he moved in. He eyes him up and down momentarily before smirking. “Well, well, well.” 

Mingyu doesn’t quite make eye contact as he stands there and shoves the proof of his tests into Seungcheol’s chest, already regretting the decision to come over without so much as texting. 

“Showing up looking like this, already hard too?” Seungcheol says snidely, glancing at the results and leaning himself against his door frame. His eyes stare directly at Mingyu’s obvious raging hard-on beneath his pants, then he glances up at his face. 

Mingyu appears to be both ashamed and proud, presenting himself like a damn virgin. 

“Relax, it’s cool. You can come in,” Seungcheol finally says, trying to ease the tension that seems to be festering within his friend. “I’ll call and see if she’s coming home tonight.”

Mingyu is fucking mortified. Of course he’s bad at timing. Of fucking course he shows up ready to fuck and you’re not even here. Now he’s just left standing just inside of the front door with a desperate and pathetic cock that, for some reason, still isn’t even going down. 

“She’s. not. here.” Mingyu says to himself loud enough for Seungcheol to throw a laugh at him, putting the phone up to his ear after pressing the call button.

“She went to see her parents. I bet the second I tell her you’re standing there like that, hot ‘n hard, she’ll be running red lights.” 

Mingyu is flushed. Entirely aroused by this whole situation despite the embarrassment. The last thing he needs to admit to right now though, is getting off on the shameful way he’s acting. He knows he looks desperate, and that…for some reason, makes him feel proud. 

He’s so in his head that he doesn’t even hear Seungcheol talk to you. Completely misses the way he says into the phone “hey babe, guess who is standing in our living room right now? he looks like he might cry.”

Totally misses the brief pause and then Seungcheol’s response of, “yeah, you might wanna rush.”

Luckily for him though, he’s so in his head that time flies as he tries to will his length to go down just a little bit. It’s frustrating, really, to only learn certain things as they happen to him, but like, damn. He really feels like he’s about to burst already, just standing here with a woman’s husband who is knowingly about to let him fuck her. 

“You’re not usually this quiet.” Seungcheol finally says to Mingyu, who is still just standing there in the living room. “Are you nervous?”

Mingyu instantly nods, throwing his hands in front of his hard-on and looking to Seungcheol. 

“This is the worst, actually,” Mingyu starts, shifting from one leg to the other and glancing away. “Fuck you guys for being so enticing.”

Seungcheol shrugs proudly, offering a smile and then nodding his head as if to invite Mingyu to sit on the couch. 

“She’ll be here soon, I’m just going to clean up. Don’t think too hard and take off running, she’s excited.”

Mingyu nods reluctantly, taking a seat on the couch and staring up at the ceiling in defeat. Jumping out a window sounds pretty nice but by this point he assumes every window he will ever touch probably has his cum on it by now. You know, association and stuff. 

Then, he hears a car pull up and he’s practically throwing himself to his feet. His balance turning him into a clumsy mess, totally forgetting how to navigate his large body and entirely losing the ability to know how to navigate this entire situation. 

The good news for him though, is that you practically jump out of your car and sprint for the door. Not even greeting Seungcheol when you rush inside and slip off your shoes. 

All Mingyu knows is that, one second he stands to his feet and gets a head rush, then he hears a door slam, Seungcheol letting out a breathy laugh, and then you slamming into him and practically knocking him back down onto the couch.

“All this time you made me watch? And now you show up when I’m at dinner with my parents.”  You playfully scold him, immediately straddling him and grabbing his face with both hands so that he can look at you. “You’re going to have to tie me up if you don’t want me to be all over you right now.”

Mingyu looks at Seungcheol with a stunned expression, receiving a simple shrug in response. 

“You want her to touch you?” He asks, heading for the bedroom and raising his voice to continue. “If not, I do have rope.”

Mingyu looks at you, still totally stunned by how fucking fast you got on top of him. He’s rendered more speechless than you’ve ever made him, and his cock twitches painfully from the sensitivity of you sitting on top of him. 

He nods politely, dipping his head and looking down. 

“You can touch me.” He whispers, only to be cut off by Seungcheol shouting from the bedroom.

“You guys gonna come into the bedroom, or?” He yells, peeking around the corner and shooting a look at you specifically, as if to remind you to pace yourself considering that Mingyu is entirely new to this and still seems like a deer in the headlights. 

You nod to Seungcheol and then lift Mingyu’s face back up to you again. 

“I can tell your heart is racing,” You say to him in a fond tone, tilting your head playfully. “It’s okay, come on.” You add, pulling yourself off of him and grabbing his hand.

He stares at the way you intertwine your fingers. Feeling like if he thinks hard enough, you’re not married and you’re more into him than just sex. Then again, he doesn’t want to think about that at all. The whole reason he’s so turned on is because this is considered strange to most people he knows. He doesn’t even want to be in love, he doesn’t want to be in a relationship with any single person right now. What he wants is this. What he wants is to watch you through his window, and lust over you, and then get to have you. Time and time again. What he wants is for Seungcheol to always share you with him, because he can barely cross his own boundaries, better yet crossing someone else's. 

At least with him, you’d be safe. Seungcheol wouldn’t have to worry about broken rules or him coming into your home to take full control. This isn’t his relationship, it’s yours, and if the two of you want him involved even with just sex, he’s leaping for the opportunity at this point. 

There, he’s led into the bedroom where Seungcheol looks at him with a fond expression. Mingyu stares for a moment, then looks around the room. It feels like he’s been pining to be in this very room for ages, and knowing he’s standing here right now feels even more overwhelming. 

He glances at the window, looking through it into his own open blinds and the embarrassment hits him twice as hard, which obviously has his cock aching in arousal. He isn’t even ashamed of the little, breathy whimper of defeat he lets out at this moment, rolling his eyes back and furrowing his brows. 

You let go of Mingyu and take your place beside Seungcheol, both of you checking Mingyu out from head to toe before looking at each other and smiling. 

“I don’t even know where to start,” Seungcheol admits, feeling defeated that for the first time in his sex life with you, he doesn’t know how to get the ball rolling. “Why does this feel so intimate compared to usual?”

You laugh, now staring down both of them, wanting nothing more than to fuck and be fucked. The air in this room feels electrifying, and already you have goosebumps rising against your skin. It feels like heaven. 

“Probably because he’s so close to home,” You chuckle, feeling totally in control with two lost men staring at you as if they want to eat you alive. “Isn’t that right, Mingyu?” You say, taking a step towards him and already lifting your shirt off of you.

Just as quickly as Seungcheol loses his ability to be the one in control, he gains it back after seeing how confident you are. He knows for a fact how badly you want to be on Mingyu right now, and he has no qualms with that, but part of the fun is being able to present you until the third in the room is practically drooling. 

“Not too quickly,” Seungcheol warns, pulling you back by the arm and wrapping his arms around you, dipping his head down to kiss your neck and look Mingyu directly in the eye. “Watch him for a bit first.”

Mingyu feels so fucking seen right now, his cock still wildly twitching at each word and glance. He very nearly falls to his knees right then, because in all fairness he’s been rock hard all fucking day and intentionally held off so that he would be so out of his mind, that surely he’d fuck you as good as you need him to. 

“Cheol, I’ve been watching him.” You say, leaning against his warmth and devouring Mingyu with your eyes, “C’mere, Gyu.” You add, giving both men shortened versions of their names to show your adoration for them at this moment. 

Mingyu manages to take a step forward without his knees buckling from under him, his eyes scanning your bare torso and the way your chest is hidden by your bra. He can’t not stare, after all, he’s grown accustomed to it by now. He knows what's under that bra and what’s under those pants, but it still doesn’t change the fact that he’s never seen your body this close. He’s never touched you before. 

“Well?” Seungcheol looks at him as he makes his way across the room a bit too slowly for his liking. “We have all day, technically.”

Mingyu switches his eyes over to Seungcheol, who seems amused by how enamored he is right now with you. His mind is fairly blank right now, outside of thinking about everything he wants to do, everything he wishes he could say, but still, all he can manage to do is stand in front of you, still not reaching out. He looks at the way Seungcheol has you locked in his arms, holding you still against his chest as if to tame a beast from him. 

“You’re so pretty, Mingyu, really.” You say, blinking up at him and tapping Seungcheol to loosen his grip on you. “You can touch me too, you know.”

He’s still reluctant, looking to Seungcheol once again for confirmation and receiving a nod. His hands reach out, touching nothing more than your bare shoulder before sliding down your waist and stepping even closer. 

You can feel the warmth radiating off of them as they sandwich you there between them. Seungcheol and his confident breaths behind you easily contrast to Mingyu’s deeper, nervous breathing. You kind of get now why your husband told you to just watch for a little bit longer. Mingyu is so readable, with the way his eyes can’t find where to land, the way his hands know where they want to go but he clearly holds back from doing too much too soon out of fear that this entire agreement will shatter before his very eyes. 

You hum out happily, leaning your head back against Seungcheol and pressing your hips forward, against Mingyu. Feeling entirely loved, wanted, needed. 

“I missed this feeling,” You sigh out with a pleasured smile, throwing an arm out and over Mingyu’s shoulder, pulling him even closer. “I bet you’ll miss it too. I bet you’ll keep coming back for it.”

Seungcheol hums as well, nodding his head in agreement before blinking over at Mingyu and lifting a brow. He wonders how long they’re going to stand here staring at each other so, rolling his eyes dismissively, he presses on.

“I want to watch you eat her out.” He says, feeling that it’s not too out of the ordinary to make suggestions since Mingyu appears to be totally blinded by your tits right now anyway.

Mingyu nods with empty eyes, shortly before you see him physically break out of his presumed trance and take a step back, very nearly tripping over his own feet.

“Wait, really?” He asks, somehow still unsure that this is a thing that’s actually happening as he regains balance.

“Oh, absolutely.” Seungcheol encourages him, using the emptied up space in front of you to maneuver you over to the bed. 

Mingyu watches as your husband sits you down on the bed, grabs two pillows and places them behind you, then shimmies your pants off of you in a very loving way. He doesn’t know whether to be jealous of Seungcheol for being able to love someone enough to pleasure them using others or to be jealous of you for being loved so blatantly. 

“Mingyu,” Seungcheol calls out, tapping your legs to spread them out and taking a step back to make room. “Go on.”

Mingyu’s legs take him there before his brain can think twice. One second he’s looking at you from the angle of the center of the room, the next he’s falling to his knees, staring straight between your legs at the point of his lust for the last however long. Slender fingers gripping your thighs much the same way Seungcheol did the first night he saw the two of you together like this. 

It continues to hit him like a freight train. He’s here. He’s doing this. Not even a year ago he was sleeping in a different place, with a fiancée, making calls to find venues for a fucking wedding, and now he’s here. Between the legs of another man’s wife at his request. 

Why is he so pleased with the drastic change of events? Why is his mouth watering looking at the small damp spot seeping through your panties? Why does he feel like he isn’t even himself at this moment? 

None of it matters, not when you reach out and run your fingers through his hair to urge him forward. He leans into the touch, closing his eyes and breathing out through his nose because it’s been a long time since he felt the loving touch of another person in his hair like this. 

It’s been a long time since he’s felt the warmth of a woman in front of him, and even longer since he last felt this drunk on the atmosphere around him. Your soft fingers scratch against his scalp, and that alone makes his entire body shiver as he nuzzles against your thigh lovingly, leaving his kiss against your skin for the first time. 

Seungcheol watches, not entirely used to a man acting like this with his wife. Usually, they’re already trying to get their cock inside of her, but Mingyu seems to be basking in the touch and feel of it all through each step and in a way, he understands. He was with someone for six years and planned to spend his life with her, he can imagine this is something Mingyu missed doing, despite the bitch not even wanting to gag on him. 

He feels fond watching the two of you, situating himself on the bed and letting you lean up against him. There, he starts to work your bra off of you, matching Mingyu’s slowly paced arousal. 

You, on the other hand, feel like your body is catching fire. That little gentle kiss against your thigh was followed by several more, peppered up to your panty line, down to your knees, and then right back up before he even thinks about leaving a kiss against the seat of your panties. 

Which, he does eventually get to doing. Seungcheol watches your body jolt at the touch. He can tell you’ve been anticipating it since Mingyu got on his knees but knows you’re both pacing yourselves for the sake of him being able to enjoy himself. 

Seungcheol’s hands do remain on your tits through it, massaging and pinching against your nipples until they’re erect and sending jolts of sensations straight to your core. Thankfully, Mingyu appears to be preparing himself to see your arousal up close and personal by this point, keeping his lips right up against it as his fingers toy with the hem of your panties. 

He looks up at you, still searching for confirmation on instinct and can’t help but feel that the green light was given the second he moved into the house next door with the way you both look at him. 

You’re not the only one being loved on right now. He feels entirely taken care of simply for being able to go down on you, and he wants nothing more in this world than to make you feel good. 

So, he does his best. Reaching his arms forward and gripping the sides of your panties before gently pulling them down. He watches as your, by now very wet, panties unstick from your folds as he reveals it to himself and honestly, he doesn’t even care at this point at how he blatantly moans over it. 

And just as you thought he was going to take his time like before, it’s like your entire world is flipped upside down. You take in a sharp and surprised inhale at the way he’s got his tongue on you the second your panties hit the floor. 

Seungcheol laughs at your surprise, internally praising Mingyu for that sudden jolt of confidence he must have gotten to do that after unintentionally teasing you for far too long. He can feel your nipples react to what he’s doing, and through the sound of Mingyu’s tongue, his groans through the taste of you, even he feels like he’s going insane just sitting with you against him like this. 

“Fuck,” You moan out, feeling the way his tongue leaves no part of your pussy unexplored. “Fuck.” You continue, totally speechless and unable to praise him the way you’d very much like to right now. 

  When you run your fingers through his hair again, feeling the way he moves his head beneath them he stiffens his tongue as he slides it up your entire pussy, then lands on your clit and begins to flick his tongue at such a pace that your legs nearly close in on him.

Seungcheol is there though, quickly reaching down to hold your legs open for him. 

“Sensitive?” He gleefully whispers to you, watching the way you grip Mingyu’s hair in your fingers through the obvious struggle. He knows you won’t answer, which is fine, because he loves when you get like this. Though it’s never through a man simply giving you some good head. 

Mingyu continues his assault with his tongue, so drunk on the taste of you that all he can do is keep going. Keep tasting, flicking your clit until it’s swollen before sliding back down again and burying his tongue inside of you as deep as it’ll go. Like he can’t get enough, especially with the way your hips wiggle to get away, with the way your fingers try to weakly tug his head away from you.

He hopes this is exactly what Seungcheol wanted to see, because he couldn’t be happier to fulfill the request. Moaning into you only to breathe nothing but you back in. His cock still neglected from a full day of arousal, tasting you alone is soaking his pants. Never has he felt so desperate for something. Never.

Even when he can feel the bed shift and your legs close around his head again, he continues. 

“Hold her legs open for me,” Seungcheol instructs as he pulls himself off of the bed, now seemingly so aroused that he feels the need to involve himself. He shimmies off his clothing and props himself back up on the bed, directly next to you and easily holding his length to bump against your slacked and moaning mouth. 

You readily accept your husband’s length into your mouth. Instantly taking him as deeply as you can out of sheer arousal. Wanting to do the dirtiest things your brain can come up with solely because of how good everything feels right now. Seungcheol loves it, especially with how greedy you seem as you furrow your brows and will yourself to take more into your mouth. 

“Mingyu,” Seungcheol calls out, reaching over to tap his hand that’s putting his obvious strength to use against your thighs to get his attention. “Look.”

Mingyu does, after sliding his tongue back up and flicking your clit several more times to get those satisfying shakes of your body in reaction. His eyes trail up as he finally takes a breath of fresh air, only now realizing that you’re both entirely naked. 

“If you keep coming back,” Seungcheol starts, moving his hand to caress your cheek before holding the back of your head in place. “this” he punctuated with a hard thrust into your mouth, gagging you. “is what you have to look forward to.”

Mingyu watches as Seungcheol holds your head there, continuously gagging, and then he glances down to your pussy and goddamn. You’re clenching around nothing each time you gag, and the moans you’re letting out along with your gags sends him over edge. His tongue is immediately back on you, satiating that clench with his tongue as best he can. 

The sound of Seungcheol’s ever expected fond reactions goes unnoticed by Mingyu as he puts his entire fucking soul into eating you out. 

Thankfully, you’re able to breathe shortly after, kind of. Save for the fact that when Mingyu’s isn’t knocking the breath out of you, Seungcheol is stealing it by blocking your airways with his length and moaning all the same.

The entire room sounds so erotic, and everything still feels like it’s on fire. Your sensitivity subsides as your focus falls to pleasing your husband, leading your hips to chase Mingyu’s hungry tongue anywhere it goes. 

It stays like this for a few minutes, all three of you seemingly lost in each other before you feel your husband lean over, allowing you to take care of his length without his help and sliding them straight to where Mingyu’s tongue is.

There, he easily slides in two fingers, and still, Mingyu doesn’t stop. It doesn’t phase him one bit. His tongue continues, working around Seungcheol’s fingers and sometimes even licking around them to taste the arousal that seeps from deep inside of you. By now though, he’s humping up, wanting more, more, more. Your hips chase his tongue and your husband’s fingers the same way his hips chase nothing.

Seungcheol only likes him more by this point. Even the times they have been with curious men, typically they’re not licking your pussy and his fingers. Mingyu is so peculiar about this, and arguably his lack of experience is what’s making this feel so fucking magical. His attention doesn’t appear to be divided between the both of you, nor does it even appear to be solely on you like he thinks it is. 

He’s treating you both as if you’re one person, one soul, and appears to accept anything either of you offer as long as you feel good and Seungcheol is satisfied with how things are going. 

Never has their bedroom been this silent of words either, especially when someone else is involved. There’s always crude words, but at this point all three of you seem to understand that you’re experiencing rather than trying to put on a show. You’re not competing, you’re not rushing for the finish line, you’re just, fucking, existing within pleasure.

“He’s a natural.” Seungcheol compliments, sliding his fingers up and out of you, feeling Mingyu’s tongue graze against the entire length of one of them and moaning loudly at the warmth and taste. “Wonder what else he can do?” 

You smile when you pull off of Seungcheol’s, now leaking, cock and look down at Mingyu. He’s already looking up at you, lips glistening much like his eyes are as he plants more kisses up your body. Solely because Seungcheol practically hides your entire pussy from him as a hint to move his hungry assault elsewhere. 

He does, happily. He’s satisfied even as he kisses up your belly and feels like he doesn’t need to ask to plant those same glistening lips against one of your nipples and fondle it with his tongue just as beautifully as he did with your clit.

He leaves space for Seungcheol’s hand when he moves up, trying to be careful to avoid his hard on brushing against anywhere where it’s not wanted, which doesn’t seem to be much of an issue because Seungcheol pulls his hand back shortly anyway, pulling off of the bed and studying the two of you. 

You hug Mingyu’s head while he worships the chest he’s stared at from his window day after day. Seungcheol can clearly see how shy Mingyu is, but he still seems to be doing everything in a way that makes you both love it. At this point, it wouldn’t even matter what he does, he knows you’d go insane over it, and that’s enough for him to allow it. 

He can’t help himself when he leans over you to kiss you, seemingly so in love with you, careful not to accidentally bump Mingyu’s head from your tit and probably cause some sort of huff or pout out of him. 

“Lay him back.” Seungcheol says to you through his kiss, pinching your chin to keep your lips on his for a few moments longer before letting you go. 

The way your eyes shine, and the way Mingyu’s tongue seems to never tire, you’re almost sad to pull him off of you. But you do, nonetheless, guiding him to stand to his feet and finally running your hands up his torso to urge his shirt off of him. 

You stare at his abdomen, touching and feeling each dip of it. His arms are just as big and toned, and god damn is his cock huge. You could tell from the window, and you can tell here, even while it’s clothed. 

“Off.” You say, tugging him forward by his jeans and sitting yourself up.

He laughs at the movement, looking between the two of you and honestly, damn. You’re both so fucking beautiful right now. He’d be delighted to take these pants off, and he does.

Shortly after, you instruct him to lay back on the bed and he’s only getting more and more comfortable with the situation. Doing exactly as instructed, not even embarrassed by his angry and heavy cock twitching in near pain to be touched. 

“God, look at him.” You comment, now moving yourself on the bed to lean on one elbow and trail your fingers up his abs. 

His entire body twitches at the touch, and he winces just a little bit with a sexually frustrated huff. 

“Should I fuck him?” You ask, looking up at Seungcheol, who was actively already fisting his length shamelessly at all of the ideas he has in his head that you could to do Mingyu, or of what Mingyu could do to you. 

“Do you want that?” Seungcheol asks, looking over to Mingyu and watching the way he straight up nods shamelessly and practically grabs you by the arm to pull you on top of him.

“So eager,” You laugh, throwing your leg over him and instantly seating yourself directly on his cock. Feeling how huge it is, how hard it is. 

Mingyu moans at that alone, hands shooting to your waist and squeezing so hard that you know it’ll leave a painful sensation later. 

“Go on then, fuck him.” Seungcheol says, amused with how badly this man wants it. 

And you do, without much more of a warning. You lift yourself and expertly slide straight down on his pathetic cock. You watch Mingyu as you do it, struggling to breathe through the feeling of your tight walls clenching around his length and attempting to adjust to his size.

Mingyu runs his own fingers through his hair now, trying to keep himself grounded by the feeling he’s missed out on for so fucking long. He lets out a long and drawn out moan, cursing at the feeling and nearly tearing up at how fucking tight you are. 

“Shit-” Mingyu breathes out, holding your waist still as if to keep you from moving, then he’s wrapping you in a hug and pulling you straight down against his chest. 

Seungcheol skews his head, taking a step closer to see how well his friend fits inside of you and damn. Your pussy is clenching every passing second trying to adjust, and Mingyu's entire body is reacting to it. Naturally, Seungcheol has no choice but to grip his cock harder at the scene, biting back his own desperate moan so that he can still appear to be collected about this. 

As you lay in Mingyu’s arms though, with the harsh hold of his arms keeping you in place, you can’t help but groan at the searing stretch inside of you. And he, on the other hand, is being driven crazy by the smell of your hair. Honestly, the scent alone is driving him wild enough that it’s a struggle to keep his own hips from writhing with the need to stretch your pussy out more.

“Keep him still while you make room for me.” Seungcheol finally chokes out. “Don’t let him come yet.”

You breathlessly nod, trying to press yourself up from Mingyu’s heaving chest just to grip onto his shoulders and bounce against his desperate attempts to stop you. He gives in after the second bounce though, going from trying to hold you down on him to loosening up and almost helping you bounce.

“That’s it, that’s exactly what she wants–” Seungcheol compliments, running his fingers up your back and making you shiver. “Right, babe?” 

You try to answer, but you moan out instead with the way Mingyu’s hands keep you bouncing at such a pace that your g-spot is being repeatedly fucked against. And when he moves his hands to your ass, he loses himself to the pleasure as his eyes darken even more, fucking up now, deeper into you when you slide down on him. 

“So deep,” You nearly sob out, hands reaching out for Seungcheol somewhere behind you, and he’s quick to be there for you. 

“Feels good?” He asks, leaning onto the bed to kiss against your face. “You moan so good for him, I know it does.”

Mingyu moans before you can, sinking his head further into the pillows and letting himself get lost in the feeling of you bouncing on him. Seungcheol was right about this before, you do get wet. Fucking soaked. 

“Ready for more?” Seungcheol asks now, seemingly ready to give you more than either of you know you can handle.

Still, you nod, knowing exactly what he’s wanting to do. You adjust the way you bounce, now leaning back onto Mingyu’s chest so that Mingyu’s cock slamming into you is on full display for Seungcheol. 

“Slow down for a second, Gyu,” Seungcheol says, liking the nickname well enough to use it himself. “Let me show you what sharing feels like.”

And holy fuck, Mingyu is not prepared for it. He’s shocked that you’re wanting it, with the way you pant out breathless, pained moans against his collar bone as Seungcheol makes attempts to stretch you out more than you already are. 

Mingyu holds onto those little pants, feeling your hands grip against his body as your husband nudges the head of his cock inside, causing both of you to cry out with a desperate sound. 

Inch by inch, Seungcheol works himself in, holding his breath and soothing your back throughout the process, up until he’s managed to fit about as much as he can into you and thrusting forward just once to test the waters. 

“Goddamn, such a tight fit.” He half-moans through a laugh, pulling out and thrusting in again, harder. 

The reaction is more than Seungcheol could ever have wanted. Both of you, clinging to each other through the overwhelming sensation. Mingyu, probably overly sensitive from the feeling of your pussy gripping him and Seungcheol’s cock massaging the underside of it as he chases his own pleasure. Then there’s you, constantly clenching to adjust, letting out little pleased cries that only get prettier and prettier, especially when they’re mixed in with Mingyus. 

At this point, Seungcheol can barely tell which one of you is moaning, but it’s all the same to him and he begins to do the work for all three of you. Loving the way he’s managed to make his wife and another man fall apart beneath him. 

“God, you both love it.” He says, knowing for a fact that you’re both too gone by now to hear him. Which is good, because he can’t hold his own moans in anymore. 

So, he doesn’t. He grips your hips to hold you in place and continues to thrust, feeling your pussy relax with each thrust until even Mingyu is able to fuck up slightly. And for you, feeling both cocks sliding into you opposite of each other, you really can’t comprehend a single thing outside of pleasure right now. 

You can hardly breathe, so talking isn’t entirely on your agenda, still though. You try. 

“Fuck, fuck–” You breathe out, gripping even tighter onto Mingyu now.

“So fucking wet,” Seungcheol soothes, offering a harsher thrust now that he’s beginning to lose himself to the feeling too.

“So fucking, big–” You say, mostly into Mingyu’s ear despite your husband having a good size as well. “Fuck me open, pretty boy, show my husband how you like to come.”

Seungcheol smirks at your hushed and out-of-breath words, you always get dirty when you’re super turned on. Plus, the way Mingyu follows instructions is insanely sexy too.

In fact, he follows your instructions a little too well. Somehow, Mingyu overpowers both your weight on him and Seungcheol’s harsh thrusts. To the point that he actually has to stop moving his own hips because if he doesn’t, Mingyu will get all three of you off within seconds if he keeps going at this pace.

“Yeah, fuck, yeah,” Seungcheol moans in probably the most erotic voice you’ve ever heard come from him before. Because, never in your life alongside him have you heard him have to cut off his comments with a moan. “he likes it fucking rough.”

And he’s not lying. Part of you wonders if Mingyu has ever been able to fuck this way, because even as you and your husband manage to find room to converse through this, Mingyu is still gone and lost in his own world. Still holding onto you, and still fucking into you so hard that you’re very nearly releasing little yelps each time he bottoms out. 

Seungcheol, on the other hand, knows exactly how your body reacts when you’re getting close. Usually knowing before you do, and he really does his best to keep his composure through this. He does his damndest to hold off, amazed that Mingyu lasted past the first instance of you sinking down on him. 

Shaking hands reach between you and Mingyu, and you’re quick to sit up and lean back against Seungcheol instead to let him have access to your clit. Despite his cock slipping out of you slightly, he can still manage to fuck a few inches in at this angle, and honestly it’s a welcome relief because if he continued any further, he worries your clit would be left long neglected by his brain malfunctioning in a sudden orgasm.

You smile in a daze as you stare down at Mingyu, his eyes droopy and hooded when he opens them, but for the most part remaining closed and focused on fucking you as good as he can. And paired with the sensation of Seungcheol rubbing your clit, you’re rendered useless in announcing that you’re close. 

Thankfully, your lovely, amazing, and doting husband knows you as well as you know yourself. 

“Keep going,” He says, out of breath and reaching his other hand up to hold one of your tits in his hand, lips going to your neck. “She’s close.”

Mingyu lets out a choked moan at the same time you let one out, and instantly Seungcheol pulls out with a pleased and frustrated moan. 

“Let him feel it, babe,” Seungcheol says, now focusing solely on rubbing your clit with one hand and fucking his fist with the other. ”Squeeze him.”

God, you do, coming undone wrapped around his Mingyu’s relentless cock, pulsing and shaking as Seungcheol makes no attempt to ease the orgasm out of you. His fingers only circle your clit harder, and Mingyu only fucks up harder. 

“Fuck, Mingyu,” Seungcheol calls out, watching the man in awe. “How are you holding out right now?”

Mingyu blinks up, his eyes totally lost to arousal and he continues to fuck into you far past your orgasm ending, loving the slide of how much wetter you got through it. He feels like he’s fucking half a year’s worth of himself into you, which is fair. Because he definitely is. 

“Look at him babe, tell him it’s okay.” Seungcheol continues, wanting Mingyu to get off so that he can stop holding off on his own. It’s entirely insane how much self-control this man has.

Not even Seungcheol himself could withstand this without losing a bit of self control, and yet, god. He really is the perfect third. The perfect neighbor. 

This is an indication that Seungcheol is about to go full cuckold and work at himself as you take what you want from Mingyu, and you really do try. 

Your legs shake around him as you continue to try and ride him, leaning down to hover over his lips in a faux first kiss to tell him to rest his hips, and he does, sighing out a little sound of relief as you take back the control.

He’s never been so fucking turned on in his life, and in all honestly, not even he knows how he hasn’t gotten off yet. He’s needed it all day. He’s needed it all his fucking life, it seems. 

Seungcheol studies the way your tired legs work, the pace slowing down minute by minute before he steps in. His control now fully regained as his orgasm fades and he can continue to instruct and enjoy without a wall of pure sex invading his actions. He releases his cock now, stilling your hips and pulling you off of Mingyu.

The sound alone is somehow filthier than any porn he’s ever heard. Sloppy and wet, paired with Mingyu’s frustrated groan at the loss of warmth. 

“Gyu, take the lead.” Seungcheol says, helping you to lay back and rubbing your thighs to soothe them. 

Mingyu, of course, jumps into action immediately. Lifting from his spot and situating himself between your legs with ease. Now being able to see you under him, rather than hovering above him, he feels like he has all the power in the world to treat you right. 

“Anything you want,” He says, already adjusting himself with your pussy and pressing in. “Anything, just tell me.”

You’re entirely endeared by his words and can’t help it when you pull him down in a huff and connect your lips to his for the first time. He melts into it, fucking his hips into you at a slower pace now, deeper, more lazily. 

He’s smelling you and feeling you entirely, every sensation in the world he could ever want is being satiated right now, and he’s not ashamed to whine through it. Pumping himself into you until it hits him. 

So hard does it hit him, each thrust milking him entirely of his cum and not trembling once through it. His cock has been sensitive all day, this new sensitivity is welcome to him as long as you continue to lick into his mouth and scratch against his back like this. 

It’s a given that he was a goner the second he got on top, and when he finally empties the last, impossible amount of cum into you, his ears pop and begin to ring. 

“You guys look so cute–” Seungcheol coos, helping Mingyu out of you on wobbly legs before he leans down to scoop some of the mess out of you. “Now, you lay back too,” he adds, still toying with the cum dripping from you. 

He does, relieved and thankful for the rest after that exhausting experience. He’s out of breath when he flops himself down next to you, turning his head slightly to look at you and how content you seem to be. It makes him feel content too, even without your lips against his. 

There, Seungcheol scoops some of that cum out of you and slathers his fingers with it, shuffling forward onto the bed to place himself between your legs now. Then, his fingers make their way over to Mingyu. 

“Taste it.” He says, wondering if Mingyu will fight the idea of doing it. 

Shockingly, he doesn’t. He opens his mouth with ease and sucks Seungcheol’s fingers into his mouth. You watch, watching the way his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows the taste of himself mixed with you. You groan out, throat dry from the embarrassing amount of moaning before wiggling your hips. 

“Patience, babe,” Seungcheol says, not even glancing at you and keeping his eyes trained on the way Mingyu eagerly licks his fingers clean before releasing his fingers and blinking over to you, and then up at him.

“You’re both going to fucking kill me.” Seungcheol lets out, rolling his eyes before training them on you. “Gonna stuff this mess back into you, yeah?”

You nod obediently.

You’re so content, readily accepting your husband in his rightful place and basking in the familiar feeling of his length pressing inside of you. It’s a feeling you know, and a feeling you love despite having already been fucked open by both of them already. 

At this point, it’s not even just arousal in the air. But like, a weird secret second thing that somehow feels more content than content. 

Seungcheol is in love with the way you look right now though, arguably so for Mingyu too. With his fucked out face looking just as drowsy as yours does despite the sun setting when all of this started. It’s not as late into the night as it seems to feel, which is fine because time seems like it works differently at this moment. 

“Kiss her,” Seungcheol says, with a last gift to Mingyu for fucking you so well. “Thank her.”

He does, because of course he does. He dips in so fast, cradling your face in the same delicate way he touched your thighs from before. Kissing you just as gently, all while Seungcheol takes his time to slide into you with such a fulfilling pace that, honestly, if you will it hard enough, you could probably get off another three times if you wanted to.

But you don’t, putting that filthy side of you to rest as you allow your husband to take what he needs. His pace quickening much like Mingyu’s kisses do, up until you’re bouncing up with each thrust of his hips, and Mingyu is left chasing your lips. Up, down, up, down. 

He chuckles into it, his teeth catching your bottom lip a few times before chasing your lips harder, all for Seungcheol to admire from above. 

And admire it, he does. Loving the way you kiss Mingyu in a playful way compared to himself. There’s passion here, and it makes it all the more easy for him to work himself up to his own orgasm. 

You’re not shocked at Seungcheol’s silence through his own high. Pressing his hips so tightly against yours, trying to bury himself as deeply as he can go to release all of this tension inside of his body. You still feel as full as you did when they both were inside of you, but this is something entirely different. It’s Seungcheol, and it still shows that he’s the one person on this Earth who knows you better than you know yourself.

He knows you love to feel his cock pulse inside of you, know your love when it dribbles down your thighs as you wobble to the bathroom, and now apparently, he knows you seem to love kissing Mingyu through the entire experience. Clenching against his orgasm as if you were already willing to start over from the beginning. 

And just like that, he pulls out and lays on the other side of you, stealing your lips from Mingyu briefly and kissing you. Both out of appreciation and love.

~

The clean up was devastating. Poor fucking Mingyu, never realizing that aftercare is like, a huge important factor to fucking that hard. Which only solidifies it to both you and your husband that he’s clearly never been given the sexual freedom he so needed.

The two of you exchange side eyes at the way Mingyu expects to shower alone and take care of himself, despite walking straight into a wall on wobbly legs with sleepy, mostly closed eyes. 

You help him to the shower, Seungcheol allowing you to join him and clean him up as he sits just outside and waits to ultimately clean himself up this time. After all, Mingyu was the one who fucked you senseless this time, the least he can do is learn how to clean up the mess and soothe your muscles. 

Fortunately, he seems to be pleased to learn and eager to put his new knowledge to use. Standing there under the warm water with a blissed out little smile, hands gently caressing your core as if to soothe your sensitivity. Obviously, it doesn’t work that way but, you still give him credit for it.

By the time you’re done showering, Mingyu is practically dead weight. Literally fucked himself to sleep, it seems, as Seungcheol laughs out and nods to the guest room, which he already made up for him. 

You help him to the room while Seungcheol helps himself to shower, where puddles of water remain on the floor. 

Apparently you and Mingyu both share the trait of not using a towel to step on after a shower. Which is only more of a reason to like him. 

Seungcheol likes taking care of people. 

~

When Mingyu wakes up the next morning, sunlight blaring through closed blinds, his half asleep brain realizes very quickly what happened. 

He’s embarrassed again, but the content feeling in his chest replaced the heavy one he had been holding about the entire situation. He had fun. He liked it. No, he loved it. So much so that for the first time in his life, he’s needed to pass the fuck out immediately after. 

And it’s not long after he wakes up, lying there in thought, that he hears a soft knock at the door.

You’re poking your head in, blinking over at him and admiring his sleep hair. Which isn’t too different compared to his sex hair, and you smile.

“Good morning,” You say, stepping into the room and revealing Seungcheol close behind you. “Wanna go again?”

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user1 need to know where that phone case is from user2 Are you EVER not working dk_is_dokyeom THAT’S MY GIRLBOSS ╰(▔∀▔)╯ ↳ yourusername ❤️ user3 i wanna be you when i grow up <3 xuminghao_o Lovely ♥︎ Liked by creator

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: Test Platform Validation Report (EU Submission)

Yoon,

I reviewed the validation draft you uploaded this morning. Fascinating interpretation of clause 4.3.2. Bold of you to skip the stability data appendix entirely. I can only assume it was an artistic choice.

Also, the raw tensile data from the 0528 batch isn’t included. If it was meant to be in the shared drive, it wasn’t in any of the usual folders (QA_Share > FR_Validation > tensile_data > missing_files > probably_Jeonghan’s).

I’ve attached my edits. I added actual numbers.

Regards, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] subject: Re: Test Platform Validation Report (EU Submission)

Thank you for the prompt review. I assumed your obsession with clause 4.3.2 would outweigh your impulse to nitpick, but alas—some things never change.

The stability data was excluded intentionally while awaiting results from the accelerated aging test. If you opened the protocol (second folder under QA_Share > FR_Validation > tensile_data > definitely_not_missing), you’d see that.

As for your edits, I appreciate the effort. It’s cute when you pretend Excel likes you back.

Best, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: EU Submission - FR Manufacturing Coordination

Yoon,

Not that I expect you to read full briefs, but just in case you skimmed this one: yes, the transfer protocols need to be locked before next Friday if we want the France site to hit qualification by Q3.

Your last edits to the QAP template were inspired. I didn’t know it was possible to confuse ISO 13485 with a haiku.

I’ve restructured the equipment IQ section. You’re welcome. You’ll need to coordinate with Wonwoo at the Lyon site for vendor access, assuming you remember to email him this time.

I’ll see you in Lyon.

Disrespectfully, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] subject: Re: EU Submission - FR Manufacturing Coordination

Of course I read the brief. Just because I don’t annotate every margin with red ink and superiority complexes doesn’t mean I don’t understand the deadline.

I’ll coordinate with Wonwoo, assuming you don’t scare him off again with your charmingly blunt emails. (I still have the screenshot of him calling you “intimidatingly competent.”)

By the way, your IQ revisions look fine. Shockingly legible this time. Congratulations.

I’ll see you in Lyon. Try not to sabotage the coffee machine this trip.

Until customs detains us, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: EU Submission - FR Manufacturing Coordination

If Wonwoo was intimidated, it’s because I sent him instructions written in complete sentences. A rare treat, I know.

You still haven’t confirmed the calibration matrix. We’ll need the traceable certs before equipment ships, or do you plan to charm EU regulators into letting us slide on documentation? Actually, don’t answer that. I’ve seen you talk to vendors.

Also: bring the correct adapter this time. I’m not sharing an outlet with you again.

Best of luck (to me), L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] subject: Re: EU Submission - FR Manufacturing Coordination

The calibration matrix is in the tracker: third tab, fourth column, next to the thing labeled “READ ME, PLEASE” Try it. It’s fun.

And yes, I plan to charm the regulators. You, on the other hand, can stun them into compliance with your piercing PowerPoint transitions.

As for the outlet. I’m bringing an adapter. And a surge protector. For reasons.

Looking forward to our time in France. Nothing says “teamwork” like four days of jetlag and passive aggression.

Yours in regulatory purgatory, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

YJH 👿 (Work) [8:13 AM]: why do you type so aggressively. the guy next to me thinks you’re yelling at me You [8:14 AM]: he’s not wrong. YJH 👿 (Work) [8:15 AM]: did you really need three highlighters in your carry-on? You [8:15 AM]: yes. the pink one is for your mistakes. YJH 👿 (Work) [8:16 AM]: romantic You [8:16 AM]: if you die on this trip it’s going to be from a highlighter to the throat. YJH 👿 (Work) [8:17 AM]: worth it You [8:17 AM]: you are the worst seatmate in existence. YJH 👿 (Work) [8:18 AM]: you snore when you pretend not to be sleeping and your pointy elbow crosses the line You [8:18 AM]: so we’re calling it a truce? YJH 👿 (Work) [8:19 AM]: we’re calling it foreplay

☾ You have silenced Notifications.

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user1 oui oui 😜 user2 Who are you wearing??? ho5hi_kwon surprised a murder hasn’t occurred lolololol ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ ↳ jeonghaniyoo_n not counting it out just yet user3 WHAT’S 4+4? ATEEE user4 Is he a model? ↳ sound_of_coups please don’t say that his head is going to get so big

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View all comments user1 bwoah . . . feat.dino STUNT ON THEM HOESSSS ♥︎ Liked by creator user2 gender gender gender 😮‍💨 user3 Really need to know where the second pic is !! Plsss DM yourusername i see how it is ↳ jeonghaniyoo_n credits. xo

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: FR Submission Debrief + Documentation

Yoon,

Per our debrief notes (the ones not written on a cocktail napkin), I’ve uploaded the final QAP revisions and vendor qualification summaries to the shared drive. You can stop emailing me pictures of our hotel room as  “documentation.” Though impressive dedication to fieldwork.

Also, your expense report still lists the mini bar from Tuesday night. Pretty bold move, considering you insisted you only drank half the bottle.

Respectueusement, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] subject: Re: FR Submission Debrief + Documentation

You’re welcome for the in-room stress testing of French plumbing. I was being thorough.

Also, I did only drink half. You drank the other half and then told the front desk I was your emotional support engineer.

Re: shared drive. I see your formatting crimes continue. I fixed your spacing in the risk assessment table. Try to be better.

Yours across all timezones, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: FR Submission Debrief + Documentation

Yoon,

I’d fix my spacing if you’d stop adjusting my bullet styles just to mess with me. And next time, maybe don’t volunteer us for the plant tour while hungover. Watching you nearly fall into a vat of solvent was not the regulatory impression we wanted.

Stop calling me yours, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

P.S. You still owe me one (1) bed. I’m adding it to your performance review.

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] subject: Re: FR Submission Debrief + Documentation

Not my fault someone booked the hotel late and got us the romantic suite. You’re lucky I didn’t call room service for rose petals.

I’ve uploaded the final sign-offs and confirmation from the French regulatory contact—who says we’re the most “thorough and theatrically matched” engineers she’s worked with. I think that’s a compliment.

Let me know if I’ve missed any appendices. Or if you want your highlighter back.

Yours, even if you deny me (hotel registration said so), Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

P.S. I liked sharing the room with you. Not because of budget errors or international confusion. Just because it was you.

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user1 GIVE US A FIT CHECK user2 something you’re not telling me ? hmmm ↳ yourusername dm dm dm user3 Need to know who yr nail tech girlie is fr everyone_woo 👀 ↳ yourusername 🤫 sunwoo pretty flowers 4 a pretty girl ♥︎ Liked by creator

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] subject: Supplier Audit Timeline + Other Things

Great audit notes, as usual. I’ve attached my edits for the CAPA log. We’ll have to discuss column F, because your formulas hate me.

Also, bold of you to post a photo of flowers on a Tuesday. Does SVT approve PTO for midweek romance now?

Am I being cheated on?, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: Supplier Audit Timeline + Other Things

Yoon,

Corrected the formula logic in column F. Try not to break it again.

And yes, Tuesday dates are a thing now. Believe it or not, some people find me tolerable enough to see more than once.

Shocking, I know.

Regrets, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] subject: Re: Supplier Audit Timeline + Other Things

Don’t worry. I’m sure your second date will be charmed by your bullet point consistency.

Personally, I’ve never seen the appeal of dating someone like you. Too sharp. Too bossy. Too quick to judge formula errors.

Fortunately, SVT doesn’t require us to like each other outside of Gantt charts.

Yours, whether you like it or not, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: Supplier Audit Timeline + Other Things

Yoon,

Believe me, the feeling is mutual. I'd sooner date a malfunctioning tensile tester.

I fixed your math in the timeline estimates. Again. Please don’t bother me for the rest of the week. I’m going to be busy preparing for date number two.

(You wish I was) Yours, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected] 

You [11:42 PM]: he ghosted me. u jinxed it. You [11:43 PM]: i shaved my legs for nothing. hope ur happy. You [11:44 PM]: he said he liked my slides. he LIED!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You [11:45 PM]: sitting alone at a bar rn contemplating the meaning of life.. and if i can blow u up telepahteitcally.... YJH 👿 (Work) [11:45 PM]: *telepathically YJH 👿 (Work) [11:46 PM]: which bar. You [11:47 PM]: fucking MANSPLAINER You [11:47 PM]: don’t come near me EVEREVER

YJH 👿 (Work) requested your location.

You started sharing your location with YJH 👿 (Work).

You [11:50 PM]: fuckfcuckfuckity my fat fucking thumbs FMLLL YJH 👿 (Work) [11:53 PM]: i’m coming. don’t order tequila until i get there. or do. i want to see the disaster myself. You [11:55 PM]: jerk YJH 👿 (Work) [11:56 PM]: always. save me a seat, heartbreak girl

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user1 Caption + second slide >>>> joshu_acoustic is that yourusername in the last slide 🫨 ↳ jeonghaniyoo_n is it ? yourusername ↳ yourusername must be a lookalike ♥︎ Liked by creator ↳ dk_is_dokyeom THAT’S ME yourusername & min6yu_k !!! ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ user2 just one chance pls,, user3 Wait was that a wine date or

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: Equipment Revalidation Schedule 

Yoon,

Your revised equipment validation timeline looks solid. I’ve flagged the dates where QRA and process requal overlap. You’ll need to talk to Ops to make sure there’s no resource conflict.

Also, thanks. For the other night.

Don’t make a thing out of it. Reluctantly yours, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected] 

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] subject: Re: Equipment Revalidation Schedule 

Wow. A “thanks.” What is this, a truce?

Noted on the QRA overlap—I’ll sync with Ops and shift our timeline by 2-3 business days. I’ve attached a revised Gantt for your very critical review.

Also: you owe me fries.

Yours with no reluctance whatsoever, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

P.S. Don’t let your guard down. I’d hate for you to start thinking I’m nice.

P.P.S. You’re beautiful when drunk. Infuriating, but beautiful.

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: Equipment Revalidation Schedule 

Attached: my comments on your Gantt chart (see rows 14–27). Also, your font choices are unhinged. You’re lucky you’re marginally good at your job.

Fries are contingent on you not mentioning the karaoke. Sober now, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

P.S. You’re nice when you think I’m too drunk to remember.

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] subject: Re: Equipment Revalidation Schedule 

I’ll swap the font if it means less red pen in my inbox.

And don’t worry, I’d never mention your rendition of “Dancing Queen” in front of senior management. Or that you made me sing backup.

As for being nice: I was just making sure you didn’t fall asleep in a nacho basket. Again.

Drunk on you, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

P.S. I remember everything you said. Even the parts you don’t.

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user1 fly safe, babygirl user2 ermmm.. am i witnessing a soft launch ?! min9yu_k I’d know that YSL bag from anywhere 😏 user3 How can I be youuu :( user4 is that a BOYFRIEND?! junhui_moon strategic non-response to any of the comments here #respect

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] Subject: Re: France Stability Testing Timeline 

Attached: updated protocol outline and projected data submission window. Added notes re: temperature excursions flagged by the lab.

Unrelated, but I saw your latest post. Interesting how you managed to frame the lighting just right on that cafe table. Almost as if someone you work with took the photo.

Also, bold choice uploading a cropped version of that one picture of me holding five tote bags. Very “soft launch,” very subtle.

Launched like a rocket ship, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: France Stability Testing Timeline 

This isn’t the time.

The humidity chamber failed mid-run and half of the accelerated aging samples are compromised. I’ll need to retest from baseline and revalidate the controls. Not sure yet if it pushes our submission, but I’m flagging it with QA.

I suggest you review section 6.2 of the protocol instead of obsessing over my Instagram.

L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] Subject: Re: France Stability Testing Timeline 

Didn’t mean to distract. I hadn’t seen the alert yet. Engineering just looped me in on the chamber issue. I’ll prioritize sourcing backup samples and contact Tech Ops to check chamber calibration across all zones.

You’ll have data. We’ll make it work.

(But if you were soft-launching me, I looked great.)

Trying too hard, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: France Stability Testing Timeline 

Yoon,

Appreciated. Sorry I snapped.

I just really didn’t want this run to go sideways. I know it’s not your fault—but I’ve been fielding calls since 7:00 a.m. and I’m a little fried.

Yours and then some, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

P.S. You looked ridiculous, but sure. Let the internet wonder.

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] Subject: Re: France Stability Testing Timeline 

You can yell at me any time. Preferably not before coffee, but I’ll survive.

QA says they’ll expedite sample disposal so we can start the new batch by end of week. I sent you a revised Gantt. And a snack. Don’t fight me on it.

Yours in whatever way you’ll have me, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

P.S. Internet speculation is already intense. I’ve received two DMs inquiring if I’m truly off the market. Is this your twisted little way of staking claim?

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: France Stability Testing Timeline 

The snack was suspiciously well-timed. You’re lucky I like sesame.

Re: QA—I’ll update the submission calendar and notify Regulatory we’re adjusting the stability window.

And tell your fans I’m flattered, but my standards are higher than “guy who argues about font weight in shared spreadsheets.”

Yours for some reason (When did I succumb to this?), L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] Subject: Re: France Stability Testing Timeline

For the record, I wasn’t arguing. I was advocating for consistent formatting.

Also: I’m sorry. For earlier. I should’ve checked the system alerts before joking around. You always catch things first, and I forget what it’s like to be under that kind of pressure all the time.

Let me know what else you need. I mean it.

Yours for equally no reason (I bookmarked the first time you signed off with ‘yours’, btw), Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

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sound_of_coups 🎣 Hook, line, sinker user1 can this guy fight omfg user2 Even his side view is ethereal. What the hale vernonline okurrr ♥︎ Liked by jeonghaniyoo_n   ↳ yourusername ? jeonghaniyoo_n wasn’t aware i had paparazzi   ↳ pledis_boos IS THIS ALLOWEDDD IS THIS ALLOWED

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Apologies for the Timestamp 

Yoon,

I realize this is past hours. I won’t pretend it’s an emergency—it’s just the draft for the stability test realignment we discussed. I needed to get it out of my head or I wouldn’t sleep. It can wait until morning. I just didn’t want to forget.

Sorry. Again. Sleep well, or party well, or whatever it is you’re doing tonight.

Terribly sorry, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] Subject: Re: Apologies for the Timestamp 

Got your email—yes, timestamp noted.

I’m out. Drinking. Loud music, terrible lighting, questionable tequila. I’ll look at the draft during actual work hours. I promise.

Also, you do know that you’re allowed to exist outside work. Don’t apologize for thinking too hard. That’s half your brand.

Buzzing like a drunk bumblebee, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: Apologies for the Timestamp

Yoon,

Enjoy your night out. Try not to bully the DJ. May your drinks be overpriced and your lighting flattering.

And hey—hope you pull. You deserve someone mildly tolerable for a few hours.

Cheers, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] Subject: Re: Apologies for the Timestamp 

The drinks are terrible. The lighting is flattering. I’ve technically pulled, but she’s more interested in the bartender now, which is fine because—

I miss you. You, and your midnight overthinking, and your Excel color codes, and the way you always say “don’t wait up” but still check your inbox five minutes later.

I miss you. Stupidly. Even while I’m here.

Yours at my own risk, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: Apologies for the Timestamp

Yoon,

Pray tell why you're getting drunk and you're "pulling" what I can assume to be ABGs whose names you won't even know in the morning, and yet you're still in the club, emailing me? Missing my drunken emails?

Why? Are the girls of Wall Street not enough for you?

Totally not jealous, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] Subject: Re: Apologies for the Timestamp

I can answer this so simply, it won’t even be fun.

The girls of Wall Street will never be you.

No one will ever be you.

I'm not enjoying my night as much as I should because you're not here. I'm in the club, drunk AND emailing you. That should tell you everything.

Come out with me next time. Wreck my plans. Ruin the music. Steal my coat.

I may be playing with fire, but to hell with it.

Burning myself, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected] 

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] Subject: Re: Apologies for the Timestamp

I can feel you overthinking all the way from here. You’re probably thinking that I’ll wake up tomorrow morning and regret all of this. That I will be unable to face you at work come Monday, when I am no longer drunk out of my mind and thinking you are the most brilliant, most gorgeous, most infuriating person alive. 

You will be right. Thankfully, though, these are—what do the kids call it? ‘Receipts’. You will have a paper trail. These emails will be between you, me, and that Australian guy from IT. 

He will know, and you will know, that I may have the most miniscule work crush on you. 

Jesus Christ. What am I? A high schooler? 

Let’s try that again: Love is just a chemical reaction that compels animals to breed. What I’m feeling for you isn’t love. It’s so much more than that.

Love sucks, and I need to sober up, Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: Apologies for the Timestamp

Get home safe, Jeonghan.

Yours, with questions, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] Subject: Re: Apologies for the Timestamp

You just called me Jeonghan.

Yours, with answers (maybe), Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

from: L/N Y/N [email protected] to: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] subject: Re: Apologies for the Timestamp

That’s your name, isn’t it?

Stop e-mailing me while you’re at the club.

Fine. Yours, L/N Y/N she/her [email protected]

P.S.: I may have the most miniscule work crush on you, too.

from: Yoon Jeonghan [email protected] to: L/N Y/N [email protected] Subject: Re: Apologies for the Timestamp

i am  goi n    to die

Yoon Jeonghan he/him [email protected]

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vernonline lfggg min9yu_k 🤮 JK! Congrats junhui_moon saw this coming from a mile away sound_of_coups Gorgeousss   ↳ jeonghaniyoo_n back off, bud. dk_is_dokyeom (˶ ˘ ³˘)ˆᵕ ˆ˶) love is love everyone_woo oh god what about our project   ↳ yourusername please check your e-mail. :)   ↳ everyone_woo fml.

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You pause by the pastry case, pretending to consider a scone. It buys you time to glare at him with a level of passive aggression only caffeine deprivation can power. He doesn’t notice. He’s on the phone, murmuring something about image rights and venue capacity, wrist flicking as he gestures to someone who isn’t there. 

The barista, Felix, catches your eye. Offers a sympathetic shrug. This is the third time this week.

You settle at the small table near the bathroom. It wobbles. It always wobbles. You shove a napkin under the leg and mutter a curse that sounds polite. .

Seungcheol. That’s the name of the notorious seat-stealer. 

You learned his name from one of his calls, spoken with the clipped efficiency of someone used to being listened to. “Yes, this is Choi Seungcheol from Carat Company. Let me loop you in.” He says it like he’s not just looping someone in, but reeling them from the goddamn abyss. Like he’s personally saving the entertainment industry one Bluetooth earpiece at a time.

He always wears a suit. Not the stiff kind. Tailored, navy or charcoal, with subtle check patterns. The kind that whispers rather than shouts. The kind that makes you sit up straighter just being near it.

He orders an Americano. Never anything sweet. You know this because you’re close enough to hear him order, not because you’re listening. You’re not listening. You just… absorb things. By proximity.

He types like he means it. Fingers flying, brow furrowed. You once watched him for a full minute before realizing your tea had gone cold.

You don’t like him.

You don’t like that he’s taken your seat, your sunlight, your outlet. You don’t like that he seems to be having Important Conversations while you’re over here editing product descriptions for cat backpacks. You’re just about to settle for your second-best seat when disaster strikes.

Correction: Seungcheol strikes.

Not metaphorically. Not emotionally. Physically. With coffee.

It happens fast. One second, you’re adjusting your chair, the next, you feel a splat of lukewarm liquid soaking through the shoulder of your sweater. Your body jerks. Your mouth opens. Nothing elegant comes out.

“What the ever-loving fuck—” 

Seungcheol freezes. His cup is a crumpled paper carcass in his hand. The coffee is mostly on you, some on the floor, a tragic few drops clinging to his knuckles like guilt.

“I—oh no. No, no, no, I am so sorry,” he says, setting the mangled cup down like it might still be saved. “Are you okay? Did I burn you?”

There’s coffee dripping from your hair. “It’s fine,” you say, in the voice of someone who is not fine.

He winces. “That sounded like a lie.”

You glance down at your sweater. It was oatmeal-colored. Now it looks like oat milk with trauma. “I mean, no third-degree burns,” you say, standing. You shake your arm out. It flings a splatter onto a nearby bookshelf. “Just first-degree humiliation.”

He grabs a stack of napkins from the counter and starts dabbing at your sleeve with the gentleness of someone defusing a bomb.

“You really don’t have to—” you’re saying, but Seungcheol is relentless. 

“No, I do. I definitely do,” he blabbers, all that usual composure gone like the coffee he’s unceremoniously splashed you with. “I’ve basically assaulted you with caffeine. This is… wow. This is not how I usually network.”

You blink at him. “Network?”

He goes still. “That was a joke. I’m joking. This is a joke. I mean, the situation, not your… sweater.” 

You raise an eyebrow.

He flushes. A subtle pink, but obvious. He has the decency to look horrified at himself. “Oh my God. I mean, your sweater was nice. It is nice. I’m just going to stop talking.”

“That would be nice,” you say curtly, and then immediately feel bad about it.

Because he looks sheepish now. His shoulders have gone all slopey. He holds out the last dry napkin like a peace offering. You take it.

Felix, equal parts amused and exasperated, leans over the counter. “Do we need the mop again?”

“I deserve the mop,” Seungcheol mutters underneath his breath.

It’s set in stone. You really, really don’t like him. 

To your surprise, he keeps coming back.

Seungcheol, that is. The man who ruined your sweater and your dignity in one well-aimed Americano.

He returns to The Greeting Committee like nothing happened. Only now, he avoids the window seat. In fact, he avoids your whole half of the café. Sits near the potted ficus, headphones in, coffee clutched like a holy artifact.

You’d almost feel bad if it weren’t kind of funny.

There’s a silent detente. You don’t glare at him anymore. He doesn’t knock beverages into your lap. You coexist. Cautiously. Like squirrels.

Until, one Tuesday, it happens.

You’re halfway through an editing gig that involves correcting SEO tags for eco-friendly deodorant when Felix  appears with a pastry on a plate and a too-big smile. “From your secret admirer,” he says, setting it down with a flourish.

You eye the pastry warily. It’s round. Golden. Gleaming with honey. A little too perfect. “Is this a trick?” you ask.

“It’s from the Suit,” Felix stage-whispers, as if Seungcheol is in witness protection and not six feet away, pretending not to watch. You glance over. Seungcheol immediately looks down at his phone.

Felix nudges the plate closer. “He said you looked like you needed something sweet.”

Your eyebrows do something complicated. You pick up the pastry. It smells good. Really good.

You take a bite. It takes three seconds.

One to register the taste. Two to realize there are slivers of almond inside. Three to remember, with crystal clarity, what it was like to be poked and prodded as a child so your allergies could be found out. “Oh no,” you say around a mouthful of the croissant. 

“Oh no, it’s the best croissant ever—right?” Felix beams. 

You cough. “Not exactly.” 

And then all hell breaks loose.

Seungcheol’s chair scrapes violently against the floor. He’s by your side in less time than it takes your throat to tighten. You don’t realize you’ve dropped the pastry, that your face is turning that brilliant shade of anaphylactic pink. Felix is already halfway to the back counter, yelling something about the EpiPen he keeps near the register just in case.

“Breathe slowly,” Seungcheol says frantically, crouching beside you. “Wait, no, don’t breathe slowly. Or do? Should you breathe faster?”

You wheeze out something that sounds suspiciously like I am going to fucking kill you. 

Your attempted murderer looks stricken. His tie is slightly askew again, like stress physically unravels him. “I didn’t know,” he says. “I swear. Almonds. Why is it always almonds?”

Felix returns with the EpiPen like a knight with a sword. You brace for it. Seungcheol turns paler than the foam on his usual coffee. After the injection, after the flurry, after the adrenaline kicks in and your lungs start acting like lungs again, you sit back against the chair, heart thudding against your ribs.

Seungcheol hovers beside you, holding a water bottle. You would jokingly ask if that, too, had some slow-moving poison, if Seungcheol didn’t look sufficiently spooked.  “You good?” he asks, voice quieter now.

You nod, sipping the proffered water. “Yeah. Could’ve used a warning. Or a label. Or maybe a pastry without biological warfare.”

His laugh is helpless. “I was trying to be nice.”

“You nearly killed me.”

“But nicely.”

Felix, wiping the counter, calls over, “On the bright side, at least he didn’t spill the water on you!”

You and Seungcheol both groan.

You return two days later with a tight throat and a new sweater. Dark green. Nut-proof in spirit, if not in textile.

The Greeting Committee is half full. Quiet, save for milk steaming and a playlist that leans too hard on acoustic covers. You pick your seat—the window, as always. Felix waves with both hands, sheepish. You wave back with one, cautious.

Seungcheol is already there.

This time, he’s at the counter, pacing lightly, muttering to himself while staring at the pastry display. He points at something. Felix nods with visible hesitation. There’s a to-go box involved. A whisper. A squint. This feels... coordinated. Conspiratorial.

You brace.

When he approaches, he holds out the box like it might explode.

“Hi,” he says, tentative. “I come in peace.”

You stare at the box.

“It’s carrot cake,” he adds quickly. “I checked. Three times. No nuts. No hidden almonds. No sabotage. I even made Felix read me the ingredients out loud.”

“Did he cry?”

“A little.”

You gesture for the box. Open it. The slice is thick, aggressively frosted, and improbably orange. It smells safe. “Carrot cake,” you repeat.

“I Googled ‘pastries least likely to kill someone with allergies.’ That was top three.”

“That explains the pacing.”

He sighs, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. “Look, I swear I’m not usually this... destructive.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Mmm.” 

“I mean it. I’m a functioning adult. I have a job. A dry cleaner. A filing system.”

“A coffee-related injury and a near-death croissant would suggest otherwise."

“Okay. Fair,” he huffs. “Look, maybe this is just… the universe telling me to leave you alone.”

You stare at him blankly, as if trying to agree with the universe’s supposed assessment. He shrugs and keeps talking—does this man ever shut up?—trying for breezy. Failing. “I mean, clearly, we can’t exist in the same proximity without one of us needing medical attention or therapy.” 

That gets you. A laugh slips out, involuntary. Quick and warm. You try to catch it, but it’s too late.

He freezes. It happens so fast you almost miss it. His whole face softening. Like the sound surprised him. Like he hadn't planned for the possibility of your amusement.

He looks at you, dazed. Eyes a little wide. Mouth a little open. Like you’ve told him a secret without speaking. “That was a laugh,” he says with the sort of reverence that belongs in cathedrals instead of this overpriced coffee shop.

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real heat behind it. You pick up your fork. Take a cautious bite of the cake.

Safe.

He watches like he’s waiting for a verdict from a judge on Culinary Class Words. You chew. Swallow. Say, “This might be your least disastrous attempt yet.”

His grin breaks, full and boyish. The sun cracking through storm clouds. “So you’re saying there’s hope for attempt four,” he breathes. 

“I’m saying,” you huff, “don’t push it.” 

You look out the window to hide the smile threatening to fill your face.

Seungcheol stays looking at you.

You have a routine. Five days a week. Headphones in. Laptop open. Coffee always lukewarm by the time you remember it.

Seungcheol, meanwhile, has a rhythm. Three days if the stars align. Never the same ones. He’s a Monday-Wednesday guy. Then a Thursday-Saturday surprise. He shows up like a plot twist, wearing button-downs and the kind of watch that says my meetings run looong.

You’ve learned to expect him, even if you don't expect anything from him.

The greetings are polite now. Nods. Small smiles. He no longer treats your existence like a delicate diplomatic situation. You no longer imagine stapling his tie to the table.

Progress.

Some days he takes calls near the door, pacing like he’s afraid someone will steal the air. Other times, he just stares at his screen, typing fast, deleting faster. Once, you caught him playing Wordle with the focus of a man solving a hostage crisis.

You don’t talk. Not really. But you know when he’s had a rough day—he stirs his coffee too hard and forgets to say thank you to Felix. And you know when he’s having a good one, because he hums under his breath, terribly off-key.

One rainy afternoon, everything else is full. You’re already settled in. Window seat. Usual latte. Document open. Rain tapping the glass in a rhythm that matches your brain.

Seungcheol stands in the middle of The Greeting Committee like a man who’s lost his passport. Scans the tables. Sees you.

You raise an eyebrow. He approaches, cautious. Like he thinks you might hiss.

“Hey. Uh.” He gestures vaguely at the table. “Can I—?”

You glance around. Nothing else is open. Sighing, you give a jerky nod of acquiescence. He exhales and slides into the chair across from you.

There’s a moment. Awkward. Familiar. Like two commuters who ride the same bus but never speak. He sets down his drink. The usual plain Americano—probably scalding, probably vindictive. You go back to your screen. He goes back to pretending not to watch you type.

Five minutes in, you sigh. He looks up from his company-issued MacBook. “Something wrong?”

“Just this client,” you mumble, mostly to yourself. “Wants a brand voice that’s ‘youthful but ancient, fresh but nostalgic.’ Like a time-traveling Gen Z monk.”

He chokes on his drink. You glance at him, and he stumbles to explain, “Yeah. Just picturing a TikTok monk explaining skincare with Gregorian chants.”

You snort. It feels dangerous, this sharing. Even in passing. You type. He sips.

Time passes. The rain doesn’t. At some point, Felix drops off another slice of carrot cake. No note this time. Just a wink. Seungcheol catches your eye. “I figured it was safer than flowers,” he says with the shrug of a man trying to act calm, cool, and collected.

You poke your fork into the cake. “This your way of asking to sit here again?”

“I would never assume.”

“But you are assuming.”

He smiles, soft around the edges. “Only a little.”

You shake your head. Take a bite. Let the silence settle again. 

Not quite friendship. Not quite strangers. Something else. Something quietly growing between sips of coffee and shared space.

By late afternoon, the light slants golden through the windows, soft and syrupy. Your laptop screen reflects it back at you in glaring defiance. The carrot cake is half-eaten. The air smells like espresso and mild ambition.

You stretch. He cracks his knuckles. The silence has been comfortable, companionable—until he speaks. “So. Freelancing,” he says, testing the waters. “That’s just... vibing with deadlines?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “That’s rich coming from a guy who wears a wristwatch like it owes him rent.”

He lifts his coffee cup in a lazy toast. “Touché,” he hums. “But at least corporate structure keeps things predictable. Stable.”

“Stable? You get sixty Slack notifications an hour and call that stability?”

He winces. “Okay, yes. But there’s a paycheck. A health plan. A desk that isn’t being commandeered by an iced matcha spill.”

You level a look at him. “Are you judging my system?”

He glances at your spread: laptop, two notebooks, highlighters of questionable age, and a sticker-covered planner that might be more decorative than functional. “I would never,” he says. 

You raise an eyebrow.

He grins. “Okay. Mildly.”

“You color-code your calendar and get passive-aggressive about Outlook invites,” you taunt. 

“You wound me.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“Please don’t be mean to me,” he says, deadpan. “I get turned on when pretty girls are mean to me.”

The words hang in the air.

Your typing stutters. Seungcheol goes pale. Then pink. Then a shade of red that belongs in a fruit bowl. “That was—I didn’t—I meant it as a joke,” he stammers. 

You let out a low whistle. “Bold choice.”

“I panicked.”

You laugh. Loud, sudden, and unfiltered. It startles the couple next to you. Seungcheol looks like he might curl into his coffee mug and disappear. “Okay, okay,” you say, still smiling. “Let’s set some ground rules before this table implodes.”

He nods solemnly. “No horniness before five?”

“Four-thirty. I’m flexible.”

He exhales a laugh, hands up in surrender. “Understood.”

The sun slips lower. Your coffee is cold again. The world outside looks dipped in gold foil. Across from you, Seungcheol relaxes a little. You don’t look directly at him, but you know he’s smiling.

The next few weeks pass in soft edits.

No dramatic reveals. No sudden declarations. Just a slow, accidental choreography.

Seungcheol starts arriving earlier. Not every day, but often enough to make it a pattern. He never asks to sit with you. Not at first. He just hovers close, table-hopping like a caffeinated bee until one day he drops his laptop across from yours like it’s always been that way.

“Morning,” he says casually, as if this is not a minor emotional event.

“You’re in my eye-line,” you reply flatly.

“I’m in your heart-line,” he says, complete with finger guns and an exaggerated wink.

You blink.

He sips his coffee, very focused. “Sorry,” he grumbles, now appropriately shamed. “Still workshopping that one.”

It becomes a new bullet point in the routine. Shared table. Shared silence. Occasionally, shared WiFi when yours decides to enter a fugue state. Sometimes you squabble over seating. Sometimes you share pastries. Once, you both accidentally ordered the same scone and acted like it was a legal dispute.

“Just split it,” Felix suggested.

“Absolutely not,” you both said. (In the end, he let you have it.) 

Another time, Seungcheol caught you stress-doodling in the margins of your planner and started rating your sketches like a judge on a chaotic art show.

“This frog has emotional range.”

“That’s a pigeon.”

“Even better.”

The Greeting Committee becomes less a café and more a stage for the most low-stakes, high-tension sitcom known to man. One Thursday, though, Seungcheol brings someone with him.

You look up at the new arrival. Mid-twenties. Good bone structure. Nervous smile. The kind of person who says thank you twice just to be safe.

Seungcheol ushers her to a corner seat, sliding into professional mode like a second skin. Back straight. Voice low, reassuring. Hands used sparingly, deliberately. A talent he’s trying to recruit, you realize. 

He’s good at this. It shows.

You don’t eavesdrop. Not really. But your laptop screen is less interesting when he leans forward, nodding with the kind of attention that makes you feel seen by proxy.

You watch him talk about contracts and career growth like he believes in people. Like he sees possibility in them and is simply here to translate it to paper.

It makes you feel something.

Maybe admiration.

Maybe curiosity.

Maybe the sudden realization that beneath the tie knots and tragic Americano habit, Seungcheol might actually be kind of brilliant.

He glances up mid-meeting and catches you watching. You look away, pretending to be fascinated by a blank spreadsheet. In the corner of your eye, you see him bite back a smile. 

Later, when the talent leaves, he slides into the seat across from you again, a little smug.

“You were staring.”

“I was judging.”

“You judge with very starry eyes.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snipe, but the heat in it is doused by whatever residual admiration you’ve been trying to fight down. 

“Too late,” Seungcheol sing-songs as he unpacks his things, readying to be your seatmate once more until five in the afternoon. “Already added it to my morning affirmations.”

It’s a Wednesday. The kind where the air smells like over-steamed milk and deadlines. The windows of The Greeting Committee are fogged at the edges, and the playlist is stuck somewhere between folk optimism and indie despair.

You’re halfway through your second coffee and the fourth paragraph of an email you’ve rewritten five times when Seungcheol walks in. He looks like someone who lost an argument with his alarm clock, his inbox, and possibly God.

His tie is loose. His hair is defying gravity in three directions. He drops his briefcase three tables away and immediately starts pacing with his phone pressed to his ear.

“No, I said the 17th, not the 7th,” he says, voice a low, stressed hiss. “Yes, because they’re filming in Thailand, not, I don’t know, the moon.”

He hangs up. Sits for all of five minutes. Stands. Sits again. Calls someone else. Wash, rinse, repeat.

You try to focus. You really do. But there’s something magnetic about watching a usually unflappable man unravel like a department store sweater. “Not worried,” you mutter to yourself, clicking back to your work. He’s fine. Just corporate molting. 

But then you hear him exhale. Hard. He rubs his eyes like the day is a contact sport, and you feel a twang of sympathy because you’re not a goddamn monster.

You walk up to Felix, who’s wiping down the espresso machine with the casual grace of someone who moonlights as a Disney prince. You slip him a five.

“What’s this for?”

“A carrot cake emergency.”

He glances at Seungcheol, eyebrows lifting.

“Make it look natural,” you add. “No obvious charity. Just… coincidence.”

Felix winks and executes the drop with spy-level precision. Mid-call, Seungcheol barely notices the plate until the scent catches up to him.

He pauses. Looks down. Then up, but not at Felix.

Right at you.

He smiles. Not the usual cocky smirk or the teasing grin. No. This one is quieter. Warmer. A tight-lipped gratitude that has your traitorous heart skipping a beat. Maybe two. 

He mouths, Thank you.

You raise your mug in reply.

He takes a bite. For the first time that day, his shoulders drop. The tension doesn’t disappear, but it softens. Like cake under a fork. The café hums around you—a gentle orchestra of foam, glass, and familiarity.

You go back to your laptop, a little smile playing on your lips. Still not worried, of course. Merely bservationally invested.

You pack up as the sun angles lower in the window, slanting gold across your keyboard. The drone of the café shifts with the hour. A quieter crowd now, more book than laptop, more wine than espresso. You sling your bag over your shoulder, ready to melt into the early evening.

You’re halfway to the door when Seungcheol calls your name. He’s still at his table, carrot cake reduced to crumbs, a little less frazzled than before. He jogs to catch up, a hand running through his hair, trying and failing to tame it.

“Thanks,” he says, a little out of breath. “For the cake drop. Very subtle. Almost untraceable.”

You feign innocence. “No idea what you’re talking about. Maybe Felix just really likes you.”

“Yeah, he also gave me a drawing of a frog once. But I have a feeling this was you.”

You shrug. “I prefer plausible deniability.”

He smiles. That damned smile again. Not practiced, not perfect. Real. “It helped,” he confesses. “More than I thought it would.”

There’s a beat. Not awkward, more aware. Then he gestures toward the street. “You headed home? Want a ride?” he offers. 

For a flicker of a moment, you feel panic. Real, dumb, heart-skipping panic. It’s stupid, but there’s only so much changes to the routine that you can manage. 

You shake your head too quickly. “Oh—no, I’m good. I like the walk. Clears the head. You know. Air. Legs. Exercise. The usual.”

Seungcheol tilts his head to one side, amused. “Right. Wouldn’t want to deprive your legs.”

You wince. “That came out weird.”

“A little.”

You make a vague getaway motion with your thumb. “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow. Or whenever your Google Calendar allows.”

He steps back with a hand over his heart. “Rejected. Brutally,” he says, probably half-serious in his petulance. “I’ll add it to the long list of things humbling me today.” 

You laugh, finally breathing again.

He grins. “Get home safe, leg defender.”

You toss him a wave as the door jingles shut behind you, the night warm and a little kinder than before.

The next time, though, it’s your turn to fray. 

Not frayed like the fashionable kind, like the artfully undone cuffs of your oldest hoodie. No. Frayed like a wire that’s been chewed on, left buzzing and dangerous, held together by the last threads of caffeine and hope.

You take your usual seat by the window, laptop open but untouched. There’s a tab open for invoices and another for a brand guideline doc you swear was written by an alien. The client has emailed five times since sunrise. Each message contradicts the last. You can’t even be mad anymore. Only tired.

The Greeting Committee smells like cinnamon and second chances. Felix slides your drink over with a gentle smile. It doesn’t help much.

Seungcheol arrives half an hour later, still slightly windblown, suit jacket over one arm. He spots you, hesitates, then sits at the table beside yours.

“Hey,” he says, carefully. “You look industrious.” 

You grunt.

He peeks at your screen. “Stressed from freelancing?” he says, aiming for a friendly jab. “Didn’t know that possible. I thought you’d have it easier, you know. Not having to deal with soul-crushing clients.”

It hits wrong. Off-key. The joke doesn’t land; it crash lands.

You glance up. Maybe he sees the sharpness in your jaw, the sheen in your eyes. Maybe not. You stand abruptly, chair scraping a little too loud against the floor. “Excuse me,” you say, voice too even.

You retreat to the bathroom. Lock the door. Breathe once. Twice. And then it happens.

Your chest caves, just a little. The tears come fast and hot. Not the kind you can blink away. These are stubborn, panicked, silent sobs. Messy ones. The kind you don’t want anyone to see.

You wash your face after. Pat your cheeks until they stop looking flushed, though they don’t. Your eyes are still red, like you lost a fight with a mascara wand and your own emotional stability. 

When you emerge, the café looks the same, but something has shifted. Seungcheol looks up immediately. He doesn’t say anything.

Just watches you, eyes soft, mouth slightly open like he started a sentence but forgot how to finish it. There’s none of his usual machismo. He just looks like someone kicked his favorite puppy.

You sit back down, mute. Felix gives you a glance, like he’s debating giving you a cookie. You shake your head. Not today.

Seungcheol clears his throat, shifts, but says nothing.

The silence is a kindness. So you let it be.

You go back to your screen and pretend to work. Seungcheol stays in his seat beside you. Quiet, still, and present.

He doesn't come by the next day. Or the one after.

It shouldn’t matter. And yet, your eyes flick to the door more than they should. There’s a particular flow you’ve both unconsciously followed, a choreography built of glances and coffee steam, shared space and sidelong banter. You miss it. Or him. Or whatever weird, ambiguous thing he is.

On the third day, though, he returns.

You feel him before you see him. His presence has a particular gravity, like someone dragged in a suitcase full of decisions and contradictions. He walks up, eyes careful, a coffee in each hand.

“Peace offering?” he says, nudging one cup toward you.

“Is it poisoned?” you ask, trying not to sound too pleased at his reappearance. 

“Only with charm and sincerity.”

You take it. He sits. Not at the next table. Not across the room. But right across from you. “Okay,” he says, settling in. “I want to understand what you do. Freelancing. The whole… lifestyle."

“You mean the glorious, cobbled-together hustle powered by imposter syndrome and caffeine?” you throw back, 

“Exactly,” he grins. “That.”

You peer at him. “Don’t you have a mountain of corporate souls to harvest today?”

He leans back, eyes closed dramatically. “Took an emergency leave.”

You stare. “An emergency leave. For freelance empathy research.”

“And because my boss told me I was breathing too loudly on calls. Also that I needed to stop quoting BTS lyrics in pitch decks. But yes. Research.”

You snort despite yourself. “Fine,” you say, gesturing to your screen. “Give me an hour. I have to finish this edit before my client finds another designer who doesn’t cry in public bathrooms."

He lifts both hands in surrender. “No rush. I’m just here to sponge up wisdom and avoid responsibility.”

You nod once, then dive into your screen, fingers tapping in a slow, precise rhythm. Every so often, you feel his gaze. Like he’s watching someone solve a puzzle he never knew existed. You finish the edit in record time, hit send, close your laptop with a satisfying click.

He perks up. “That it? Are we about to enter the magical world of self-employment lore?”

You stretch, then take a long sip of your not-poisoned coffee. “Welcome to hell, Seungcheol. There are no benefits, but sometimes people send you cheese in the mail."

He grins, eyes lighting up. “Sounds oddly romantic.”

“It’s a lifestyle of extremes.”

For the first time in days, the air between you feels loose again. You tell him all the details. The ability to work from wherever, at the price of the constant availability. The power to pick and choose your battles. The legal threats issued when you’re not paid on time. Seungcheol is expressive; he shuttles from amusement and horror every so often. 

As you close up your tirade, you rest your chin on your palm and squint at him over the rim of your cup. “So what are you like outside the nine-to-five costume party?” 

He hums. “Define ‘outside.’”

“The part of the day where you're not actively recruiting K-pop idols or quoting RM at your boss.”

He taps his fingers on the table, mock-pensive. “Well. I play padel.”

You actually flinch. “Of course you do.” 

“And indoor golf,” he adds, almost sheepish.

“You absolute LinkedIn man.”

He gasps, fake-offended. “Take that back.”

“Next you’re gonna tell me you use Notion to organize your fridge.”

“That was one time. And the color-coding was inspired.”

You point at him, triumphant. “I knew it.”

He chuckles, leans in a little like he can't help it. “And what do you do outside of crying over client feedback and judging my recreational habits?”

“I doodle in margins. Watch bad reality TV and pretend it’s for character study. Occasionally rearrange my bookshelf like it’s therapy,” you answer as you roll your shoulders. 

He nods solemnly. “That tracks.”

You tilt your head. “You know, you’re very defensive about your Very Normal Corporate Hobbies.”

“You asked. I answered.”

“You answered like a man who has a separate gym bag just for tennis whites.”

“Only on weekends.”

You laugh, louder than intended. A few heads turn. Seungcheol watches you, smile stretching slowly, like he’s soaking it in.

“So,” he says, after a beat. “You want to know me, huh?”

You bite back a grin. “You’re the one who took emergency leave to decode the mysteries of my working habits.”

“But you’re asking the personal questions.”

You go to sip your coffee again but pause mid-air. Okay. Fair. You set your mug down. “Maybe I do. Want to know you.”

He blinks, surprised. You swear there’s a slight flush to his ears. “Wow,” he says, voice lighter. “I didn’t think I’d live to see the day.”

“Don’t get cocky. It’s purely investigative.”

“Of course. For science.”

“For society.”

“For the greater good.”

You both grin into your drinks. For a moment, it feels easy again—like maybe you’re two people in a café, not an ironic universe crashing softly into each other. Just you, him, and the slow unfurling of something not yet named.

You start bringing extra pens, just in case he forgets his again. He never asks, but he always takes them, twirling the cap between his fingers as if it’s part of his pitch strategy. You pretend not to notice the way he always slides it back across the table when he leaves, perfectly aligned with your notebook.

He starts remembering how you like your coffee. Not the way you order it, but the way you drink it. When it should be sweet, when it needs to be strong. He doesn’t ask. Just shows up with a cup that tastes like exactly the kind of day you’re having.

Once, you swap playlists. He laughs at your affinity for melancholic ballads and sends you one too many motivational bops in return. You retaliate with obscure indie rock. He retaliates harder with vintage K-pop. It spirals quickly.

Your seating becomes a ritual. You gravitate toward each other like satellites, or maybe like rival planets that keep brushing orbits. Not always talking, but near. Comfortable in the shared silence of productivity, in the occasional sarcastic quip lobbed across laptops.

Then, one Thursday, you can’t make it. A meeting across town. A cousin’s birthday. Something outside the orbit. You don’t text. It’s not that kind of arrangement.

The next day, you return to The Greeting Committee, windblown and half-apologetic for reasons you can’t name. Felix greets you at the counter with a too-wide grin.

“Someone was a little antsy yesterday,” he says, sliding your usual across the bar.

Your brow furrows. “Antsy?”

Felix leans in, tone conspiratorial. “Your boy was pacing,” he whispers conspiratorially. “Kept checking the door like a golden retriever who lost his owner at the park. Ordered three espressos and didn’t drink any of them.”

You don’t even have the energy to clock Felix for calling Seungcheol your boy. You glance over to your usual table. Seungcheol is there. Head down. Pretending he can’t hear Felix. He’s gone stock-still.

You approach slowly. “Three espressos?”

Seungcheol already has his face buried in his hands. “I hate him,” he groans. 

You set your things down. “Were you worried about me?”

“I was... mildly alarmed that my study subject had vanished,” he mumbles. “For science.”

You grin at the now-inside joke. “For society.”

He squints at you from between his fingers. “I should’ve taken another emergency leave.”

“Better clear it with HR.”

He sighs dramatically, then glances at you. “Glad you’re back.”

Your heart stumbles. “Yeah,” you murmur, trying not to smile too much. “Me too.”

The day stays with you.

Like a bit of sugar stuck on your lip, or a phrase you can’t remember the origin of. It trails behind you into the evening, clings to your sweater the next morning, settles in the folds of routine. His face, half-horrified under Felix’s grin. The way he said glad you’re back. Too casual. Too real.

It sits beside you when he doesn’t show up the next day. Or the next. Or the three after that. By day six, you’ve graduated from confused to mildly insulted. Not that it matters. Not that you care. Not that you check the door every time it opens.

You try to reason with yourself. He has a job. A corporate one. With meetings. Flights. Possibly a high-stakes padel tournament. But still, the café feels off-kilter without him. Like one chair always pulled out too far.

Day eight, you’re settled into your seat—headphones in, deadlines glaring—when a shadow flits across your screen. You look up.

He’s back. Tan coat, navy slacks, guilty smile. Holding a coffee cup like a peace treaty.

You don’t look up again. Not really. Just enough to let him pass. You type a little more pointedly than usual. Sip your drink a touch too loud. “Okay,” he says eventually, dropping into the seat across from you with a sigh. “Are we doing this?”

You don’t stop typing. “Doing what?”

“This thing. Where you pretend not to notice me because I disappeared for a week.”

You arch a brow. “You disappeared?” you ask, even though the tick of your jaw gives away your feigned nonchalance. 

“I had a work trip,” he says, halfway exasperated. “I didn’t fake my own death.”

“Would’ve been less dramatic.”

He exhales a laugh, then leans forward, arms on the table. “You know, we could exchange numbers. Save you the emotional labor next time.”

You glance at him. He’s smirking. Just a little. But there’s a hopefulness under it, peeking out like socks that don’t match.

“You think I want your number?” 

“No. I think you want me to want your number.” 

You snort. You hate it when he’s right. Wordlessly, you hold out your hand; he stares at it like it’s some sort of bomb. 

“Phone,” you say dryly. “Before I change my mind.”

He fumbles it out, unlocking it with shaking fingers. You type in your number, add your name, and for no good reason, a croissant emoji. You hand it back. “There,” you huff. “Now next time you vanish, I can file a formal complaint.”

He grins, and it’s a little too wide for his face. A little too happy to be friendly. “I’ll have my people forward it to legal.”

You finally meet his eyes.

It feels like stepping into warm light.

Your phone buzzes, mid-sip, mid-scroll, mid-holding-back-a-yawn. A text. From Seungcheol. Who is, rather notably, sitting four feet in front of you.

Seungcheol ☕ [2:03 PM]: did you sleep last night or are you just naturally corpse-chic today?

You look up. He’s got the gall to raise his brows at you over his laptop, like he didn’t just insult you through cellular waves. Like this is normal behavior for a grown man in business casual.

You respond with a slow, deliberate middle finger under the table. He grins. Felix swats you both and murmurs something about children being around. 

The next day, Seungcheol does it again.

Seungcheol ☕ [4:25 PM]: is that your third cup? do i need to stage an intervention or just sponsor it as a startup?

This time, you reward him with a middle finger emoji. Something a little more permanent, and a lot less damning to Felix. Seungcheol’s responding cough is suspiciously laughter-adjacent.

It becomes a rhythm, a beat stitched between sips and keystrokes. You never text outside of The Greeting Committee. Not once. But inside its sun-drenched walls, with the clatter of cups and the low hum of indie folk, you have your own thread. A quiet thing. A private game.

Sometimes, it’s teasing.

Seungcheol ☕ [1:43 PM]: felix gave you the bigger muffin. favoritism.

Sometimes, it’s curious

Seungcheol ☕ [3:10 PM]: what are you working on today? looks serious. also your nose scrunches when you’re focused.

Sometimes, it’s borderline sentimental:

Seungcheol ☕ [5:04 PM]: i like mondays better now.

You don’t always respond.

Sometimes you just smile, or shake your head, or raise an eyebrow that says you’re on to him. Sometimes he takes that as victory. Sometimes he gets mock-wounded.

You pretend not to notice the way he watches your face light up, but you do. You always do.

You don’t know what to make of it—this strange little performance. This theater of text bubbles and muffled laughs. But your fingers start lingering over your phone when he walks in. Your heart bumps when it buzzes. You catch yourself rereading his old messages when he’s in the restroom.

You know it isn’t just caffeine making you giddy, no matter how badly you want to make the claim.

Seungcheol doesn’t come in one morning. You notice before the door finishes not opening.

Felix does, though, gliding past your table with a steaming latte and a smirk like he knows a secret. He wipes down the counter with theatrical flair before leaning over it to say, “So. Are you two ever going to get together, or should I just start a betting pool?”

You laugh. Too quickly. Too high. “We’re not—” You wave your hand in a vague gesture that means something like, Don’t be ridiculous, but also, maybe, Please don’t ask me that when I haven’t had my coffee.

Felix raises both eyebrows and hums. “Sure. Okay. Keep lying to yourself, sweetheart.”

You spend the next thirty minutes trying to focus on your screen and not on the vacant corner of the cafe where Seungcheol’s laptop usually glows and his stupid phone buzzes with texts he won’t say out loud. It’s like trying to work with half your keyboard missing. Or your second favorite limb.

Around lunchtime, when the loneliness gets just a touch too loud, you do something unhinged.

You open LinkedIn.

It starts off innocent. Curious, even. You want to see what he looks like in a professional headshot. You want to know if his job title is as unnecessarily long as you suspect. (It is. “Senior Talent Acquisition Specialist & Strategist, Creative Industries Division.” Ugh.)

You scroll through his accolades, which are infuriatingly impressive. Fluent in three languages. Led multiple region-wide talent campaigns. There’s a photo of him at some conference, smiling and mid-sentence, looking… God, competent. That’s, unfortunately for you, really hot. 

You hate how charming his bullet points are. You hate that he probably made a slide deck about them. You close the app. You reopen it. You check his endorsements.

And then, as you're packing up, phone zipped away, pretending like you haven’t spiraled into corporate espionage, your screen lights up.

Seungcheol ☕ [2:22 PM]: you know i have linkedin premium, right? i can see who views my profile.

Your soul leaves your body. You stop dead, laptop halfway into your tote. Another buzz.

Seungcheol ☕ [2:22 PM]: did you miss me that bad?

A third, before you can reply:

Seungcheol ☕ [2:23 PM]: you could’ve just texted, you little coward.

You type back with trembling thumbs.

You [2:25 PM]: You should be banned from the internet.

He sends a smirking emoji, and the emoji with hearts on the face. 

You hate him. You hate that you’re smiling. You hate that your heart is fluttering like it just got a calendar invite to something thrilling.

You slide your phone into your bag. It buzzes again. You leave it there. 

You don’t need to check it to know exactly who it is.

The next time you see Seungcheol, he’s already sitting at your table.

He has the audacity to look smug, half-grin tilting upward as you approach, coffee in hand and dignity in tatters. “Hope you found what you were looking for on my profile,” he says without preamble.

You set your cup down with deliberate care. “Actually,” you say, sliding into the chair across from him, “I did. Very informative. I especially liked the bit where you led a cross-functional recruitment initiative. That was hot.”

He blinks. Once. Twice. Then he chokes on his Americano.

You raise an eyebrow, sipping your latte with practiced coolness. “What?”

He coughs into his sleeve. “Nothing,” he wheezes. “Just didn’t realize I had a fan.”

You tilt your head. “LinkedIn says you’re results-driven. I just wanted to see if you lived up to the branding.”

He goes very still. There’s a beat, then another, and then his ears go pink. It’s kind of glorious. He clears his throat, fiddling with the lid of his cup like it’s suddenly become complicated engineering.

“You’re enjoying this,” he accuses. 

This, as in corporate flirting? “Immensely,” you chirp. 

He lifts his gaze just long enough to give you a look that says two can play this game, but not very well, apparently. “You know, I was going to bring you a croissant to make fun of you gently, but now I’m reconsidering.”

“Fear is the beginning of wisdom,” you say, quoting something you may or may not have pulled from a fortune cookie.

He groans softly, but there’s laughter behind it. There always is, lately. He looks at you a little too long, like he’s trying to memorize this exact moment. You feel it, the shift—somewhere between banter and something gentler, something a little more reckless. But then he breaks the moment, leaning back with a crooked grin.

“Remind me to revoke your internet access,” he says.

“Try it,” you say. “I dare you.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. You don’t look away. Neither does he.

The evening’s already blushing gold by the time Seungcheol says, “Let me walk you home tonight.”

It’s casual, tossed in like garnish. But there’s a new kind of weight to it. Not the kind that sinks, but the kind that anchors.

You sip the last of your lukewarm latte and reply, “Okay. But we’re walking. No car. It’s only twenty minutes, and you need the humility.”

He squints like you’ve personally offended his shin splints. “Twenty minutes? That’s practically cardio.”

You stand, grab your tote, and shoot him a look. “You’ll survive. Probably.”

He groans but follows, waving a lazy goodbye to Felix, who grins way too knowingly.

The air outside is warm with the memory of the sun. The streets are still holding onto their buzz, slow and syrupy. You walk side by side, his arm brushing yours just often enough to register. He doesn’t make a show of it. That would be too easy.

At the end of the block, you turn left instead of right.

Seungcheol pauses. “Hey. That’s not the way to your place. Unless you’re secretly living behind the dumpster.”

You shrug. “Need to make a stop.”

His eyes narrow. “Is this how it happens? You lure me out, make me walk, then finish me off behind a coffee shop? Classic femme fatale behavior.”

“Stop being dramatic,” you sigh. “I’m feeding someone.”

You lead him to the back of The Greeting Committee, where the air smells like cooling bricks and old pastries. There, curled beneath a battered crate and a weather-worn sign, is a stray tabby blinking lazily up at you.

“This is Pumpkin,” you say, crouching to pull a packet of wet food from your bag as if it’s completely normal to carry gourmet feline meals in a tote next to your charger and existential despair.

Seungcheol just stares. “You—what—is that tuna mousse?”

“Chicken and pumpkin puree,” you correct. “He has a sensitive stomach.”

The tabby slinks forward, mewling. You set the food down, and Pumpkin immediately goes to town. Seungcheol is still watching, expression somewhere between disbelief and awe. “You do this every day?” he asks.

You shrug. “Most days. Felix lets me stash a few cans under the sink. He pretends not to know.”

Seungcheol huffs a quiet laugh, crouching beside you. His knees crack with such dramatic flourish you can't help but look at him. “I’m too young to make those sounds,” he mutters.

“Corporate life ages you.”

He glances at you. “So does pining after someone who makes fun of your LinkedIn.”

You pretend to study Pumpkin more closely. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“Oh, it is,” he says, and his smile feels like the first sip of something warm on a cold morning.

The two of you watch Pumpkin finish off his meal. You could probably get going, but you quite like seeing Seungcheol—immaculately pressed suit, Aventus Creed Seungcheol—crouched in a random alleyway, watching a cat with immense concentration. Makes him look more human, less robot. 

Pumpkin mewls appreciatively at you as he finishes off his meal. The stray gives Seungcheol a hiss that suspiciously sounds like a warning. It doesn’t really make sense until you get to your feet, Seungcheol in tow, and you realize he’s giving you a Look. The preemptive kind that warns of something ahead. 

He scratches the back of his neck. “I’m about to do something stupid.”

“Like pet the cat even though he’ll hiss at you again?” you say, because it’s easier to joke about things than take anything seriously. 

He takes a breath. His gaze flicks to your lips. “Worse.”

And then, before you can ask, Seungcheol says, “Sorry,” like it’s the preamble to a crime scene, and leans in.

The kiss is not polite. It’s not tentative. It’s not a test or a maybe.

It’s the undoing of a thousand little silences.

Your back hits the wall. You let out a surprised sound, half laugh, half breathless awe. The alley smells like coffee grounds and rain-slicked pavement. His tie is the first casualty; you tug it loose and toss it over a bike rack without ceremony. Seungcheol groans into your mouth. His hands are warm and everywhere, grounding you while one of your legs hitch over his waist. 

You taste his Americano on his tongue, bergamot from his cologne, and something sharper that must be everything he hasn’t said. The way he kisses you like an overdue confession. You don’t stop to think about the logistics. Or the implications. Or whether Pumpkin the cat is scandalized.

You just think about how this man—who wears suits to cafés, who once made you cry with a poorly timed joke, who texts you across the room just to see you smile—is kissing you, like the world might end if he doesn’t.

Your breath is still caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat when he pulls back. Not fully, not even really. Just enough for air to cool your lips, for the night to slip between your mouths, for you to hear him say, between peppered kisses along your jaw and neck, “I’ve dreamt of doing that since the moment I saw you in that damn cafe.”

You let your head tip back against the brick wall. “You can’t call it love at first sight,” you murmur, voice wobbly but amused. “This isn’t some drama your company produced, Choi.”

“Fine. Whatever.” He says it with no real bite, his mouth still brushing against your throat. “But I’ve known I wanted to kiss you since I laid my fucking eyes on you, so what does that make me?”

You choke on a laugh. It bubbles between your ribs, tangled with the aftershock of his lips and the humiliating truth that you’d let him keep kissing you all night if he wanted.

Your fingers are still laced in the lapels of his coat. His hands—well, one is braced against the wall behind your head and the other has begun to roam with alarming curiosity, curling possessively at your waist, tugging you flush against him like he could make up for the months lost in one touch.

It’s reckless. A little indecent. Unwise in about seventeen different ways.

You kiss him again anyway, because you’re not a coward. But when his thumb slips under the hem of your shirt and your knees actually threaten mutiny, you pull back, panting, forehead resting against his.

“We can’t be like teenagers groping each other in an alleyway,” you whine. 

He grins widely, a little wild around the edges. “Why not?”

You push gently at his chest, which is about as effective as shoving a tree. “Because I live around the corner, and I have dignity.”

“Debatable,” he murmurs, but he steps back all the same. The loss is enough to almost make you sob. 

You grab his hand, and tug him along. “Come on, Romeo. Let’s go make more questionable decisions in the comfort of my very adult, very allergy-safe apartment,” you manage. 

He hastily grabs his tie with his free hand. “If there’s carrot cake, I might propose.”

“There’s vodka in the freezer.”

“Close enough.”

The two of you make it to your apartment in record time, breathless and disheveled, a tangle of limbs that barely manages to key open the door. You’re laughing, the kind of laugh that shakes with adrenaline.

Your back hits the inside of the door before it even closes properly, and Seungcheol is already kissing you again. Less alleyway, more frantic prayer. His hands at your hips, your fingers at the buttons of his shirt, all coordination gone to hell.

“Wait… we should talk,” you try, mouth brushing against his as you speak. Your hands are on his collar, but your words are trying to wrangle the last of your common sense.

He nips at your jaw. “We will.”

Your jacket slips off your shoulders. His tie joins it on the floor. “Seungcheol,” you say with more force, stepping back as much as he lets you. “We can't make out for three episodes and then just forget to have a conversation."

His shirt is halfway undone, and his hair’s in beautiful, stupid disarray. He pauses then, forehead against yours. His breath is still shallow. So is yours. “You’re right,” he says. “This shouldn’t be like the dramas.”

Your heartbeat is in your throat. “So?” you choke out. 

He exhales. It rumbles against your sternum, where your bodies are still close enough to feel the echo. “So we do both. We kiss first, talk after. We do it all. As long as neither of us runs.”

Your hand stills against his chest. It would be the easiest thing to make a joke—say something coy, derail the tension with a smirk and a shrug. But Seungcheo’s eyes are honest in a way that leaves no room for denial. No games, no marketing language, no curated storylines. Just him, a man still half-dressed and fully sincere.

“Deal,” you decide, and then you kiss him again.

It carries you all the way to the couch, to the warmth of pressed skin and the ridiculousness of two adults trying not to knock over a lamp while tangled in each other. You tell yourself you’ll talk after. You will.

But right now, there’s nothing but the soft thud of clothes hitting your floor and the sound of Seungcheol whispering your name.

You wake up to sunlight smeared across your floor like a crime scene. The throw blanket is wrapped halfway around your thigh, a heel of it digging into the couch cushion. You blink. The apartment is too quiet. The kind of quiet that knows something is missing.

Seungcheol is gone.

Not vanished. His shoes are gone, his jacket too, but he’s left a note. Folded in half and propped up against your half-empty water glass like a tiny paper tent.

Didn’t want to wake you. You looked criminally peaceful. Not running, just got dragged into an early meeting. I owe you coffee. And at least three kisses. Minimum. — Choi (Not A Flight Risk) Seungcheol

You stare at it for a beat too long. It’s charming. Earnest, even. The ink slightly smudged where he might’ve hovered too long over the word criminally. But your chest feels taut. Like a rubber band wound too tight around something soft.

Your phone buzzes.

Seungcheol ☕ [7:21 AM]: i meant what i said. i’m not disappearing. Seungcheol ☕ [7:21 AM]: also, how do you feel about bagels? asking for a future breakfast. Seungcheol ☕ [7:22 AM]: also pt2: you drool in your sleep. it’s very cute.

You chuckle. Which turns into a sigh. Which turns into you setting the phone face down and pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes.

It’s not the leaving, exactly. You understand work. You understand early meetings and obligations and shoes that need to be polished. It’s the ache of the aftermath. The warmth of him still clinging to your sheets and skin, and the chill of the apartment now that he’s no longer in it.

How easily he’d done it. How easily he could still do it, if he wanted to. In the imminent future. 

You move through the morning like someone wearing someone else’s shoes. Make coffee, forget to drink it. Brush your teeth, stare too long in the mirror. You’re not angry. But there’s something like bitter lodged in the back of your throat, and it won’t quite go down.

Later, at your at-home desk, he sends a selfie from a conference room. Half his tie is undone, and someone’s arm is motioning animatedly beside him, blurred in mid-gesture.

Seungcheol ☕ [1:30 PM]: currently dying. cpr not required unless administered by you.

You do laugh. A little. Quietly. Still, the unsettled thing inside you rolls over, sighs. Unimpressed.

You wonder, absurdly, if he’s kissed anyone else like that in an alleyway. If he’s made out with a woman behind a coffee shop, all suit and stubble and soft declarations. If he’s left notes for other people, claiming they looked criminally peaceful.

You know it’s silly. But that doesn’t stop the wondering, or the weight of wanting more.

You text him back something flippant. Light. Exactly the tone he always teases you for having.

You [2:02 PM]: If you die in that meeting, I’m keeping your coffee points.

It earns you a photo of his exaggerated gasp, hand to chest like a silent movie star. You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach where it has to. 

You don’t go to The Greeting Committee the next day. Or the next. Or the one after that.

At first, you tell yourself it’s because you need a change of scenery. The café chairs were always a little too firm, anyway. And there are so many other places to try! Like that plant-filled co-working space that smells faintly of eucalyptus and overly ambitious startups. Or your kitchen table, which wobbles like it’s been cursed by a very specific and petty god.

But the truth is less glamorous. The truth is, you miss him. And missing him makes you squirm. You don’t know what to do with that kind of intimacy—the kind that follows you home, seeps into your dreams, and then sends you sweet messages about bagels as if it didn’t completely undo you.

Seungcheol ☕ [4:09 PM]: missing my coffee buddy. when am i seeing you again?

You reply an hour later.

You [5:10 PM]: Got a deadline this week. Might be a while.

The next day:

Seungcheol ☕ [6:19 PM]: i’m starting to think i hallucinated the whole thing. very elaborate dream. excellent production value. You [9:32 PM]: Definitely real. Probably. 87% sure.

You try a different café. The espresso tastes like regret. The barista spells your name with a Q. You spill oat milk on your notes.

Seungcheol ☕ [4:20 PM]: Thinking about filing a missing person report. You [10:13 PM]: I’m just very elusive. Like a fox. Or Carmen Sandiego.

You’re doing it. The dance. Light-footed and clever. Skipping across the surface before anything can pull you under.

But it gnaws at you. Not the silence, because there is none. Seungcheol still texts. Every day. A silly update. A selfie with an Americano. A picture of a squirrel he insists is giving him side-eye. It’s the consistency of it. The unrelenting sweetness. The way he keeps showing up, even if you don’t.

On the fifth day, your phone buzzes with something different.

Seungcheol ☕ [8:04 AM]: door.

You open the door in your worst t-shirt—a sleep-soft relic from a failed music festival, collar stretched, logo faded into oblivion. Seungcheol stands there like the dramatic ending to a mid-season K-drama. Tousled hair. Scowl on his face. Cardboard pastry box in one hand, a bouquet in the other that looks like it could finance a small wedding.

“Really?” he says, before you can even fake a good morning.

You blink. “Hi?”

He holds up the pastries, slightly tilted. A peace offering gone stale. “You’ve been dodging me like I’m a subscription service you forgot to cancel,” he deadpans. 

“You could've just texted again,” you mutter.

“I did. Several times. Look where that got me.”

You sigh and step aside. He brushes past, trailing the scent of espresso and patience thinned to a thread.

He places the pastry box on your counter and sets the bouquet down with exaggerated care. It doesn’t match your kitchen. Too pristine. Too blush-colored and wrapped in sheer paper that shimmers slightly. You resent it for being beautiful. For being from him.

“You didn’t have to bring anything,” you say, arms crossing over your chest.

“Yeah, well.” He shoots you a look. “I wasn’t sure if I was showing up for a conversation or a war.”

You lean against the counter, the cold tile pressing into your hip. The kitchen feels too quiet, too bright. You think about the last few days and how you’ve been avoiding your usual coffee like it might burn more than just your tongue.

“I wasn’t trying to ghost you,” you say finally.

“No,” he agrees, watching you. “Just haunt me a little.”

There’s something too knowing in his tone, but not unkind. He isn’t angry. Just... here. Uninvited and stubborn and still charming in a very irritating way. 

“I needed time,” you offer. It sounds thinner out loud than it did in your head.

“Time I can do,” he shoots back, “but disappearing without telling me why? Not really my favorite genre of heartbreak.”

You glance at the pastries. At the bouquet. At him. He looks ridiculous. And sweet. And maybe a little scared under all that posturing. “Fine,” you say. “We can talk.”

You set the kettle on the stove. He takes a spot on your counter stool.

You make the tea to buy yourself time. Seungcheol doesn’t press, just watches, elbows on the counter and jaw tucked into his hand like he’s willing to wait forever or until the kettle screams.

It does, eventually. You pour the water. Set down mugs. Curl your fingers around yours like it might anchor you.

“I just… I don't know what we're doing,” you say, eyes fixed on the rippling surface of your tea. “It feels like two people on opposite tracks pretending they aren’t going to crash into something.”

Seungcheol exhales a soft laugh, more breath than amusement. “You think we’re crashing already? We haven’t even started anything.” 

“That’s the problem,” you say, glancing at him. “You wear suits. You chase clients. You probably have a skincare fridge and a Google Calendar color-coded within an inch of its life.”

He doesn’t deny it. Just sips his tea and lifts an eyebrow like, And?

You press on. “I work out of cafes. I write brand copy for sock companies and only recently stopped paying my rent late. I have... retroactive jealousy issues.”

“Retroactive?”

“Like, I’ll be jealous of things that happened before I even knew you.”

He stares at you for a minute. Then: “That is both deeply irrational and weirdly flattering.”

You groan into your tea.

“Okay,” he says, putting the mug down. “Full honesty? I don’t even really like The Greeting Committee.”

Of all the things Choi Seungcheol could have said in that moment, that was not the one you were expecting.

Your head snaps up so fast, you’re surprised your neck didn’t damage somehow. “What?” you stammer. 

“Yeah,” he grimaces. “Their lattes are overpriced and their playlist is one bad Sufjan Stevens song away from sending me into a spiral.”

You’re scandalized. “You—you’ve been coming there for months!”

He nods solemnly. “Yeah. Because the first day I walked in, I saw you by the window. Eyes on your screen, hair in that ridiculous little claw clip, frowning like the fate of the world depended on a semicolon. And I thought, holy shit. There goes my weekday.” 

You want to scoff. You want to melt. Instead, you accuse, “So you treated me like a talent to chase.” 

His head snaps back. “Oh my God,” he says, nearly knocking over his tea. “Do you hear yourself? You make it sound like I had a casting binder labeled ‘Girl In Cute Sweater By Window.’”

“I mean—”

“I liked you. I like you. And every time I tried to talk to you, you dodged me like I was pitching a pyramid scheme. What else was I supposed to do?”

You falter. Your mug has gone cold. Your pulse has not. “Maybe,” he continues, quieter now, “if you weren’t so busy building exits in your head, you’d see I’m not going anywhere.”

You look at him. Earnest. Exasperated. Still holding on. He stares back at you, and he must find something there underneath all the frazzled panic and the indignation. He must see it. Whatever you can’t say, hiding just right on the surface. 

You don’t know who leans in first, but your nose bumps his, and neither of you laugh. Not at first.

Your lips find his, soft and familiar, and then softer still when he sighs against your mouth. It’s unfair, how easily kissing him feels like home. Like you’ve done it a thousand times before and you’ll do it again, again, again.

Your hand fists the back of his collar, tugging him closer like you’re afraid he’ll vanish for another meeting, or for some other girl by the window who catches his eye.

“I know I’m being ridiculous,” you murmur between kisses, lips brushing his jaw, his cheekbone. “But you wear nice shoes and own stock options and know how to pronounce ‘acquisition’ without choking on your own tongue.”

He chuckles into the shell of your ear. “You’re literally straddling me right now,” he grunts, hands already roaming over your curves. “Do you really want me to start listing your resume?”

You ignore that. Instead, your voice comes out in one of those flurried half-whispers, tangled in the haze of heat and nerves. “Sometimes I make up fake ex-girlfriends of yours in my head so I can stop wanting you so much,” you confess. You’re already on a roll. Might as well keep going. 

He pulls back briefly to look at you. “You…. what?”

You groan, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. “They’re really pretty in my imagination. The type that remember to water their plants and own matching socks.”

He laughs, full and honest, and rests his forehead against yours. “Do the fake ones also haunt The Greeting Committee?” he teases. “Or just the real ones you make up to ruin your own day?”

You swat at his shoulder, but he catches your wrist and presses a kiss there, which only melts you more. “I’m a freelancer,” you babble. “I can’t even guarantee what my income will look like next month. I eat leftovers three times a week. My savings account cries itself to sleep.”

“I don’t care.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I’m not saying it for your benefit. I’m saying it because it’s true.” He threads his fingers through your hair, his voice low. “You think I didn’t bribe Felix for your schedule, so I could time my work-from-home’s around you?” 

“That makes you sound like a stalker.” 

“A handsome one. Who brought pastries and a ninety dollar bouquet.” 

“Was it really necessary to mention the price of the flowers?” 

“Why the fuck are we even still talking right now?” 

You kiss him again before you can say something overly earnest. He kisses back with the kind of conviction that feels like a vow. Hands wandering. Shirts lifting. Breathless little nothings in between.

“Wait,” he murmurs, as you fumble backward, hand on his belt buckle. “Where’s your bedroom?”

You gesture vaguely to the left. “Through the hallway. First door. Don’t judge my laundry basket.” 

“I won’t judge,” he says, hauling you up bridal style without warning. You yelp. He grins and nips at your earlobe. “But if you keep making up fake girlfriends, I might have to fight one in a dream.” 

You press your face into his shoulder, laughing and mortified and a little bit in love.

That guy who used to always be in a suit is in your seat.

Technically, it’s still not your seat. The Greeting Committee hasn’t suddenly been overtaken by bureaucracy and gold nameplates. But it doesn’t matter. You’re at the same table now.

Window seat, second from the left, with sunlight that softens instead of sears. An outlet for both your laptop and your lingering cynicism, and enough ambient chatter to feel alive without being overwhelmed.

Seungcheol is there. Across from you. Laptop open, tie conspicuously absent, sleeves rolled up like he’s auditioning for the part of everyone’s favorite approachable CEO. He’s editing something, you think. Or maybe pretending to. Every few minutes, he looks up like he’s going to say something, then doesn’t. 

When you finally glance at him over the rim of your coffee cup, he gives you that smile—the one that says, I can’t believe you picked me.

Felix brings a blueberry scone cut neatly in half. “For my favorite couple,” he announces, loud enough for the older woman at the neighboring table to coo in amusement. You groan. Seungcheol winks.

“We’re not your couple, Felix,” you mutter.

“You literally are,” Felix says, already walking away. “I made the bouquet for your first fight makeup. I’m emotionally invested now.”

You shoot Seungcheol a look. He raises both hands in surrender. “I didn’t tell him anything! He just knows things. Like a romance bloodhound.”

You roll your eyes and nudge half the scone toward Seungcheol. His fingers brush yours, deliberate and warm. You’re still getting used to that. The small intimacies. The way he lingers now.

How your things have started to mix at each other’s places: his tie in your laundry bin, your socks peeking out from under his couch. How he texts you silly memes during meetings and starts grocery lists in your Notes app like it’s always been shared.

There are days you still trip over the difference between solitude and comfort. Days when you want to crawl back into your shell of low-stakes independence and low-commitment caffeine. Days you remember all the reasons you told yourself not to do this.

That he’s too polished, too stable, too everything-you-aren’t. That he comes from a world of network pitches and tailored blazers and you, on some days, can barely remember if you own an iron.

But then he smiles across the table like you’re not a gamble, just a good choice. And it becomes easier.

Seungcheol leans in a little, conspiratorial. “What do you think Felix would do if I kissed you right now?”

You glance toward the counter. Felix is absolutely watching. “Probably write about it in his next customer newsletter.”

“Worth it.”

You kick Seungcheol lightly under the table. He nudges back, grinning. There’s a softness to his grin now. He’s not just amused; he’s grateful. You catch the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, the way his thumb taps idly on the side of his mug like it wants to be touching you instead.

You pretend to read something on your screen. Seungcheol pretends to work on his edit. It’s mostly an excuse to sit in your shared silence, warm and companionable.

It’s not official. No brass plaque. No velvet rope. But it’s understood. It’s set in stone.

Mingyu was a big guy. 

He just was, in the sense that most people looked and would be considered small in comparison to him. He was tall and broad-shouldered with biceps that broadcasted his strength and pecs that, unless he was wearing an actual coat or any sort of puffy, ill-fitting top were impossible to miss. You hadn’t seen his abs, but you would guess that his torso was as fit as the rest of him. 

All of which was to say that it wasn’t news that he was either large or strong. For the most part, though, it had become a sort of…background noise. Like, the sky was blue, fire was hot,  water was wet, and Mingyu was big. When you’d first met, sure, it had maybe made you a little weak-kneed because you felt honest-to-God tiny and delicate next to him. And okay, yeah, he was also obviously a very good-looking man. You had eyes. 

You and he had slipped into a friendship, though, and so the crush (in your own thoughts, you could admit it) sort of faded away in favor of an easy back and forth, playful friendship. Which was probably why you felt so comfortable teasing him after it happened. 

It, in this case, being you catching him flexing and essentially puffing out his chest – preening, really – for the barista at the coffee shop where you were meant to be meeting him. You stayed back for several moments, just watching him show off and grin at the reaction of the poor barista who was visibly flustered, shaking your head and trying not to laugh at his antics. Eventually, though, you a) wanted coffee and b) couldn’t resist the urge to give him a hard time. 

Smiling widely, you walked up behind Mingyu, sliding your arm through his and letting your hand wrap around his bicep, cooing up at him. “You’re so strong, baby.” You ignored the choked noise he made in favor of turning your attention to the barista and lowering your voice as if to commiserate. “Is he giving you a hard time? I’m so sorry. He’s hot and he knows it.”

The barista laughed and assured you that he wasn’t and that it was okay, smiling shyly at you as she gently slid the two drinks across the counter toward you and Mingyu. 

You thanked her and passed Mingyu his before grabbing your own, then finding yourself being dragged away by the arm still – oops! – linked through his. Carefully holding the coffee in your other hand because you did not want to wear it, you pursed your lips and pulled your arm from his as soon as the two of you were outside and there was the space to separate. 

“Gyu, geeze,” you half-grumbled, half-laughed.

“Don’t ‘Gyu, geeze,’ me,” came his response as he moved to stand in front of you and looked down at you, his expression somewhere between amused and confused. “What was that?”

Lips pressed to the lid of your coffee, you hummed as you took a sip and gave him your most innocent, wide-eyed, fluttering lashes look. “Hmm?”

He scoffed, but the twitch of his lips belied his good humor. “Oh, are we doing that now?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, baby,” he crooned, grinning when your response was to start coughing, glaring up at him, and smacking your own chest. “You okay there?”

You held your hand up in the universal shush symbol until you were able to recover from the whole being-provoked-into-inhaling-your-coffee thing. Once you had control over yourself again, you were able to speak. “Maybe wait until I’m not in the middle of swallowing next time?”

Mingyu smirked. 

It took you a moment but then you rolled your eyes and bit back a smile. “I seriously can’t take you anywhere. Rein it in,” you said, giving his chest a soft push and gesturing behind him with your chin, reminding him that you were meant to be walking. “It’s too early for innuendo and we’re going to be late.”

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

A couple of days later, you ran into Mingyu at the gym. 

You must have missed each other when you initially came in and headed straight for the group HIIT class, but the sound of your name being called across the room as you exited the smaller group room into the main area was unmistakable. Your head turned toward the voice and your lips curved into a smile when you recognized him, seeing a matching smile on his face and Seungcheol standing next to him, hand raised in greeting. 

Of course you moved to join them at the weight bench and, as you and Seungcheol settled into a conversation, Mingyu went right back into lifting. Every so often, his grunts would tear your attention away from Seungcheol and you’d find yourself glancing over at him. 

Clearly he had been there a while, given the way his body was basically glistening with sweat, his hair wet and sticking to his temples. Despite yourself, your gaze caught on and watched a drop of sweat sliding down his neck, disappearing into his shirt. Which really just brought to your attention to the fact that the shirt was sleeveless, your eyes focusing on the flex and release of his muscles as he pressed the weights over his head. 

Jesus, he was distracting. 

Seungcheol cleared his throat and you turned back to him, forcing a neutral expression onto your face. “Don’t even say it.”

His lips quirked at the corners and he raised both hands. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Your eyes say so much that the words aren’t even necessary.” 

“I can’t control my eyes. You should be able to empathize with that, shouldn’t you?” There was just enough emphasis in his words and just enough knowing in his gaze to make you shift from foot to foot. 

“I –”

“What are you guys even talking about?” Mingyu asked, placing the bar on the rests and turning on the bench to face you and Seungcheol, his brows pulled together. 

“She was just –” 

“We were just talking about how big your arms are,” you cut Seungcheol off, moving to stand in front of Mingyu and widening your eyes exaggeratedly. When in doubt, apparently your new MO was to go for over-the-top and excessive – so much so that there was no way he or anyone else could take it seriously. You purposefully let your gaze sweep over the length of his biceps and forearms, then drifted to his chest. “And your pecs. God, Gyu.” 

Seungcheol snorted – he actually snorted – behind you. 

Mingyu, though, looked back and forth between you and Seungcheol, like he wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or to be suspicious. “T-Thanks. I, uh, I work hard,” he said, running a hand through his hair, and he might actually have been blushing. 

Which was the most adorable thing you’d ever seen, honestly.

You grinned and reached forward to squeeze his shoulder. “I can tell, baby,” you cooed down at him. “I bet you could even bench press me.” You continued the tease, then let go and stepped back. If you felt butterflies in your belly at the sight of Mingyu’s mouth dropping open and the heat that flashed in his eyes in response or the brief mental image you got of him doing exactly that… you would take that with you to the grave. 

Giving yourself a mental shake, you glanced over at Seungcheol then back at Mingyu. “Well! I’ve gotta run, but I’ll see you two around, okay?”

“Wait –” Mingyu started, rising from the bench and taking a step toward you. 

Seungcheol just looked amused and you fucking knew he was going to call you later with questions. “See you.”

“Bye!” You called out, already walking toward the exit. You had to get out of there before you thought too long or hard about why Mingyu’s response to the teasing affected you the way it did.

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

The expected phone call with Seungcheol went something like this:

“So, you’ve got a thing for Mingyu, huh?”

“I absolutely do not have a - a thing for Mingyu.” 

Seungcheol chuckled and you could practically hear his smirk across the line. “You wanna try that again, maybe without the stuttering? I might actually believe you then.”

You flushed and gritted your teeth, grateful he couldn’t see the pink in your cheeks. “I do not have a thing for Mingyu. I have a thing for fucking with Mingyu.”

“Eye-fucking him, maybe,” Seungcheol countered, voice filled with mirth, absolutely at your expense. 

“Okay, first of all, I am a woman who is attracted to men and I have eyes. If you were the one in the sleeveless top, sweating and grunting in exertion, lifting God only knows how many pounds, I would’ve been looking at you, too,” you argued, definitely not defensive. Nope. 

Not at all. 

“You’ve seen me doing exactly that many, many times, and I don’t recall you ever looking at me like you wanted to –”

“Stop! Right there,” you protested in a rush. “Mingyu and I are friends.”

His sigh was loud and his tone was clearly exasperated when he replied. “If you say so.”

“I do say so.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Fine. Glad we sorted that out.”

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

The next time you saw Mingyu was at a picnic for your whole friend group. You knew he was already there when you pulled into the parking lot, so you texted him for help bringing the drinks and food you’d brought from your car to the spot everyone had set up at. 

You were leaning into your open trunk, switching things from bag to bag in order to consolidate and make for the fewest trips, when he came up behind you and grabbed your hips, leaning over you and resting his chin on your shoulder. “Whatcha doing?”

Nearly jumping – and you would have if his body wasn’t basically covering yours and his hands weren’t holding your body in place – you let out a startled gasp, heart hammering in your chest before you realized it was him. “What –”

“Easy there,” you heard him say softly into your ear before the hands on your hips squeezed gently, “It’s just me.”  Mingyu then released you and drew back, coming to rest on the bumper of your car, looking wholly pleased with himself. 

“Mingyu, I swear to God – Just for that, you get to carry the heavy stuff!” You gave yourself several moments for your heart to stop racing and for the blood to stop rushing through your head, body still trying to work its way past the initial startle. Deliberately not allowing yourself to think about anything else – namely, the way your body had reacted to that squeeze of your hips with him pressed up behind you. 

That was just biology, anyway. 

Or something like that. 

Mingyu laughed and his smile widened. “Worth it.” 

You crossed your arms and narrowed your eyes at him, trying not to let your lips twich and betray your own enjoyment. His good humor was contagious, but there was a point to be made here!

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry!” As he stood back up, he held his hands out. “Load me up.”

Your smile was wicked when you hefted the cooler full of beverages into his arms, then plopped several bags down on top of it. “That’s not too much for you, is it?” you asked as sweetly as could be. “Not too heavy?” You grabbed the one remaining bag, that one carrying bags of chips and clearly the lightest of the bunch, and pulled the trunk closed. 

He shook his head and lifted the cooler higher, not looking like he was exerting himself too much, but you did feel a little bad. 

“Are you sure? Because I was just messing with you and I really can –”

“No,” he said with another shake of his head and turning away when you reached out to grab for one or more of the bags. “I’ve got it, I promise. You brought it here, the least I can do is carry it.”

And he really did. 

When you got to the area where everyone else was and Mingyu placed the cooler on the ground, you came up behind him, rested your palm against his shoulder blade, and couldn’t help yourself. You said, “Thank you, baby. I don’t know how I would’ve carried all of that without you. You’re just so much stronger than me,” then dropped the bag of chips onto the picnic table and walked over to greet the others, leaving him to stare after you and not looking back to see the mix of emotions play across his face.

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

After that, it just became a habit for you to point out how big he was, how strong whenever the opportunity presented itself, sometimes on purpose and sometimes just because – now that you had started actively noticing again, you noticed. 

Like the time a couple of the guys and you, including Mingyu, had got caught in the rain after lunch at a restaurant near your place. Since your apartment was closer and nobody had any pressing plans, you decided to just run there and hide out until the rain let up. You changed into a set of dry clothes and handed the guys dry shirts – you couldn’t do much about their pants, but you definitely had some oversized shirts lying around. In your defense, it wasn’t as though you intentionally gave him a shirt that his torso stretched so much that it was a miracle it didn’t tear. It was just the biggest shirt you had and, breasts or not, they were no match for his broad shoulders. 

“Oh,” you’d said a little breathlessly as you watched him try to squeeze into it and fought to pull it down to cover his upper body. “I, uh, fuck. You’re big.” The damned shirt left his belly bared and lord have mercy, but you couldn’t look away from his abs. They really were as fit as the rest of him. 

You watched as a shiver seemed to run through him and heard his breathing pick up pace, which was enough to shake you out of your stupor and into action. “Shit, you’re still cold, right? Hold on. I think I ended up with one of my ex’s hoodies after the break-up!” 

You’d managed to grab said hoodie from your closet and toss it at him before escaping into the living room where the rest of the guys were watching some action movie. 

A mischievous voice in the back of your head was the reason for the lion’s share of the instances, though. 

Including the time you decided you wanted to rearrange your living room on a random Saturday morning. The two of you were standing in your living room and you purposefully bit at your lower lip, giving him your best doe eyes and asked him so nicely, “Gyu? Can you help me move my couch? It’s just so heavy and it’s way too big for me to move, but I know how strong you are and I just – can you?”

He had squeezed his eyes shut and you watched the rise and fall of his shoulders as he appeared to take a very deep breath before opening his eyes and smiling kindly over at you. “Sure! Where do you want it?”

Oof. There was a question your brain chose to interpret in the absolutely wrong way. Were you teasing him with this or were you torturing yourself? Probably both, but fuck if you could stop. 

“Uh, over – over there, please.”

“There?” he asked, gesturing, and you nodded. He took a step toward the couch, looking back at you over his shoulder and you could have sworn his gaze flickered down to your lips. “Okay, baby. If that’s where you want it, that’s where you’ll get it.”

You really hoped he didn't see – or hear – your reaction to the endearment or the ease with which he moved the heavy couch across the floor. The way your breath hitched in your throat or the way you chewed at your lower lip, traitorous body clenching around nothing. And you couldn’t exactly complain because a) you’d started it, b) you actually really didn’t want him to stop. 

Which was absolutely something you needed to unpack later. 

Time to brazen it out again, apparently. You walked up to Mingyu and hugged him from the back as he settled the couch into its new location. “Thank you,” you said breezily, forced though the nonchalance may be. “You’re my own, personal Superman.”

The doorbell signaled the arrival of your other friends, pulling your attention (and arms) from Mingyu as you went to answer the door. 

Some small part of you was aware you may be playing with fire, but the larger part of you almost wanted to get burned. 

Not that you would, of course. Because you two really were just friends.

You were. 

And so it continued. 

You needed something from a tall shelf? You asked him to get it for you and gushed over him when he handed it to you. 

You were playing a game of soccer in the park and he kicked the ball completely normally hard? You laid the praise on thick for the power in his legs. 

It didn’t matter how innocuous whatever the action was or the looks everyone else gave the both of you. You, for the clearly over-the-top emphasis on Mingyu’s size and strength. Mingyu for the way he would either blush or lean into it, asking if you needed anything else – anything at all – kicking the ball harder the next time, grabbing more bags on his next trip, adding more weight to his sets. 

You just kept poking and he kept rolling with it, the two of you falling into a new sort of routine.

The most recent instance of which being when your heel broke as Mingyu was walking you home. He’d met you for a quick coffee and snack on your way home from work. You certainly didn’t plan for the heel on your shoe to break six blocks from your apartment, or for Mingyu to sweep you up in his arms, one tucked beneath your knees and the other resting against your back. 

In all honesty, the universe should get some credit for that one. 

His name came out on a shriek as you found yourself airborne, your arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders to prevent yourself from falling on your ass. “Mingyu!” You looked at him then down at the ground. If he dropped you from this height, it would definitely hurt. Tightening your hold around his broad shoulders, you lifted your gaze from the cement passing beneath you to his gaze.

“So this is what the world looks like from up here,” you said with a puff of laughter, a smile curving your lips as you watched him try to bite back his own smile. “I can walk, though, you know? It’s not the first time I’ve done the broken-heel hobble.” 

“I know you can, but you’re not going to.” He shook his head as you opened your mouth to protest. “You don’t have to. I’m here. Let me help you, yeah?”

You sucked your lower lip into your mouth, the action unconscious, but the playfulness in your voice was not. “You just wanna show off.”

His grin was instant and more than a little mischievous. “What am I showing off?”

Pfft. Now he was just fishing for compliments. But it was part of your game so you were, er, game. 

You loosened your death grip around his shoulders just enough that you could brush a hand across the width of his back and give one of said shoulders a squeeze. “These. The strength in them. How it doesn’t even phase you to pick me up and bridal carry me half a mile because you’re my big, strong hero.”

Mingyu’s hold on you tightened and his focus definitely dropped to your lips before he quickly turned his head forward to watch where he was going. “So you’re saying I have a hero complex?”

“Hah,” you playfully scoffed. “That and you have a strength kink so you just love it when people notice.”

Mingyu stopped in his tracks, turning his head and giving you an incredulous look. “I have a strength kink? Sweetheart,” he crooned, “I think maybe you need to look in the mirror before you start casting stones.” He called you ‘sweetheart’ and he fucking crooned, at which you felt the pink spreading across your cheeks and a wave of heat rush through you. 

You cleared your throat. “Maybe I do,” you said, injecting the words with as much casualness as you could. “And maybe I don’t. Maybe I just like the way you react when I point it out.”

The fingers curled around your knee squeezed, and you felt his very real strength in a different way. When his eyes darkened right then and there, your mouth went dry. 

“You’re late,” came a wry voice from somewhere behind you, breaking the impromptu staring contest you and Mingyu had entered into. When you looked over your shoulder and saw Seungcheol standing at the main door to your building, your eyes widened. 

“Cheol! I’m so sorry. My shoe broke on the way back and it took us a little longer,” you explained, smiling sheepishly. “Forgive me?”

“I can see that,” he replied, voice full of humor as he looked from you to Mingyu, “and of course I’ll forgive you. I’ve got her from here, man. You can head out.”

“No.”

“What?” you and Seungcheol asked in unison. Seungcheol had a brow arched at your other friend and you were looking at Mingyu like he’d grown another head. 

Mingyu didn’t look away from the other man when he elaborated. “I’ve carried her this far; I can carry her the rest of the way. Can you get the door?” he asked Seungcheol.

Seungcheol gave a shrug and did just that, catching your eye as Mingyu carried you past him through the doorway, the gleam in his eyes giving away his curiosity and ongoing amusement. He definitely wasn’t going to let you off the hook on this one.

When you got to your apartment, Seungcheol entered first and made his way directly to the couch in the living room, leaving you and Mingyu in the entryway. You tapped Mingyu’s shoulder and tried to extract yourself from his hold. “Okay, Hercules,” you teased. “You can put me down now. The damsel has safely made it all the way home.”

Not letting you down immediately, he instead shifted you in his arms so that you were sliding down the front of his body, toes just brushing the floor beneath you but not lowering you fully to your feet. You looked up at him curiously, trying to stretch your legs enough so you could actually stand, but were unsuccessful. “Mingyu?” 

He had a hand on your hip and the other arm was wrapped around the middle of your back, holding you pressed against him, when his gaze found yours, expression unreadable. “Why’s Cheol here?”

What?

“We’re studying. Well, he is. He has a paper and I promised him I would help with editing it,” you answered, surprising yourself with how soft and almost breathless your voice was. But God, it was one thing to see him in those tank tops and sleeveless tops or shirts that fit just right, and it was something else entirely to feel every one of those muscles against the entire length of your body. While he just held you there, not appearing to be exerting himself much if at all. Despite yourself, your arms slid back around his shoulders and you found yourself clutching at the back collar of his shirt. 

Mingyu’s lips curved into a smile and his expression shifted into something you could read: pleased. “Is that all?” 

“‘Is that all?’ Um, of course it is? What else would it be, you weirdo?” His question was enough to shake you out of your – very brief, thank you – moment of distraction caused by his ridiculous upper body and how damned tall he was that he could hold you there, still towering over you while your feet didn’t reach the floor. “Seriously, I’m home and I can stand. Let me down so I can go help Cheol and we can maybe finish in time for me to get some sleep tonight.”

“If you have to ask, then I’m not worried.” You felt your feet touch the ground and Mingyu’s hold release so that you were bearing your own weight again. If anything, he looked even more pleased with himself as he slid his arms from around you, but didn’t move away. 

Worried? You were going to ask him what that was supposed to mean but Seungcheol chose that moment to shout from the other room, “Are you two done flirting yet?”

You were going to kill him. 

“We’re not flirting, you brat!” You shouted back, pinching the bridge of your nose, hoping it was dark enough in the entryway that Mingyu somehow miraculously didn’t see the blush that crept over your face. Which was also really annoying because why the fuck were you even blushing? 

Mingyu grinned at you then leaned down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Aren’t we?” he asked, earning a wide-eyed look from you, before turning to leave. 

He left and you stood there for several moments trying to process those two words. Were you flirting? 

As expected, Seungcheol had his laptop open when you walked into the living room, but he wasn’t looking at it. Instead, he was smirking knowingly over at you, and you had to fight the urge to squirm under that gaze. 

Deciding that discretion really was the better part of valor and, maybe if you ignored him, he would let it go, you grabbed his computer and pulled it into your lap, eyes scanning the document. You lasted for all of thirty seconds before you broke. 

“Okay, what?” you asked, finally turning your head to look at him and finding him staring at you. 

“Are we not talking about that territorial display downstairs?”

“Terri– What territorial display?”

He laughed. “Please tell me you’re not that oblivious and are just faking it because you’re trying to get me to shut up.”

Given that you were still trying to process whether or not you and Mingyu had been flirting, you were so not ready to consider whether he had been acting territorial and definitely not to talk about it with someone else, not even Seungcheol. Maybe especially Seungcheol, given the two men were close. 

“Why ask a question when you already know the answer? Just go get me some water, please. And maybe some ibuprofen. I can feel the migraine coming on.”

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

Two days later, you had been able to do enough self-reflection to admit that okay, yes. You might have been flirting with Mingyu and maybe you sort of weren’t quite as over that crush as you previously believed. Or maybe you had been, but if that were true at some point, it probably wasn’t anymore. Some part of you got a thrill out of calling Mingyu, “baby,” and putting your hands on him. 

On the way he had blushed sometimes at first but how, more and more recently, he would touch you back and call you, “baby.” How he didn’t even hesitate to just pick you up and carry you across town for anyone to see. 

And fine, all right, it was possible that you’d woken up this morning from a dream about him whispering the endearment into your ear while he thrust himself into you, while your nails raked down his back and you panted his name, begging him not to stop. 

Fine. 

That didn’t mean you had to act on it, though, because This, too, shall pass and all that. You could flirt with your friend without it meaning anything.

As soon as you walked into the house party and your eyes spotted Mingyu laughing down at something some random woman you’d never seen before was saying, and the way she swatted at his bicep, though, you knew you were well and truly fucked. Neither of them were doing anything even remotely wrong and yet the hurt, the anger, the goddamn jealousy you felt burned through you and were mortifying. You were not going to claw some innocent woman’s eyes out for being rightfully attracted to Mingyu, who was your friend.

Just your friend.

Forcing yourself to tear your gaze away from the two unsuspecting victims of your eye daggers, you made a beeline for the kitchen and thus the alcohol. Wholly focused on not focusing on Mingyu, you missed the way his gaze followed you, brows drawn together.

Nor did you see his sharp eyes catch sight of Seungcheol entering after you, or the way those eyes narrowed in response. 

Instead, you grabbed a beer from the fridge and struggled to twist the cap off when your friend found you. Seungcheol rested his back against the counter next to you and watched you fight to twist the top off of a not a twist-off bottle, lips twitching. “Rough day, cupcake?”

“You,” you said in a voice that was half frustrated whine and half accusatory. 

“What about me?”

“You did this!” You grunted, pouting at the bottle in your hand and trying even harder to twist the damned lid off, glaring at the bottle when it didn’t budge. “I was totally fine – happy, even – living in, I don’t know, denial? Ignorant bliss?”

Seungcheol’s gaze drifted behind you, toward the entrance to the kitchen, and he looked like he was going to speak, but you cut him off. “But no, you just had to bring up me having a thing for Mingyu and flirting and ‘territorial displays’ and oh my God, Cheol! I have a thing for Mingyu. I so have a thing for Mingyu. And he’s out there – I mean, of course he’s out there flirting with a woman, okay, because we’re just friends, but fuck my fucking life.” 

Taking in a deep breath because, after that ramble, you needed it, you finally turned your attention away from the still-unopened beer and back to him. You took in the arched eyebrow and the quirk of his lips, and the way his focus was still behind you and over your head. 

“What are you even looking a–” you started, turning your head to figure out what was so captivating, and nearly dropped the bottle in your hand when you saw Mingyu standing not three feet away. “Oh hell.”

“I’ll take that as my cue.” Seungcheol gave your shoulder a pat as he walked by you, sharing a look with Mingyu that you couldn’t see – only the nod Mingyu gave before returning his full focus to you. 

Once Seungcheol was gone, you gave Mingyu your best impression of a definitely-not-embarrassed smile and forced out a cheery, “Hi!”

“Hi,” he said back, closing the distance between you two, hand reaching out to grab your hip gently to stop you when you started to take a step backwards. 

“How – uh, how much of that did you hear, exactly?” 

Mingyu’s lips curled into a smile and the hand on your hip squeezed, his thumb then brushing against your hip bone and causing you a shiver to make its way down your traitorous spine. “I walked up somewhere around ‘territorial displays.’ Which is kind of ironic, actually, because I was on my way in here to put on another one. Still might.” 

You groaned. “Oh God. You heard it all then.” The rest of his words registered and you let out a soft, confused laugh. “Wait, what? For whom, exactly?” You looked around the kitchen, mostly empty at the moment, save the two of you and a couple kissing in the opposite corner, clearly wrapped up in themselves. 

“You mean when I walked in or now?” Mingyu drew you closer to him, his other hand coming up to brush your hair back, his voice a quiet rumble. “I know you guys are friends, too, but every time I turn around, you and Cheol are together.” 

As he entered your space, your hands moved to rest against his chest and you swallowed hard. At the strength beneath your touch – not teasing now – and his closeness. The way he blocked everything from your view except him because he was so goddamn big. 

Which was how this whole thing started.

“I’ve been trying to tell myself that he’s not the one you can’t seem to stop touching,” Mingyu admitted, gaze dropping down to watch your hands, unconsciously stroking over his chest, sliding down his torso and causing his abdominal muscles to flex beneath your touch. Then he looked back up at you. “The one you keep calling, ‘baby.’”

Christ, you could feel the burn in your cheeks and you weren’t sure how much of that was from embarrassment at being called out or how much it was a result of feeling him flex under your fingertips and look down at you with a burning intensity in his eyes. You bit back a gasp when he dropped his head toward yours and you felt his breath against your face. 

“He’s not. I only do that with you, Gyu. You know that, don’t you?” 

He hummed, the hand at your face shifting to cradle the back of your head and tilt it further back. He leaned in closer and let his lips hover over yours. “I do now,” he spoke softly, closing the distance between your lips and brushing his against yours. “And I wasn’t flirting with her, just so that’s clear. Only wanna flirt with you.”

You sucked in a sharp breath then, your hands clutching at his hips. Unable to stop yourself, you rose up on your toes and pressed your lips into his in a soft kiss. 

Mingyu’s fingers tightened in your hair and he deepened that kiss, his tongue sweeping out to taste your lips, teeth capturing and gently nipping at your lower lip, tearing a soft whimper from you, which pulled a groan from him and had both of his hands slipping down to your waist, sliding down and around to cup your ass, dragging your hips into his. 

Lifting your arms up, you wound them around his shoulders and pressed closer, a thrill shooting through you, centering in your core, at the drop in pitch of his voice when his hands moved from your ass to the back of your thighs and he lifted you up his body, your legs automatically encircling his waist. “You want that? Want to be the only one I flirt with?”

You nodded, letting your forehead rest against his and trying your best to focus on answering him rather than rubbing yourself against him like a damned cat. “Mhm. Unless you want me to go flirt with someone else? I guess I could see what Cheol’s up to….” You wouldn’t, but the urge to push Mingyu’s buttons clearly hadn’t gone away.

His voice was a growl when he spoke and he brought a hand up to fist in your hair, grip tight enough for you to really feel the pull. Which you did. In a straight line from his hold to your cunt, which clenched in response, liquid desire starting to pool. “Not gonna fucking happen, baby.”

Your thighs squeezed his sides at that, and you let out an embarrassingly needy sound. God, why was it so hot to rile him up and hear him say shit like that? “No? Why – Why’s that, baby?”

The smile he gave you then was cocky, his dark eyes smoldering, knowing. “Guess you want that territorial display, huh? I’ve got you, sweetheart, and I’ll put on a little show just for you,” he promised. 

Did you want that?

Mingyu carried you out of the kitchen, just like that – legs and arms wrapped around him, very clearly staking his claim in front of anyone and everyone who happened to notice him walking you to his bedroom and shutting the door behind the two of you. Your gaze flickered behind him along the way, catching sight of the amusement on some friends’ faces, surprise on others’, and – you narrowed your eyes as you watched Hoshi pass cash to Jeonghan. You were totally going to kick both of their asses later.

You found yourself pressed up against the door as Mingyu closed it behind you, his big, broad form flush to you and holding you there. His hips giving a thrust into you and the friction where you’d needed it pulling a whimper from between your lips. You cursed, squirming against him, legs around him dragging him even closer, moaning his name at the hard length he rolled against your clothed cunt. “S-Shit, you’re big everywhere.” 

He let out a breathy laugh then and your insides went a bit melty at the slight flush you saw spread across his cheeks. “I could make a Red Riding Hood comment here, but I’m trying really hard not to.”

“...the better to fuck me with?” 

Mingyu’s eyes squeezed shut and his hips bucked into you before he turned you from the door and carried you over to his desk, dropping you down onto it and stepping back between your legs. His hands landed on your knees, slowly sliding up your thighs. “You gonna let me?” he asked, his voice thick with need, as he reached the apex of your thighs and he slipped a hand between them, fingers pressing along the seam of your jeans, mouth dropping open at the heat and the moisture he felt there. 

“God,” you gasped, jerking into his touch, your own hands coming to rest on his biceps and squeeze. “If you don’t, I’m gonna need the room, I –” you moaned when his fingers managed to roll the thick fabric against your clit, when his breath hitched and he groaned your name. 

“If I don’t fuck you, you’re gonna fuck yourself on my bed?”

Your nails dug into the backs of his biceps and you felt another wave of arousal drip out of you, soaking the denim beneath his fingertips. You nodded. “Make it nice and messy, too. So you can’t lie down there without thinking about me with my f-fingers inside myself. Without wishing it had been you inside me instead.”

The hand not between your thighs grabbed the nape of your neck, tilting your head back, and Mingyu stared down at you with naked hunger. “Who says I don’t already think about that when I’m lying there, hm?”

“You – fuck, please.” You let your head fall further back, but your hands moved to the hem of his shirt, pushing it up, palms pressed against the bare skin of his abdomen. Fingers tracing the lines of muscle there, following them up his torso. 

Mingyu drew back to pull his shirt up and over his head, tossing it behind him before he was back in your space, helping you get your own shirt off before returning to your space and covering your lips with his, his tongue sweeping between your lips and tangling with yours. Captured your little gasps and whimpers into his mouth as he unfastened your jeans and dragged them down over your ass, turning his attention to placing kisses and licks against your neck, voice a low rumble when you lifted your hips for him. “Mm, such a good girl for me. So helpful.”

You braced your weight with your hands, pressed flat to the desk on either side of your hips, nodding. “I can be a really good girl.” As if to demonstrate your point, you gladly kicked the denim away once it reached your ankles. “Especially if I’m properly motiva–” you broke off with a yelp when Mingyu fell to his knees in front of you and pulled your hips forward, lifted your knees onto his shoulders, and started nipping and kissing his way up your inner thigh. 

“What was that?” he crooned, lips curved into a smirk that said he knew exactly what he was doing to you and loved the effect he had on you already. 

“Properly motivated! I do well with – with that, Gyu…” 

His fingers pressed into the seat of your panties, groaning at how wet they were. He hooked those same fingers beneath the fabric of your panties, drawing it to the side and baring you to his gaze. “So fucking pretty, baby. Already so needy for me, I probably don’t even need to use my tongue on you, do I?”

He really didn’t, but fuck, you wanted him to. Your whine and the way you bucked your hips were all the response he needed, and he gave a soft chuckle, breath warm against your cunt and nearly a caress in and of itself. 

You lifted your hips for him again as he drew your panties down and off, and at the first swipe of his tongue along your slit, your elbows nearly buckled. When he flicked it against your clit, then wrapped his lips around it and sucked, the sharp stab of pleasure was so acute that you had to drop back down onto your forearms. Just the fucking sight of him with his head between your thighs – his contented hums that sent vibrations through through your sensitive bud, that had you dripping with need. He slipped two fingers into you and started pumping them, curling them, searching, searching until – 

“Mm, there it is,” he moaned, focusing the thrusts of his fingers there, nipping at your swollen folds, sucking them into his mouth, then his tongue was circling and swirling around your clit again and it wasn’t long until you were falling apart, falling back onto the desk and shaking, waves of release rolling over and through you.

Mingyu worked you through the orgasm, gentle kisses and kitten licks against your inner thigh, slowing the movement of his fingers until your hand covered his, pulling it from you and lacing your fingers together. 

You managed to lift your head enough to meet his gaze, letting yourself be pulled upright and into his arms. You let out a happy hum and dropped your forehead onto his shoulder before the temptation of his skin was too much, and you started to press kisses there. Traced a line with your lips up his neck, pausing just beneath his jaw to catch the skin between your teeth, sucking at the sensitive skin and earning a gasp from Mingyu. 

He wrapped his arms around you and lifted you into them, smiling down at you when your legs immediately wrapped around his waist. It was instinctual, as was the way your arms moved to hold him and the way you couldn’t. stop. covering his neck with marks. Completely enraptured with the way they looked on him. 

Mingyu carried you to his bed and laid you down on the soft surface, covering your body with his and settling between your thighs. “I’m going to get so much shit for those, you realize?” 

“Oh? My bad. Should I apologize?”

“Fuck, no. It’s worth it,” he said with one of those oh-so-self-satisfied smiles. Propping himself up on one hand, he traced his fingertips along your own neck, across your chest, slipping them just under the edge of your bra. “And this way I don’t have to apologize when I cover all of this pretty skin with my own marks.”

You bit back a whimper, breath hitching in your chest. “Yeah?”

He hummed an affirmation, cupping your breast in a hand, and you watched the sharp rise and fall of his chest as he gave it a gentle squeeze. Were enraptured when he tugged the fabric covering your breast to the side and groaned, tongue coming out to wet his lower lip while his thumb circled your areola. Round and round until finally he brought it to your nipple, rubbing against it, forefinger coming to join and softly pinch the swollen flesh. 

His hips were thrusting against your cunt, slow rolls that were nowhere near enough for either of you but were just enough to stoke the fire within you. You could feel the way your arousal was coating the fabric of his pants, soaking through it, as you pressed yourself up into the thrusts, in silent entreaty. 

“Fuck,” he rasped, lips replacing his thumb, tongue and teeth and those lips teasing your nipple while he ground down into you. 

Your hands cradled the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair, and you let out a breathy whine. “Want,” you started, legs locking behind his back and pulling him into you, moaning at the slow slide of his cock against your pussy, hissing when he circled his hips into yours. 

“What do you want, love?” Mingyu moved his lips from your breast to brush against yours, and he spoke against your lips while he stared down at you with eyes so full of heat you felt flames lick along your spine, centering in your sex. “Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you.”

“You,” you answered simply. Your hands came to the waistband of his pants, slid beneath it so that you could wrap your fingers around him, stroke up and down along the length and let your thumb rub across the head. Gasping at the liquid you found there, at the precome that had slipped down the underside, easing your movements. “Think you need me, too, baby. Wanna feel you inside me so bad. Need to.”

Mingyu cursed and then he had his pants and underwear shoved down, kicked off toward the end of the bed. He held himself over you, weight borne on a forearm while his other held the base of his cock, guiding it through your desire-slicked flesh. Rubbed the tip against your clit. Teased at your entrance. “You want this?”

“Fuck, yes, God, Gyu, please.” You whimpered, whined, shifted your body beneath him. Your hands found his hips and you tried to tug him to you.

He captured your wrists and gathered them both above your head, holding them there, and you would complain – you really would – except there was that strength again. You looked up at him, your pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed, and every bit of your expression spoke to how much you actually liked that. How much you wanted him. 

The flash in his own eyes told you he noticed. You heard him curse and watched him swallow hard, felt his grip on your wrists tighten. “You like being helpless beneath me, fuck. Gonna remember that,” he promised. “Do we need a condom?” His voice was tight and he looked tense enough above you that you don’t know how he held it together. 

“N-No. I’m – I’m good. Implant. Clean. You?” It wasn’t the most eloquent sentence, but it got the point across and, in the next moment, Mingyu was pushing into you. 

“Clean, too, shit, sweetheart. Feel so fucking good,” he groaned as his pelvis met yours, cock in you to the base, filling you so full. He drew his hips back and then slowly pumped them forward again, giving you time to get used to the feel of him, cunt stretching around him and your body learning his in the most intimate of ways. 

“Oh fuck, you can – you can move faster, Gyu. Harder. Need you to. Need you to – to show me how strong you are,” you admitted, burying your face in the crook of his neck and whimpering when he did. 

Mingyu sat back on his heels, hands coming to your thighs and dragging your body into his next thrust, this one a sharp snap of his hips into you that made your eyes roll back. “Fucking love how strong I am, don’t you? Always teasing me about being so big –” he emphasized with another deep, hard thrust, and another as he continued, “so strong.” 

Guilty as charged. 

“Like it doesn’t get you off, too,” you said on a gasp, arching beneath him, heated gaze taking in every detail: the movement of his hips, the tension in his abdominals with each thrust, his thick biceps flexing, the muscles in his forearms and the strength in his hands where they gripped your thighs, sure to leave marks there tomorrow. His face. God, his face. The way his brows drew together in concentration, how his gaze – still hot enough to burn and completely focused, wholly attentive to you and this and getting you both off – kept flickering between where his cock was disappearing into your cunt and your face, the way he clenched his jaw and growled out your name. 

Shifting his hold on your legs, Mingyu leaned forward, a hand coming to fist in your hair and drawing your face to his, taking your lips, your mouth in a kiss as wet and deep and harsh as the movements of his every thrust. You felt his fingers on your clit, circling and rubbing fast around the sensitive bud, making you cry out, and your breath hitch, and you fuck, you were a heartbeat away from coming again. 

Heard him rasp against your lips, “Gonna come for me, love?”

You nodded, and your voice was shaky, breathless. “Uh– Uh huh.”

“That’s my girl. Let me feel it,” he hissed, groaning, starting to lose his rhythm and you knew he was close, too. “Gonna come, too. Gonna fill you all the way up, huh?”

You whined out his name, and yes and please, Gyu, please, baby and wanna be full of you. It was enough. It was too much. It was everything. Your orgasm slammed into you, rolling through you like a wave, leaving you clinging to him and shuddering in his arms, pussy squeezing his dick, dragging him into bliss with you.

His face pressed against yours, cheek to cheek, you heard him moaning your name as he came. You felt the shuddering of his own body, above you, around you, inside you, as he spilled himself into you.

Felt yourself being rolled over and onto his chest. Felt his heart pounding under your cheek as you sucked in sharp breaths, little aftershocks of pleasure working their way through you. 

You pressed soft kisses to his chest then turned your face into the touch of his hand, let his palm cup your cheek and tilt your face to look up at him. The broad, happy, sated smile you saw there and the warm affection in his gaze brought a grin to your own face. 

“I realized I never said earlier,” Mingyu started, gently guiding you up his body so you were eye level. “In case it’s not glaringly obvious, I have a thing for you, too.”

A soft, happy puff of laughter left you then and you leaned down to kiss him. Tenderly. You brought a hand up to cup his jaw and couldn’t bite back a smile when he turned his head to press a kiss to your palm. “I may have had some suspicion for a second there, but it’s good to have the confirmation.”

It was Mingyu’s turn to laugh then and he shook his head, arms coming around you, holding you close. “Do you have plans tomorrow?”

“Oooh, what time?”

“I was actually thinking like, all day.”

“What?”

“Breakfast, lunch, movie, dinner? I figure I have a lot of dates to make up,” he said and his smile took your breath away.

“Can I help you?” he asks, setting down whatever he was working on so he can turn his full attention toward you.

“Yes, um, I think so. There’s a cat,” you explain, pointing back toward the tree, “it’s been stuck in that Callery Pear for at least four hours. I saw it on my walk back to work after my lunch break, and now it’s still there. It’s just a small kitten-”

“Say no more,” the man assures you, slightly jogging toward the wall, where there’s a folded A-frame ladder. “Which tree?”

You hurry to show him where the kitten is, and as he sets up the ladder, he explains, “I just started my shift, I had no clue there was a cat up here, and our air vac system is pretty old and can be pretty loud, so I didn’t hear any meowing.”

“It’s alright,” you assure him, watching as the man begins to climb the ladder.

His red fireman shirt is tight on his shoulders, and you watch the way his muscles ripple under the fabric as he climbs.

You swallow the lump in your throat, heart racing as he sweet-talks the kitten, who allows him to pick her up and cradle her against his broad chest. 

He slowly comes down to the pavement, checking the kitten as she purrs and cuddles closer to him.

“No collar, no ear tag, no nothing,” the fireman tells you. “Probably a street cat, we’ve got a lot of those kicking around. The fire department leaves dog and cat food out for strays, but I’ve never seen this cat before.”

“Have you heard of the cat distribution system?” you ask. 

He laughs, looking up at you, handsome face alight with amusement. “Yeah, I’ve heard of the cat distribution system.”

“Well, maybe this is finally my chance.” You release a shaky breath. “I can take her to the vet, sort this whole thing out.”

“Works for me,” the firefighter nods, gently handing the kitten over to you. 

“Thanks for helping me,”

The beautiful man smiles, turning to close up the A-frame ladder so he can get back to work. “Don’t mention it.”

Two:

You’re on the same route you always take home when the firefighter you saw a week ago waves you down from the station.

“Hey!” he calls, jogging to catch you despite his long, baggy, yellow bunker gear pants.

“Hello,” you nod, stopping to address him.

“I uh, I realized last week I never got your name,” the handsome man explains, coming to a stop in front of you.

“Y/N.”

“I’m Seungcheol. It’s nice to meet you,” he smiles, holding out a hand.

You swallow thickly, adjusting your book bag so you can gently press your palm to his. He’s soft with the handshake, and you’re quick to retract, downcasting your eyes instead of looking at this handsome, broad firefighter. 

“So how’s the kitten doing?” he asks.

“Oh, she’s good. You were right about there being no microchip, so I officially adopted her. She’s named Brontë.”

“Brontë… that’s ringing a bell.”

“It’s a literary name, in reference to the Brontë sisters,” you explain.

“Oh.”

“I work at the library,” you tell him, skin heating with embarrassment. “I’m a bit of an English nerd.”

“That’s cool though,” Seungcheol assures you. “Listen, my shift starts in a moment, so I have to run, but I’m on schedule for nights for a couple more days, and then, I’d love to drop off some cat food or something if you’re okay with it. I feel bad that no other firefighters realized there was a cat in the tree, even though saving cats from trees is the most stereotypical non-fire-related job that firemen do.”

You find yourself giggling, and you can’t help but peek at the way Seungcheol’s face lights up as he smiles at you. 

Then you correct yourself, looking down again. 

You’re not in the market for a relationship. It’s the Fall, and soon it will be Winter, and this is your sad girl era. Now is not the time for cuffing season; now is the time for reading books and watching movies with your new cat in the warmth of your tiny apartment while the world rages and dies outside your window. 

But… if it’s just some cat food he wants to drop off, that could be acceptable.

“I’ll give you my number,” you tell him, “I’m sure Brontë would love to see you.” 

Three: 

Seungcheol pauses at your door, adjusting his grip on the bag of cat food as he raises his knuckles to tap on the wood.

“One moment!” you call out, and he steps back to give you space as you appear on the threshold.

You’re wrapped in a cream coloured cardigan, and you look completely relaxed, as if you’d just put down a book. Seungcheol has always liked smart girls; cute nerds are definitely his type, and he finds himself kind of tongue-tied as he looks at you.

“I uh, I brought the cat food,” he chokes out, lifting the bag.

“Would you like to come in for a moment? I was just drinking some Chai tea and reading with Brontë.” You step to the side, and Seungcheol realizes that in your own home, you’re much more relaxed than the previous two times he’s seen you.

He steps into your apartment, and the sweet spicy scent of cinnamon perfumes the air around him. It must be from your tea, but he wouldn’t be surprised if the candles that litter the space are also to blame for the pleasing aroma. 

There’s a small thump as the tiny black kitten jumps from the couch and stretches, yawning deeply before padding over to Seungcheol.

He can’t help himself; he puts down the cat food and picks up the kitten. She starts purring like a train engine, immediately cuddling up to his neck and trying to get into his hoodie, which she succeeds at despite his laughter and protest. 

“Brontë likes you a lot,” you muse, drawing his attention as you shift to the kitchen. “Would you like to have some tea? It’s getting stormy outside.”

“That would be great,” Seungcheol tells you, highly aware that his plan was not to invade your space and annoy you, but you’re the one making the offers, so who would he be to turn them down?

Soon, the two of you are sitting in your small living room area, and your gaze shifts to the window as you sip on your tea.

“I like Autumn,” you muse.

“The rain and bad weather?” Seungcheol asks with a laugh.

“Yes, an excuse to stay inside and not talk to anyone.”

“I guess that’s one way to look at it,” Seungcheol nods. He plays with his teacup, bringing it to his lips. The taste of honey and cinnamon washes over his tongue, and he closes his eyes for a second to enjoy it before setting his tea down again. “If I’m being honest, I don’t really like the Fall, or the Winter for that matter. Seasonal depression is a bit of a hereditary thing in my family.”

“Seasonal Affective Disorder,” you nod, and it’s immediately clear that you’re also aware of the simply acronymed ‘Sad’ that so many people face. “I deal with that too.”

There’s a stagnant pause, but the room is not silent; instead, the pattering of rain on the cement outside becomes even louder, and your gaze shifts once more to the window. 

“What got you into firefighting?” you ask.

“I always wanted to help people,” Seungcheol responds immediately, releasing a breath as the tensions shift in the room. He cuddles Brontë closer under his hoodie, and she purrs like a little engine. “Police men get a bad reputation at times, but firefighters are always the good guys. There’s no question that they’re there to save you, no question that we have the best intentions.”

“I can understand that.”

“And you?” he asks. “What made you want to be a librarian?”

“I just love books. I like peace. I don’t love people.” You let out a laugh, turning to look at him. “As an antisocial bookworm, the library felt like the place to be.” 

“Makes sense,” Seungcheol smiles, admiring you.

You’re one of those dark, mysterious, moody, smart girls. 

Just his type.

But you’re working on things, so it's clear that now is not the season to try to engage with you.

In many ways, the two of you are opposites.

Seungcheol is loud and social compared to your quiet aversion to talking. He’s an athlete; you’re clearly a girl who had her nose buried in a book during high school.

But regardless of these base-level differences, it’s also clear you’re kindred as people who know and have felt sadness. 

You’re extremely alluring to him, but Seungcheol has never wanted to be the guy who disregards the social cues that a woman is not interested… only, you’re giving mixed signals, so he’s not quite sure what to make of you.

Instead of trying to figure all of this out, he simply sits with you, turning his attention to the storm brewing outside as he pets the tiny cat now cuddled in his hoodie. 

This is a slice of life he could get used to, but if it is a fleeting moment, he’ll be sure to enjoy it as it comes.

Four:

“I’m really sorry about this,” you apologize when you invite Seungcheol into your home for the second time in one week. “The sink was leaking, and I just didn’t know who else to call.”

“You called the right person,” he assures you, slipping past you with his toolbag in hand.

You guide Seungcheol to the kitchen, showing him the leak under the sink, and he’s quick to get down onto his knees to start working.

Sipping your tea, you try not to be too obvious about the way you’re watching him, but his biceps are just so beautiful as he begins to use a wrench to tighten bolts.

Brontë is quick to jump onto his chest, and he jolts in surprise, only to laugh, reaching down to pet the black kitten. “Hi, Honey,” he greets the cat, and your heart flips in your chest at how soft this big, burly man is.

God, he really is so handsome…

Truly a Prince Charming, like the softer heroes you read about in your books.

Sure, he’s not a Mr. Rochester or a Heathcliff, but you’re entirely fine with that. Gothic love interests are always a touch too dangerous for you anyway.

“So a few bolts weren’t tight enough,” Seungcheol explains. “Try the water again.”

“With you under it?” you ask in shock.

“I’m pretty confident I’ve fixed the problem, might as well put my money where my mouth is,” he laughs.

With a shake of your head, you hesitantly turn on the water.

“Good as new,” Seungcheol concludes after a moment, adjusting himself out from under your sink. He sits up, cuddling Brontë close to his chest. “Any other broken or wonky things I can fix for you?”

You can’t help but laugh. “Not off the top of my head.”

“Oh.” He looks around. “Any art I can help you put up?”

“Not really,” you grin.

“Okay, well… I’ll get out of your hair then.”

Part of you wants him to stay, but you’re too shy to say it out loud, so you watch him stand up, collect his tools, and hand Brontë back to you. As you walk him to the door, he stops.

“I don’t want to overstep or anything,” he tells you, and you notice a pink tint in his cheeks, betraying he might be just as flustered as you are. “But uh… I was thinking maybe I could take you out for a coffee date or something sometime? I mean, we could do dinner, but you seem like a coffee date kind of girl to me.” 

Your heart leaps into your throat, and you do your best to swallow it. There’s a war inside of you, with part of you wanting to stay in your little single bubble, and another part of you wanting to take a leap of faith with this beautiful man.

“No pressure or anything,” Seungcheol says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Sorry, no, I, uh… I just, I haven’t been on a date in a while,” you try to explain.

“Me neither,” he admits. “Maybe, if it’s less pressure, we can just say let's go out for coffee and leave the ‘date’ word out of it.”

“I think that would be nice,” you smile.

He returns your grin. “Perfect, it’s a coffee then,” he muses, adding a twist to the age-old saying ‘it’s a date.’ 

He can be kind of dorky, too, which isn’t something you expected from this beefy fireman, and your heart melts as you watch him go. 

Five:

The coffee date that’s not a date, except that it is, is going better than you had imagined. Seungcheol is charismatic, honest, and intelligent, all things that you enjoy in a man. He makes you laugh, and you find yourself becoming more and more comfortable with him.

There’s still something in the back of your mind that tells you that maybe you should hold yourself back, that you’ve been burned before, that you’re still working on yourself, and don’t want to enter a relationship while you’re not fully healed.

But there’s the other side of you that acknowledges you’re not perfect, and despite that imperfection, you deserve happiness. You deserve to be laughing with a handsome man over coffee as it rains outside. You deserve to find some joy even as the seasons shift from bad to worse.

It’s clear neither of you wants the date to end, and you spend three hours in this coffee shop until the rain slows a bit, and then, with a sigh, Seungcheol offers to walk you home.

You both have umbrellas, and there’s a space between you as you meander down a couple of city blocks until you arrive at your apartment.

“That was a good coffee,” Seungcheol muses, once again using the word ‘coffee’ as a substitute for the word ‘date,’ and you can’t help but smile.

“It was.”

“You don’t have to answer right now, but I’d love to do this again sometime.”

“I think I would too,” you say, honesty getting the better of you.

Seungcheol’s smile widens, and the two of you stare at each other for a moment, then he leans forward and kisses your cheek. “Say hi to Brontë for me.”

Your skin practically burns from where his lips had brushed you, and your heart thunders in your chest. You trip over your words, whole body tingling. “Yes, I uh, I will.”

“See you soon,” Seungcheol promises, reaching down to gently squeeze your hand. With one final smile, he turns and leaves, and you stand in shock for a moment in front of your building, heart racing, whole body alight with a fire that contrasts with the cool fall air.

You feel giddy and excited, which are not feelings you’ve experienced for quite some time, and your hands are shaky as you push your key into the door to enter the building. You feel like you’re buzzing as you get back to your home, and you let out a deep breath as you reach your apartment.

Brontë lets out a soft mewl, stretching by the window before she jumps down to approach you.

You pick up your little blessing, kissing her soft head as he purrs with pleasure to have you home again. She’s already saved you in more ways than you can count.

Six:

Your second date is spur of the moment, as you’re sitting down to watch a movie, you decide to text Seungcheol, and upon a short back and forth, you invite him over to watch with you.

He’s as respectful as ever, waiting an entire movie before he asks if you want to cuddle, and he allows you to dictate how close you get as you adjust next to him, gently grabbing his arm and leaning against his shoulder.

You relax during this date, and when it comes to a close, standing on the threshold of your apartment, he asks if he can kiss you for the first time.

Your heart leaps at the question, and you nod, hardly able to contain a smile as he gently pulls you closer by your hips. One hand cups your cheek, and he moves in slowly, giving you ample time to change your mind before he presses his lips to yours.

It’s as if a ton of pressure is released from your body, your muscles relaxing as you melt into the kiss, pressing your palms gently to his broad chest as you lean closer.

Seungcheol adjusts, wrapping you in his arms, and you have to fight back a moan, your skin tingling with need.

Then, he pulls away, and you notice he’s breathing heavily, as if holding himself back from you is taking a lot of effort.

“We should do this again sometime,” Seungcheol muses with a half-chuckle.

You compose yourself too, managing a smile. “I would like that.” 

Seven:

It’s been a month of movie dates and cuddling without taking the next step, and Seungcheol hasn’t brought it up at all. He seems perfectly content to spend time with you, to cuddle, and kiss… There have been heated moments for sure, but the two of you have always cooled down. If Seungcheol is good at anything, it seems he’s good at putting out fires, even metaphorical ones.

He has an inherent understanding that you need to take things slow, and his respectful nature draws you closer to him every day. You’re becoming used to being in his arms, used to the feeling of safety he has gradually brought you.

It’s a new experience, as all the guys you’ve dated in the past have ended up hurting you… badly.

But… you’re starting to realize, maybe not Seungcheol.

The most difficult thing about this budding relationship - which isn’t even Seungcheol’s fault - is that as a firefighter, he’s in a high-stress environment and can’t always be on his phone to message you back.

Sometimes you go a few hours without hearing from him, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to endure that. It’s not that you’re worried he’s off with some other girl; he’s clearly not the type to be like that, but you worry about his safety.

Even with all of the safety rules in action for firefighters, accidents still happen, and you’d be devastated if anything happened to Seungcheol.

Tonight, you haven’t heard from him for about four hours, and you’re starting to worry. Even your books can’t distract you, and you keep checking your phone, but to no avail.

When there’s a knock at your door, your heart leaps into your throat, and your body freezes for a moment before you will yourself to stand up and see who is in the hallway. 

A breath escapes you when you find Seungcheol standing there, but he looks worn out, and you immediately reach for him.

“Cheol?” you ask.

He doesn’t say anything, just wraps you in his arms, squeezing you desperately.

You melt into the hug, rubbing his back, and although there’s something clearly wrong, you’re just happy he’s here, happy he appears to be okay.

After a minute, Seungcheol pulls away, and you invite him into your apartment, where the two of you sit on the couch. You sneak closer to him, resting your hand on his thigh, giving him space to tell you what’s gotten him worked up.

“I uh…” Seungcheol swallows thickly. “There was this big fire, some low-level drug dealers made a kitchen in their apartment, and something went wrong. The whole building lit up. I just spent the last half of my shift there, and it was a lot.”

You nod, squeezing his thigh to show him you care while not wanting to interrupt his train of thought.

You can smell the smoke on him, although it’s clear he’s had a shower, his hair wet, yet still carrying the scent of fire.

“I don’t want to stress you out with the details, but I just…” Seungcheol lets out a deep sigh. “I think we both clearly have roadblocks. I can’t speak for you, but I know on my side, I have a dangerous job. Being a firefighter is rewarding for me, but I think I’ve held back a bit with you because I don’t want to put you in a situation to be hurt if something happens to me. And I think you have a past where you’ve been hurt before. I just… today made me realize, although we both are holding back for our own reasons, if something bad had happened to me today, I didn’t want you to be left wondering how I feel about you.”

Your breath catches as Seungcheol turns to look at you, and he places his hand over your own.

“I’m crazy about you,” he admits. “I knew there was something different about you from the moment we met, and getting closer to you this month has been the most rewarding thing outside of being a firefighter that I’ve ever experienced. I want to give you time, and I don’t want to pressure you, but if you’d consider being my girlfriend… I just… I’d love to take that next step with you.”

You feel tongue-tied as you look at him, and he’s as respectful now of giving you the floor to speak as you had been when he’d first sat down, so you collect your thoughts.

“I mean… It’s no secret that I struggle with depression. I’ve been hurt before, and it makes me scared of relationships. But… being with you this past month has been so different from anything I’ve experienced before.” Your voice cracks, and you swallow to control yourself, looking down at where your hands are connected. “I would love to be your girlfriend, it’s just scary sometimes to put yourself in a position to get hurt.”

“I know all about that,” Seungcheol admits, cracking a smile. “But the most rewarding things can come from putting yourself out there.”

“I guess we’re just built different,” you laugh. “You, the firefighter, me, the librarian.”

“I like that you’re a librarian,” he assures you, cupping your cheek while you lean against his palm. “You’re smart, and funny, and I always come away from my time with you having learned something new.”

“Yeah?”

“For example, the first time we talked, you pointed to a tree and called it a Callery Pear. That tree is one of the most common trees in the city, but I never bothered to learn its name. You taught me that. Now every time I’m on the streets, and I see one, it reminds me of you.” Seungcheol smiles. “You’re smart, and it’s one of the many things I love about you.”

Some past boyfriends have been intimidated by your brains. They’ve made your intelligence and memory something to be put down, but not Seungcheol, and your heart warms at his words.

“You’ve had a long night,” you tell him. “You must be tired.”

“I am pretty exhausted,” he concedes.

“Why don’t you stay here?” you suggest, feeling confident.

“Really?”

Even in a month of slow dating, Seungcheol hasn’t stayed at your home for a night, but if there were ever a time to rip the band-aid off, it would be now. You get the sense he needs the comfort, and you want to comfort him more than you’ve wanted to do anything in a long time.

“Come,” you prompt him, standing up. “I’ll get you a guest toothbrush, and we can get you settled.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re both set for bed. Seungcheol is lying flat while you curl next to him, and Brontë is on his chest, enjoying the attention from both of you.

This feels so natural, and you know it’s helping Seungcheol calm down after his stressful day at work.

Soon, you hear him softly snoring, and your entire body relaxes, knowing that you’ve helped this man find some peace.

Falling asleep next to a new man has always been something of a difficulty for you, but before you know what’s happening, you’re drifting into an unbothered dreamland. 

Eight:

You wake up slowly, pressing against something warm. It takes you a moment to realize it’s Seungcheol, and he pulls you closer with a groan, still asleep.

A smile appears on your lips, and you release a deep breath, feeling your entire body relax.

That had been one of the best sleeps you’ve had in a very long time. 

You open your eyes and notice some light coming through the blinds. It’s a grey day outside, and you can hear rain now, softly pattering against the window pane. 

Brontë notices you’re awake and lets out a small chirp. She sits up and stretches, mewing at you.

After a moment of enjoying the situation, you carefully get out of bed, the little kitten running around your ankles as you go to the kitchen to get her some breakfast.

While she’s preoccupied, you go back to the bedroom, gently closing the door behind you.

Seungcheol is a vision even while he’s asleep, and you simply look at him for a few seconds, admiring him.

You pop into the bathroom, brushing your teeth and freshening up before going back to bed.

Returning under the warm covers, you cuddle up close to his chest, and Seungcheol stirs, letting out a soft groan as he takes you in his arms.

Everything about this feels so natural, and Seungcheol slowly wakes up, smiling as he cuddles closer, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Good morning,” he groans, and the deepness of his voice makes your skin tingle.

“Hi.” 

“Been awake long?” he asks.

“Not really. How did you sleep?” 

“Really good,” Seungcheol chuckles. “You?” 

“Best sleep I’ve had in ages.”

“That’s nice,” he muses, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

The two of you cuddle, enjoying a soft, lazy Sunday morning, and then Seungcheol asks if he can have a quick shower. The smell of smoke is still clinging to his skin, and while it’s not necessarily a bad smell, you know a rinse off will make him feel better.

You wait patiently while he’s in the bathroom, and a short time later, he returns.

You put your book down, admiring the fact that he’s shirtless now, using a damp towel to scrunch through his dark curls while his sweatpants hang low on his hips.

You’ve never seen him like this, and while you’ve always known Seungcheol is beefy under his hoodies, finally seeing his uncovered form with your own eyes takes your breath away.

He’s an absolute vision, a true physical masterpiece, but you suppose you shouldn’t be shocked, as he’s a firefighter and being physically fit is part of his job. 

“Do you have plans for the day?” you ask, putting your book on the nightstand.

“Was thinking maybe I could stay here with you for a bit, if that’s okay. I could also take you out for breakfast since we both have the day off. Whatever works.”

“That all sounds nice,” you muse, stretching and forcing your eyes away from his chisled body.

Seungcheol comes and joins you on the bed, gently grabbing the blankets to adjust them to cover your legs. “Are you cold?” he asks.

“A little,” you admit. 

“Here.” Seungcheol gets under the covers with you, and you curl against his side, enjoying the warmth he provides. His hand gently strokes your arm, and you release a deep sigh.

“Where’s Brontë?” Seungchol asks.

“Eating breakfast.”

“The bedroom door is closed,” he muses.

“Yeah.” Your skin heats. “I thought maybe we could have some alone time.”

“Really?” Seungcheol laughs, tugging you closer to his body. 

“Last night I realized how safe I feel with you,” you admit quietly. “I think… I’m ready for another next step, if you are.”

“Another next step,” Seungcheol echoes, and it takes a moment for it to click for him. “Oh.”

You laugh shyly, tucking your face down against his chest to hide your embarrassment. “Or not.”

“No, sorry, I just, I didn’t expect-” Seungcheol’s chest is blooming pink now. “I don’t want you to feel pressured that just because I asked you to be my girlfriend and you let me stay over last night, now you have to… put out, or whatever.”

“I don’t feel pressure,” you assure him, trailing your finger along his bare skin.

Seungcheol looks down at where you’re tracing his bicep, and he lets out a deep breath, shifting slightly. You avert your gaze, and that’s when you notice that he’s started to stiffen in his sweatpants.

Tingles erupt through you, and you move your hand down his body slowly until you reach his waistband. Then you look up at him again. “I want this,” you confirm. “Do you want me?”

He swallows thickly and nods, and you realize he’s holding his breath, waiting to see what you do next.

When you’ve thought about your first time with Seungcheol, you always assumed he’d be the one taking care of you, but now you realize, although you’re the anxious one, your anxiety makes him extra nervous about doing something wrong. In this situation, you need to make the first move; you need to show him you want this, and as you adjust to sit up onto your knees, he grabs the bedsheets, a betrayal of how wound up he is over the fact that you’re finally ready for the next step. 

Part of you wants to just go for it, to pull his pants down, but it would be a shame for your first time to lack more foreplay, so instead, you mount him.

Seungcheol’s hands find your hips to steady you, and you press your palms against his broad chest, leaning down so your lips can meet.

He kisses you back desperately, and you love how he’s already coming undone.

Seungcheol cups the back of your head, and the kiss deepens as you begin to grind down slightly against him, earning a groan that sets your whole body on fire.

You can feel his cock pressing up against his sweatpants as you tease him, gently rocking your hips for stimulation while you remain in a heated battle of lips and tongues.

Part of you wants to continue, to move down toward where he needs you most, but kissing him just feels so good. Your entire body is buzzing with pleasure, and the anticipation of the ecstasy to come.

He’s stiff as a rock now, and even with clothing acting as a barrier, the feeling of a hard cock rubbing against your clit has you whimpering already.

Seungcheol finally breaks the kiss, panting hard, and you lock eyes as you both try to collect yourselves. 

You reach a hand between your bodies, rubbing him through his sweatpants, which makes him groan again, his eyes closing. His hips rock slightly, pushing up toward your palm.

Then, quite suddenly, Seungcheol flips you onto your back, his lips finding your throat as you let out a giggle of surprise.

So maybe you won’t have to be the one taking control of this situation; maybe Seungcheol just needed a bit of a push. 

He grinds down against your core at the same time his mouth finds your sweet spot, and you let out a moan, tangling your fingers through his hair.

One of his hands reaches up to cup your breast, his thumb teasing your nipple through your shirt. Your buds are hard and ready to be attended to, and when Seungcheol realizes this, his mouth descends from your neck.

You take the opportunity to try to get a breath while you lift your shirt, and he gives you enough space to take it off completely, now leaving your torso bare for him.

“You’re so pretty,” he groans, his hair tickling your skin as he leans down to lick one of your nipples, his hand massaging the other breast.

You can only mewl in response, your entire body lighting up with pleasure as he begins to suck on your sensitive bud. 

As he works you up, you continue to tangle your fingers in his soft hair, using him as an anchor of sorts as you give yourself to him.

Your core is practically throbbing now, and you can feel your panties getting wetter by the second, your body anticipating something you haven’t had in months. 

While you’ve chosen to be celibate and distance yourself from men, you still have needs, needs that have never been quite fulfilled while flying solo. You’re shocked at how sensitive your body is, how you react when he flicks his tongue against your nipple and makes you gasp, writhing against the bed as insatiable need overtakes you.

You’re getting more desperate by the second, but you do your best to take what he’s giving you, to let him choose the pace now. 

By the time he sinks lower, kissing down your abdomen and hooking his fingers in your shorts, you’re sure your panties are soaked through.

“Can I take these off?” he asks.

“Please,” you moan, lifting your hips to make the task easier.

There’s a distant rumble of thunder outside, and the air in your room is cool as Seungcheol gets you completely naked, but there’s something comforting about sex during a storm.

Seungcheol gets down onto his knees next to the bed, and your heart skips a beat when he drags you closer, his breath warm on your wet core.

“Please, I need-” you whimper, writhing against the sheets already.

“I’ve got you,” Seungcheol promises, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh.

The slow way he works his mouth toward your core has your skin feeling electrified, and you’re throbbing by the time he makes contact with your pussy.

He starts with a long, drawn-out lick that ends with your clit, which he circles deliciously with the tip of his tongue. 

“Oh my God,” you pant, throwing your head back as your entire body jolts from such a soft, yet intense motion.

You feel Seungcheol smirk a little as he continues to kitten-lick you, switching between soft kisses and languid movements with his tongue.

His warm hands find your thighs, and he pushes them into a spread eagle position, giving him plenty of room to work on you.

“Cheol!” you whimper when he takes your clit into his mouth, sucking on it with a little more pressure. “I’m close already!”

You’re not sure if your sensitivity is due to going so long without having the proper attention of a man, or if it’s because Seungcheol is just so good at this, and you have such a great connection.  Regardless, your muscles are already tensing, and your eyes are clenched shut, your breath coming out in hot pants of pleasure.

Seungcheol lets out a small groan, and the vibration makes your legs shake, your body teetering on the edge. You understand his sound as an affirmation that you can cum, that he wants you to experience an orgasm without holding back.

So you don’t hold back.

You reach down and tangle your fingers in his hair again, prompting him to suck on your clit harder, and seconds later, your first orgasm crashes into you like the thunder that erupts in the skies outside.

You’re a moaning mess as he works you through your high, your core throbbing desperately around nothing as waves of pleasure overtake you. 

Fuck, cumming has never felt this good, and it leaves you breathless as your muscles begin to relax.

You let go of his hair, and Seungcheol chuckles, pulling away from your core to look up at you.

“Was that okay?” he asks.

“That was amazing,” you tell him, heart still racing in your ribcage.

“Yeah?” He plays with your slit, rubbing you with a finger, toying the tip inside of you, and making you groan.

“More,” you demand. “Please.” 

“You got it, princess,” he muses, pushing his digit into you, testing your walls, which immediately try to clench around him.

It feels like you haven’t been touched here in years, and your body is eager for this. As he finger fucks you gently, adding a second finger, you can hear your pussy squelching, its wet sounds mixing with the noise of rain splattering against concrete, brick, and glass outside.

“You sound so pretty when you cum,” Seungcheol muses, leaning in to press a kiss to your clit that makes you shiver. “I want to hear it again.”

Two orgasms before he even puts his cock in you? 

You’ll take that action.

You wiggle your hips slightly, looking for more pressure, and Seungcheol responds by crooking his fingers up to find your G-spot. You groan deeply from the feeling, closing your eyes and focusing on the pleasure that’s still surging through you.

“Right there?” he asks.

“Right there,” you confirm. “Feels so good.”

Satisfied he’s found a good spot, Seungcheol presses his mouth to your clit again, sucking on the sensitive bud and making your legs shake.

“Oh my God,” you whimper, pleasure radiating out from your core and engulfing your entire body.

The combination of pressure on your G-spot and his mouth on your clit has you writhing within minutes, grasping at the bed sheets, heart thundering in your chest.

“Just like that,” you tell him, “I’m close again.” 

Like the first orgasm, when you tell Seungcheol you’re close, he increases the pressure of his motions, sucking your clit harder and thrusting his fingers up into your sweet spot with a faster speed that has you seeing stars.

All you can do is whimper and moan in ecstasy as you get closer and closer to the edge again. 

You let out a loud gasp and a moan when you cum, your core clamping down on his fingers, squeezing him as he works you through your second high.

Your entire body is pulsating. There are no thoughts in your mind as you give yourself completely to the pleasure.

He works you through your high until you’re twitching, almost overstimulated by all the sensations overwhelming your body. Then, Seungcheol pulls away.

You open your eyes to watch him lick his fingers clean, releasing a small groan, then he heads over to where his hoodie is lying on the floor. He pulls out his wallet. “I brought a condom just in case,” he tells you shyly, rubbing the back of his neck as his skin blossoms with pink.

“Good idea,” you tell him, still trying to catch your breath.

You adjust on the bed, scooting back up so you can rest against the pillows.

Seungcheol slips off his sweatpants, and you have to swallow the drool that immediately fills your mouth at the sight of him.

He’s big.

Maybe the biggest you’ve ever seen up close like this, and suddenly, you’re thankful he’d worked you open with his fingers because how else would you fit a cock of his size inside of you after being celibate for months?

He rolls the condom onto his cock, and then he joins you in bed.

You’re struck by how shy he is as you pull him close, pressing your lips to his pink cheek. “I want this,” you assure him again.

“I do too,” he tells you, nuzzling his nose against your throat. “Let me know if it’s too big or I need to slow down or-”

“You’ll be fine,” you tell him, nibbling on his earlobe. “We’ll make it fit.”

He laughs a little at your comment, and to try to show him you truly mean it, you reach between your bodies to grab his cock. Your thumb and pointer finger can’t even touch with the girth of him, and you groan as you adjust his tip to your entrance.

Seungcheol lets out a shaky breath, looking down at where you’re gripping him, then back at you.

As he pushes his tip into your wet core, he presses his lips to yours, and you kiss him back desperately as he stretches you open, slowly working himself deeper and deeper and deeper.

You can’t help the whimpers that escape you, your fingernails digging into his shoulders as your body adjusts to accommodate him. 

When he’s fully snug inside of you, you both break the kiss to take strangled breaths, and Seungcheol swallows thickly. “Ready?” he asks.

“Yeah.” You nod, trying to slow the racing of your heart, but it’s a pointless attempt because when he slowly starts to fuck you, your pulse surges even faster.

“Oh my God,” you whimper, throwing your head back, which gives Seungcheol more room to press his lips to your throat.

He fucks you languidly, still giving your body time to adjust to his motions while he does his best to relax you with kisses elsewhere.

Your toes are curling already, and you adjust slightly, lifting your thigh higher onto his hip for a better angle.

The tip of his cock hits a spot deep inside of you that makes you groan, and you thread your fingers in his hair, drawing his mouth back to your own.

His pace is slowly increasing, matching the desperate way your lips are locked. The room is filled with the sound of skin on skin, the noise of the rain and thunder outside, and the music of moans intermingling as you find pleasure in one another.

“Wait,” you tell him, as you feel another orgasm threatening to bubble in the pit of your stomach. “I want to be on top.”

There’s a moment where he looks shocked, but then he nods, allowing you to flip him over onto his back.

You press your hands against his broad chest to get an anchor, enjoying the view of him below you. Then you slowly ride him. It’s a shift in pace, but it feels so good to be on top, and when he presses his thumb to your clit, your entire core tightens around him.

You let out a deep moan, throwing your head back and bouncing faster.

“You’re so pretty like this,” Seungcheol groans, his other hand cupping your breast and teasing your nipple, making you whimper even louder.

Then, he begins to rut his hips, fucking up into you and making you gasp.

“Cheol,” you groan, knowing that an orgasm is now extremely close.

Seungcheol sits up abruptly, cupping the back of your head so he can press his lips to yours.

You grab onto his shoulders, anchoring yourself better as you bounce desperately on top of his cock, chasing the high that’s so close you can almost taste it.

A few seconds later, you cum with a loud gasp, throwing your head back as your walls threaten to suffocate his length, which is still buried completely inside of you as you sink to a fully seated position. 

Seungcheol growls, pressing his lips to your throat, and as your walls clench around his cock, he jolts, signifying that he’s cumming too.

Part of you wishes he didn’t have to wear a condom, but he’s a firefighter, so you suppose safety is in his nature. And the flimsy piece of rubber clearly doesn’t take much away from his own orgasm if his sounds are anything to rely on.

God, his groans are music to your ears, making you whimper even louder, clutching his shoulders as the pleasure engulfs you both as if you’re one complete entity.

Your legs are shivering, and as your orgasm subsides, Seungcheol slumps back down against the bed, looking up at you. 

You’re both trying to catch your breath, but you lean down, kissing him one more time before you collapse against his shoulder, nuzzling your nose along his neck.

A large, warm hand strokes your back, comforting you as you twitch with aftershocks of one of the most insanely passionate orgasms of your life.

You spend a few minutes just breathing together, holding onto each other, and basking in the warmth and afterglow of your highs.

“I know you’re not supposed to have dessert before breakfast, but I could get used to this,” Seungcheol says, cracking a smile to finally break the soft, comfortable silence.

“I could too,” you admit with a chuckle.

“I still want to take you somewhere nice for food, though,” he assures you. “I’m not one of those guys who gets laid then stops trying.”

“Trust me, I know that.” You shake your head at him, charmed by how soft and shy and awkward he can be sometimes.

Seungcheol presses a kiss to your lips. “Maybe we could shower together first?” he suggests. “You know, proper aftercare and everything.”

Your heart melts for him, and you nod. “I’d love that.”

“Is it weird for me to say I’m excited about all of this?” he asks, his chest flushing that rosy pink colour that’s starting to become a signature of his. “I mean… you’re kind of my dream girl.”

“Cheol…”

“I mean it,” he says. “I just… I think this could really work.”

“I think so too.”

“And after breakfast, I want to go to a store and get more treats and toys for Brontë, since she’s the matchmaker behind all of this.”

You laugh, shaking your head at him. “Has anyone ever told you that for a big, burly firefighter, you’re kind of adorable?”

“Don’t tell my coworkers,” he teases.

You melt at his words, a happiness unlike any other overtaking you. As the storm continues outside, you and Seungcheol shower together, basking in the warmth and promise of this new relationship, and for the first time in a long time, you’re excited about what the future may bring. 

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! I appreciate those of you who responded to my post about the tough month I've been dealing with. I'm working on posting fics earlier but life has just put me through the wringer lately.

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🔮 preview.  He’s so sexy, and you look up at him, loving the way the water drips down his chiseled chest, his curls all wet. You like the way his skin flushes, not from the temperature of the shower, but from you working him up with your mouth. The sounds he makes are the true goal, however, and the deep groans seem to echo in the small shower, filling you with confidence as you suck harder on his cock.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, shower sex, oral, pussy eating, blow job, multiple reader orgasms, reader overstimulation, praise, dirty talk, use of sex toy, vibrator, multiple sex positions, fingering, munch/pleasure kink!cheol, big dick! Seungcheol, etc…  I petnames. (hers) princess. 

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.3k I teaser wc. 100

🌙 starring. Seungcheol x afab!Reader

bonus

Springtime has so many new wonders now that you’re in a relationship. 

You’ve always kind of morbidly enjoyed the death, decay and antisocial vibes of Autumn, but with Seungcheol, Spring is starting to signify new hope and joy. 

He’s the king of cheesy dates, taking you to flower farms, on picnics, to the minigolf spot, and out for farmers market walks. Seungcheol has also taken to getting you lavender and other beautifully scented plants, and your apartment has truly never smelled so nice.

After months of discussion and relationship growth, the two of you are taking a new step. 

Seungcheol is moving in with you. 

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So it's no surprise when small but steady thumps from the hallway pull you from your sleep, making you throw an arm over your eyes as you check the time. Of course your daughter would be up and running at 8:43AM on a Saturday. Considering how big of a night owl you and Jihoon are, it's quite ironic that she's the exact opposite. As her movements creep closer to your door, you give in and start to count down the seconds until she barges into your bedroom.

Jia enters with a bright "Mommy!" and instantly tries to climb onto your bed. You reach down in your sleep-dazed state and slip your hands under her arms to help pull her up. Then you sit her on your stomach with her little feet wedged into the free space between you and Jihoon.

Her hands press lightly into your ribs as she leans in to say, "Mommy, I need braid my hair."

You hum as your hand lifts up but grabs at empty air, attempting to stroke her hair with your eyes closed. You're already drifting off to sleep again as you tell her, “Let's ask your Dad to do it for you. Mommy’s still sleepy, baby.”

Jihoon shifts from beside you at the mention of his name. With nowhere else to hide, he nuzzles his face closer into your neck and sinks deeper under the duvet.

Jia switches her body weight onto Jihoon by laying on top of him and taps all over his cheeks, trying her best to pull his face towards her. "Daddy?"

Jihoon squeezes his eyes shut as fake snores rumble out of him, heaving his chest up and down dramatically. The motion moves Jia along with him, making her squeal uncontrollably with strings of drool dripping onto him. One of Jia's hands grab onto Jihoon's shoulder to steady herself while the other one shakes him awake. "I know you're not sleeping!"

"Noo, still sleeping… Shhh," whines Jihoon.

"Daddy, open your eyes and wake up! Hurry, I want two braids!"

He suddenly goes silent, then after a moment, he shoots up and flips Jia around so that she's now laying in his spot on the bed. He buries his head into her tummy to blow raspberries while his fingers tickle the bottom of her feet. Jia laughs gleefully and flails her arms around, struggling to escape from her dad's hold. Her fists accidentally fly towards your cheek, jolting you awake with a yelp.

Jihoon finally stops his attack on her to bark out a laugh before he hovers over you, rubbing at your cheek. You feel Jia's tiny hand settle next to his as she calms down from her laughter, "Sorry Mommy."

You giggle at the chaos and silliness of your family's morning as you pull both of their hands to your lips and press a chaste kiss into their palms.

"S'okay, honey. I know it was all Daddy's fault," you say, eyeing Jihoon with a playful glare.

Jia inches closer to you, "Daddy keep tickle Baby!"

"Oh! Lee Jia, you're tattling on me now, hm?" Jihoon says as he crosses his arms over his chest.

You reach up to wipe the drool stains from his chest and scoff at how childish he gets sometimes.

Jia shakes her whole body as she whines, "My turn to tickle Daddy."

"Alright, fine. You have 15 seconds, go!"

Jia starts to giggle before her fingers even reach Jihoon's waist. You can tell she's working hard on tickling him but her small fingers are no match for her dad—especially when he's not usually ticklish. Instead, most of the laughter coming from Jihoon is because he can't handle how cute his daughter is.

Jia quickly tires herself out and leans against you, "Done, no more tickle."

"Okay," Jihoon says, sitting back on the heels of his feet, "I heard you wanted Daddy to braid your hair, right? What's the magic word?"

You feel the warmth of his touch as both of his hands reach forward to brush loose strands of hair out your and Jia's eyes simultaneously. You have to resist the urge to catch his arm and press another kiss into his palm.

Jia wraps her hand around his fingers and pouts up at him. "Can you braid Baby hair, please?"

Jihoon hums, tilting his head to the side and pretends to be deep in thought. "What do I get for braiding Baby's hair?"

You chuckle, turning onto your side and folding one arm under your head as you watch them—equal parts entertained and fond. You always knew Jihoon would be a good husband and father, but you didn't realize how good until you had your daughter. His love has always been given through soft touches, kind affection, and playful remarks—you've felt it in every little moment with him, but it seems to have increased tenfold ever since Jia was born.

Jia huffs and moves to sit on her heels just like her dad. "I give you 10 kisses."

Jihoon juts his chin out and taps his cheek with his finger, "Okay, pay up first."

She rushes forward to wrap her arms around Jihoon's neck and start to pepper his face with soft pecks as he counts. "One… two… three… three… three… still need ten more!"

You breathe out a laugh and send a light slap to his thigh, "Stop messing with her."

Jihoon squishes her cheeks together and gives her a kiss of his own before repositioning them so that he can sit against the headboard with Jia in his lap. You watch quietly as his slender fingers work gently through her hair, dividing it into sections then crossing them into a french braid pattern.

Jia's hair is just past her shoulders, so Jihoon finishes the first one quickly, leaning on his side and reaching for leftover hair ties on the nightstand. You move from your pillow and scoot closer to them so that you can rest your head on Jihoon's thigh, your legs still tangled with the sheets.

You play with Jia's hand, running your fingers over her tiny nails and knuckles as Jihoon works on the second braid.

You press a soft kiss onto the back of her hand as you look up at her, "Happy that Daddy's braiding your hair today?"

She nods at you, "Yeah. I love Daddy."

Your heart swells and you fight the urge to scoop her up into a bear hug. You can tell Jihoon is feeling the same when his hands falter at her remark. You giggle and press your lips loudly onto her hand as Jihoon leans forward to kiss the crown of her head at the same time.

She giggles at the sensation and squeezes your hand to get you to look up at her again. "Mommy, you next?"

You crane your neck back even more to catch Jihoon in your line of sight, "I don't know… Can I be next?"

"Of course, baby." Then he adds cheekily, "If you pay up."

Jia claps excitedly, "Ten kisses!"

You get started right away, leaning down to press a light kiss onto his knee, "One."

Then another. "Two."

You flip your body the opposite way so that you're face to face with Jihoon's waist as he pulls Jia to stand up on the bed. "All done now, babygirl. You look so pretty," he says, patting her head.

Jia jumps eagerly as she feels the braids on the sides of her head. She throws her arms around Jihoon in a tight hug then plants a wet kiss onto your temple before sliding off your bed.

"Thank you Daddy, Bye Mommy! Love you!" You wince a little as she pulls your door close with a thud and runs back to the toys in her room.

Jihoon runs a hand through your hair as you place a kiss on the side of his waist. Your mouth is scorching hot against his already warm skin and it makes his stomach cave with want. "Three."

You wiggle to scoot your body even higher and deeper into his lap. Then a kiss onto the skin right above his navel. His breath hitches and his fingers curl into your hair. "Four."

You finally sit up and hold onto his thigh for support, placing a kiss on his chest, right above his heart. "Five."

Jihoon lets out a whine as he leans back on his hands, "Baby…"

You shush him softly, "You wanted me to pay up, right?"

You continue onto his collarbone. "Six."

The column of his neck. "Seven."

You're fully sitting in his lap by now, thighs caging him in and hands coming up to cradle his face. His arms slide around your waist to pull you closer—the act so natural like you were always meant to be next to him.

A peck onto his jawline. "Eight."

His nose. "Nine."

Your lips move slowly and hover right in front of his own. He can feel your breath tickling his skin as he stills, waiting for the moment your lips meet his. Your eyes flick up to his before focusing back on his lips. He can't help but let out a tremulous breath when you smile, finally inching closer. Jihoon closes his eyes in relief as he begins to feel your lips against his.

Then all the heat around him vanishes—as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water over him. When he opens his eyes, you're already out of his arms, running out of the room with laughter echoing throughout the house. Jihoon is in so much shock, he can only sit frozen on the bed, mouth wide open and arms now enveloping cold empty space.

After what feels like hours, his brain finally catches up to the scene in front of him and he bolts out of bed, flying straight towards you.

a/n: a barely proofread & very self-indulgent piece… i've been stressed to the MAX lately and just needed a quick + fun outlet :-) (and i miss woozi) as always, ty for reading, lmk what u think!

It shows when his friends tease him endlessly about his habit of stumbling over his words, and his only reaction is to roll his eyes at them. It shows when his sister makes him get up at 5AM to queue for a special edition bag, and he only grumbles out a total of three complaints. It shows when his boss gives him a too short of a notice about a weeklong business trip, and all he can do is pack his luggage like it’s a race.

That’s why he desperately wishes it would show now, as he sneaks a glance at you from across the dinner table while Seungcheol holds him by the shoulder—barraging him with things he missed due to said business trip.

Mingyu clinks his glass of soju against Seungcheol’s and downs it before his eyes find you again.

You, dressed in a top with delicate straps tied into even more delicate bows. You, with your hair in that effortless updo that he always liked. You, sipping your drink with your glossy lips in a soft rosy shade that drives him crazy.

Contrary to Seungcheol’s eager ramblings, the only thing Mingyu missed during his trip was you.

You and Mingyu—along with your other friends Seungcheol, Wonwoo, Seungkwan, and Jihyo—have known each other since your college days. However, things began to change a few months ago when you developed an interest in running—suddenly influenced by numerous tiktok videos. Mingyu had been excited when you first mentioned it in the group chat and deemed himself your new “running partner” since the two of you lived closest to each other.

Since then, your time together slowly extended into the day—turning from a simple morning exercise to getting brunch together afterwards to spending the night at each other’s apartment because “We’re gonna go on a run tomorrow morning anyways. Might as well sleep over to save time.”

On one of those sleepover nights, Mingyu decided he's had enough. Something had shifted since you started spending more time together—charged moments where gazes lingered longer than necessary and quiet nights that encouraged you to share a bigger piece of yourselves with each other.

Although you've been part of the same friend group for years, it was still uncommon for just the two of you to meet frequently like this. Despite everyone’s busy schedules, the group chat managed to stay active and always made time to meet up.

It was normal for Mingyu to see you once a week or so—sometimes in a dirty T-shirt and mismatched socks for movie night at Wonwoo's, sometimes in coordinating outfits with Jihyo for dinner. And sometimes, he’d even play wingman to help you get a cute bartender’s number.

It was, however, not normal to squeeze onto your small couch just so he could wake up to you in the mornings. It wasn’t normal for him to run backwards so he could see the glow in your smile as the early sunlight shined on you. And it definitely wasn’t normal for Mingyu’s heart to race whenever he caught his mind drifting to you at random times in the day.

So when he shows up to your place without his usual bag of running gear and dressed in loose sweats, you give him a questioning look. “Running in sweatpants is definitely new for you.”

“No, it's not that,” he inhales deeply, lingering by the door, “I wanted to tell you something.”

You freeze in your spot, nodding at him to continue.

"I really like you. I want to be more than a friend. I know this will change a lot of things for us but it was driving me crazy not being able to tell you how I feel," he says softly, inching closer to you. His eyes are rounded and full of affection as he takes your hands in his, "I love being with you and spending time with you. You feel it too, right?"

Your eyes well up with tears as your brain catches up with everything you just heard. If you were being honest, your newfound crush on Mingyu had been your biggest worry recently. Mingyu has always been a good friend, but being in close proximity to him and taken care of by him did stir all the butterflies in your stomach. You had spent countless nights staring at your ceiling, trying to make sense of your feelings, and gathering the courage to tell him.

You roll your lips between your teeth, attempting to hide your smile, "Was it because I kept staring at your chest and ass when we run?"

He throws his head back and lets out a hearty laugh, "Well, I can't lie and say I wasn't doing the same thing."

Your smile spreads wider across your face, "Okay, let's call it even then."

Mingyu tugs your body towards his and wraps you in a firm hug. You lean into him, taking the warmth of his body in as he pats your hair tenderly.

"So are we still going on our run tomorrow or what?," you mumble against his chest.

“You wouldn’t happen to have some of my running clothes lying around, would ya?”

—

As it turns out, you did have an extra set of his clothes by your dresser. He did spend the night. You did go on that run together. And like always, Mingyu did buy you brunch afterwards.

But before he could even celebrate his first 24 hours as your boyfriend, an email from his boss showed up—an emergency request for his presence at a conference being held across the country. He had left your apartment begrudgingly as you kissed him goodbye and promised to wait for his call when he landed.

It has been exactly one week since then.

As soon as he landed back home, he had rushed to the restaurant where you were currently having dinner with the rest of your friends. Much to his disappointment, you had been caught in conversation with Seungkwan and Jihyo when he arrived, allowing Seungcheol to drag Mingyu into the seat between him and Wonwoo.

And that was an hour ago.

So if you ask Mingyu, he’d like to think he’s been patient enough. Patiently waiting to see you again, to have a moment with you, to make up the long seven days without you.

The sudden surge of emotions makes him restless. He slumps lower into his chair and shakes his legs, feeling miffed at the entire situation. There's no way Seungcheol has that much to update him on, right? And why have Seungkwan and Jihyo been hogging your attention all night? The last time he checked, you're his girlfriend, not theirs.

“Kim Mingyu. Lighten up a little," Seungkwan chides, yanking him from his cloud of thoughts.

He scowls at Seungkwan then sighs, “I’m going to the restroom.”

Mingyu sends you a weak smile and mouths a discreet “meet me there” before he pulls away from Seungcheol and heads to the restroom, patting cold water onto his face and neck.

When he steps out, he sees you waiting for him in the corner of the small corridor that leads back out to the dining area, tucking your lip gloss and compact mirror back into your bag.

A smile blooms on your face when you notice him.

“Hi.”

Mingyu manages to rasp out a soft hey back before he presses his full weight into you, face buried in your hair and hands snaked around your waist.

You're surrounded by his body heat and the faint woody notes of cologne. You’ve been giddy all day thinking about seeing him again and the feeling of being in his hold after so long makes your stomach flip.

Mingyu finally pulls away to look at you. “Missed me?”

Your stomach does a second flip. He looks devastating. His hair is tousled against his forehead, eyes bright and glassy, small mole dotting his nose perfectly, and lips pulled into a slight pout.

Your hands tighten against his lower back as you interlock your fingers together and whisper against his lips, “So much.”

Mingyu instantly leans forward to close the distance, slotting his lips against yours. His kiss is filled with so much fervor, as if he couldn’t waste any more time not kissing you.

It takes you a second to react; you’ve only kissed Mingyu a handful of times between the night you confessed to each other and him leaving for his work trip—all of which have been short and sweet.

But this kiss is heavy and passionate, his lips moving over yours with intense focus. You’ve never seen him this worked up before but it’s a new side of him that makes your skin tingle with anticipation.

Once you get out of your initial shock, you kiss him back with equal force, hands moving to roam across the broad stretch of his back muscles. You nibble playfully at his bottom lip before giving it a particular harsh suck. He sighs into your mouth as you soothe your tongue over the seam of his lips.

Mingyu reluctantly pulls away first, “I missed you so bad. So so bad.”

You can feel his rough hands absentmindedly toy with the hem of your top, fingertips pressing into your skin.

Your chest heaves against his as you beam up at him, “I can tell.”

Mingyu swears your eyes twinkled when you smiled at him and he has to take a few deep breaths to steady himself. His eyes lazily trace the shape of your lips before coming back to hold your gaze.

“This lip gloss shade is killing me,” he says, tongue darting out to lightly lick at your lips.

Mingyu can only stare as you reach up to thumb away your smudged lipgloss by the corner of his lips and chin. His vision is a little hazy but he manages to focus on your lips. The rosy tint has lost most of its shine and color by now, replaced by a soft kiss-swollen hue (Mingyu has half a mind to boast about him being the cause of it) but it’s still pulling him in with the exact same force it did when he first arrived.

“Baby, please,” he swallows hard, but his voice comes out in a dry whisper, “Last one, I promise.”

He ducks his head to capture your lips in another heated kiss. His hands alternate between your waist and ass, only pausing to knead the plump flesh of your hips once in a while.

You pull away from him, trying to catch your breath. “How was your flight back?”

“You’re asking all the wrong questions.”

He leans in, attempting another kiss but you dodge his lips as your hand comes up to cover them.

Your smirk is playful as you say, “I thought you said that was the last one.”

"I take it back," he muffles into your hand before licking it, causing you to yelp and clutch his shirt.

He cups your face firmly and tilts your head towards him, “You’re so beautiful.” Then a wet kiss on your jaw.

"My pretty girl.” A gentle bite onto the side of your neck.

He trails light kisses down your throat and makes his way to the dip by your collarbone. You can’t help but let out soft moans at the sensation as Mingyu continues to suck slowly at the spot.

His lips travel to the curve of your shoulder, where his fingers start to fiddle with the thin ends of your tie straps.

He pulls at it teasingly before letting out a choked laugh, “How functional is this?”

“It’s cute,” you whine in defense.

You lightly pinch his sides to get his attention before you pull him into a kiss of your own, swiping your tongue against his. Your hands move in between your bodies, one pressed against his chest while the other cups his neck. This time, it’s your turn to suck and lick at it as he groans. You pick a spot right in the middle, just below his adam’s apple and continue to nip lightly.

“Baby,” he warns with low moan.

You hum a distracted response, pressing quick pecks all over his cheeks with a final kiss placed on top of his heart through his shirt.

He slumps against you, pressing his forehead against your shoulder. You can hear his breathing slowly move from a pant to a steady rhythm.

You gently card your fingers through his hair and press your nose into his temple. “You okay?”

His sigh turns into a dry laugh, “Babe. Whatever happens, let’s never do long distance. Look at what one week apart does to us.”

“That’s just because you’re clingy. I was fine.”

He shifts to narrow his eyes up at you, “I must've kissed you so good, your memories ended up getting jumbled.”

Your cheeks redden, as you giggle and lightly shove him away. “Whatever you say, loverboy. We should head back now.”

He grins as he follows you back to your table, in a much lighter mood than before. Wonwoo eyes him carefully as he settles back into his seat and nods at Seungcheol to take a look. Mingyu manages to stuff a piece of pork belly into his mouth before Seungcheol knocks his chopsticks out of his hands and grabs his collar to inspect his neck.

“Bro.”

Before Mingyu can even respond, the entire table's attention is drawn by Seungkwan who has his hands around your neck, as he shrieks, "What is that?!"

You stand beside your suitcase for a moment longer than necessary, staring down the familiar street while an uncomfortable ache settles somewhere beneath your ribs.

Three days ago, you had been packing up your apartment. Two days ago, you had been sorting through legal documents and answering sympathetic phone calls.

Now, after years of saying you'll visit eventually, after years of finding excuses and postponing plans and convincing yourself there would always be another opportunity, you're back in the town you spent most of your childhood trying to leave.

Not because you wanted to return. Because your grandmother died. The thought lands heavily, even now.

Your grip tightens around the suitcase handle. The funeral had been small. Simple.

Exactly what she would've wanted.

Most of the relatives had already left again, returning to their own lives, while you stayed behind to sort through paperwork and prepare the house for sale.

Just a few weeks, you told yourself. Long enough to finish everything properly. Long enough to say goodbye.

Then you'd leave again. The plan sounds reasonable in theory. In practice, every step through town feels like walking through memories.

The route to your grandmother's house passes the elementary school where you spent countless afternoons pretending to pay attention during class. The creek behind the football field still winds lazily through town, hidden beneath the same willow trees that once provided the backdrop for summer adventures so important they had felt life-changing at the time.

You know exactly where every turn leads. You hate how much of it you remember. The house itself sits exactly where it always has. The garden is slightly overgrown. The mailbox leans to one side. The front porch creaks beneath your weight.

Home.

Not home anymore. But close enough to hurt.

—

The first few days disappear beneath a mountain of responsibilities. Boxes. Documents. Phone calls. Dust-covered photo albums.

Closets packed with items your grandmother had somehow convinced herself she might need someday.

You spend hours sorting through decades of accumulated memories, discovering things you forgot existed and things you wish you could forget.

Old school reports. Birthday cards. Drawings. Photographs. Far too many photographs. By the fourth day, the house feels quieter than ever.  The silence eventually becomes unbearable.

Which is how you find yourself wandering through town with no destination in mind, hands shoved into your jacket pockets while the late afternoon sun bathes everything in warm gold.

You tell yourself you're just getting fresh air. You tell yourself you aren't searching for anything. The lie lasts approximately fifteen minutes.

Because eventually you turn a corner. And stop.

The flower shop still stands exactly where it always did. For a second, you think you've imagined it.

The familiar brick storefront. The flower boxes beneath the windows. The painted sign hanging above the entrance.

Only one thing has changed.

The name.

Your chest tightens. Not because the shop exists. Because you know who owns it now. You learned it from one of the older ladies at the funeral.

"Oh, have you seen Seungcheol yet?"

As if that were the most natural question in the world. As if years hadn't passed. As if hearing his name didn't still do something strange to your heartbeat. You haven't seen him. Not yet.

You hadn't planned to.

But suddenly there he is. Standing inside the shop. Alive. Real. Older.

The breath catches somewhere in your throat. For a moment, all you can do is stare.

He's arranging flowers near the front counter, sleeves rolled to his forearms, dark hair falling slightly into his eyes as he focuses on adjusting a bouquet.

You knew he would have changed. Of course he would've changed.

The last time you saw him, he was fourteen years old and trying very hard not to cry while helping load boxes into a moving truck.

The man standing in front of you now is nothing like that boy. Except he is. The shape of his smile when he speaks to a customer. The way he absentmindedly scratches the back of his neck. The slight furrow between his brows when concentrating. Some things remain stubbornly familiar.

Then, as if sensing your stare, he looks up. And sees you.

The world doesn't stop. Nothing dramatic happens. Cars continue driving past. The shop door remains closed. The flowers continue existing. But something shifts.

You know it does because Seungcheol freezes. The bouquet slips slightly in his hands. For one stunned second, neither of you move.

Then his eyes widen. Your stomach drops. And suddenly you're ten years old again.

—

"You have to make a wish first."

"I already made one."

"That doesn't count."

"It does count."

"No, it doesn't."

"Why not?"

"Because I said so."

Ten-year-old Seungcheol had always been incredibly confident for someone who spent half his time making things up.

The two of you sat cross-legged in a field behind his grandmother's flower shop, surrounded by dandelions and sunlight.

He held one proudly between his fingers. You rolled your eyes.

"You literally just invented that rule."

"Every game has rules."

"This isn't a game."

"It is now."

You groaned dramatically. He ignored you.

"Close your eyes."

"No."

"Y/N."

"No."

"Trust me."

At ten years old, trusting Seungcheol was the easiest thing in the world. You closed your eyes.

"Now make a wish."

You sighed. Made one anyway.

"Done."

"Okay."

You opened your eyes just in time to watch him blow the dandelion apart. White seeds scattered into the wind.

"What'd you wish for?" you asked.

His expression became immediately suspicious.

"You can't tell people."

"You made that up too."

"Maybe."

"You definitely did."

"But what if it's true?"

You laughed. He grinned. The sunlight caught in his hair.

And somehow, without either of you realizing it, that afternoon became one of the memories that followed you everywhere.

—

The bell above the flower shop door rings softly when you finally step inside. The scent hits you immediately.

Fresh flowers. Soil. Greenery. Something sweet and familiar.

The same scent that used to cling to Seungcheol whenever he spent all day helping his grandmother. The same scent you haven't thought about in years.

He stands behind the counter now. Watching you. Still looking mildly shocked. You suspect you look exactly the same. For several awkward seconds, nobody says anything. Then—

"Hi."

Brilliant. Absolutely incredible. Years apart and that's the best you can manage. Seungcheol laughs. The sound eases something inside your chest instantly.

"Hi."

His voice is deeper than you remember. Everything about him feels older. Not unfamiliar. Just older.

"You came back."

The words aren't accusatory. If anything, they sound slightly disbelieving. You nod.

"Temporarily."

Something flickers across his face. Gone too quickly to identify.

"Right."

The conversation stumbles forward after that. Careful. Tentative. Questions about work. About family. About how long you've been back. 

Neither of you mentions how strange this feels. Neither of you mentions how many years disappeared between one conversation and the next.

Eventually another customer enters. Then another. The moment passes. You tell yourself that's probably for the best. Still, when you finally leave, Seungcheol walks you to the door.

"If you're bored," he says casually, "you can stop by anytime."

You blink.

"What?"

"The shop."

He gestures vaguely around himself.

"I'm usually here."

The invitation sounds simple. Normal. Yet your heart reacts as if he's offered something much bigger. You smile before you can stop yourself.

"Maybe I will."

His smile mirrors yours.

"Good."

—

The following afternoon, you return. Then again two days later. Then once more. Not intentionally.

It just keeps happening.

Sometimes you help carry deliveries. Sometimes you organize shelves. Sometimes you sit near the counter pretending to read while Seungcheol works.

The ease returns surprisingly quickly. Not completely. There are still years between you. Still things unsaid. But the foundation remains.

As if friendship had simply been waiting patiently beneath the surface. One evening, after closing time, Seungcheol disappears upstairs to answer a phone call. You volunteer to finish organizing a neglected storage room.

The space is cramped. Dusty. Filled with forgotten boxes. You sneeze twice. Immediately regret your life choices.

And then you notice the drawer. Small. Wooden. Hidden behind a stack of old gardening catalogues.

Curiosity wins.

You pull it open. Inside are dozens of folded papers.

Hundreds, maybe.

All carefully preserved.  You hesitate before reaching for the top one. The paper is yellowed with age.

The handwriting is instantly recognizable. Even after all these years.

Your breath catches.

Slowly, you unfold the note. Across the top of the page, written in uneven childhood handwriting, are four words.

Things I wish for.

And underneath:

For Grandma's roses to survive winter.

For my knee to stop hurting.

For Y/N to stop crying when they lose races because I don't like it.

At the bottom, squeezed into the corner:

I think wishes work better when you blow two dandelions instead of one.

– Seungcheol

You stare at the page. Then read it again. And again.

Somewhere upstairs, floorboards creak. The sound barely registers.

Because suddenly you're ten years old.

Standing in a field.

Holding a dandelion.

Listening to a boy make up rules about wishes.

And for the first time since returning home, you wonder whether maybe some memories never left at all.

—

The problem with nostalgia is that it never arrives alone.

It comes hand-in-hand with comparison, with grief, with all the quiet questions that only appear when you're staring at the person you used to know and trying to reconcile them with the person standing in front of you now.

By the end of the second week, you have become painfully aware of that fact. You have also become painfully aware of how often you find yourself at the flower shop.  The first few visits had reasonable explanations.

You needed somewhere to walk. You needed a break from sorting through your grandmother's belongings. You needed a distraction.

The seventh visit is significantly harder to justify.

Especially when you're carrying two iced coffees and walking toward the shop before you've fully finished convincing yourself you're only dropping by for a few minutes.

The bell above the door rings. Seungcheol immediately looks up. The smile that appears on his face happens so naturally that neither of you seem to notice it.

You do. Unfortunately.

"You're late."

You stop.

"What?"

He gestures toward the wall clock.

"You usually get here fifteen minutes ago."

The realization settles over both of you simultaneously.

Because he's right. Because apparently you've established a routine. Because apparently Seungcheol has noticed.

Heat crawls up your neck.

"You timed me?"

"I didn't time you."

"You literally knew I was fifteen minutes late."

"I just noticed."

"That's timing me."

"It isn't."

"It absolutely is."

His laugh fills the shop. You hate how much you missed that sound.

—

The flower shop feels different now that you've spent enough time inside it to notice the details. The place still carries traces of his grandmother. The old cash register remains displayed on a shelf near the counter.

Framed photographs line one wall.

The ancient rocking chair in the corner somehow survived several decades despite looking permanently one bad day away from collapse.

But Seungcheol is everywhere too. The organization. The handwritten signs. The new displays. The garden outside. The entire place feels like a conversation between generations.

A continuation rather than a replacement.

His grandmother would've loved that. You think she already knew he would inherit the shop.

Everyone probably did. Everyone except Seungcheol.

—

"You know most people hate these things."

You glance up from the arrangement you're helping prepare.

"Daisies?"

"Dandelions."

He nods toward the window.

Outside, several bright yellow flowers have appeared amongst the carefully maintained garden beds.

You smile.

"They're kind of pretty."

"Exactly."

He sounds offended.

"Kind of?"

"Okay, they're pretty."

"There we go."

"You care way too much about dandelions."

"I inherited that."

His voice softens slightly.

"Grandma used to say they were the bravest flowers."

You pause.

"What does that mean?"

He carefully trims a stem.

"They grow everywhere."

A shrug.

"They survive getting stepped on."

Another cut.

"People call them weeds, but they keep blooming anyway."

You watch him for a moment. Sunlight filters through the front window. Dust drifts lazily through the air.

The shop smells faintly of lavender and soil. For a second, the years between childhood and now seem remarkably small.

"They sound stubborn."

Seungcheol grins.

"Exactly."

—

The first time someone mistakes you for his partner, you're unprepared. The culprit is an elderly customer named Mrs. Kim.

One moment she's purchasing carnations. The next she's looking between you and Seungcheol with obvious satisfaction.

"It's nice to finally meet them."

You blink.

"I'm sorry?"

Mrs. Kim waves dismissively.

"Don't worry."

Seungcheol visibly tenses. You immediately become suspicious.

"Don't worry about what?"

The woman pats your hand.

"Oh, honey, we've all heard about you."

Silence. Complete silence. You slowly turn toward Seungcheol. He refuses to make eye contact.

"Seungcheol."

"No."

"What does she mean?"

"No."

Mrs. Kim laughs. The traitor.

"You know, Y/N this and Y/N that and—"

"Mrs. Kim."

The warning in his voice only makes her smile widen. You stare. He stares determinedly at the floor.

A customer enters. The conversation mercifully dies. 

Unfortunately your curiosity survives.

—

You corner him later.

"What exactly have people heard?"

"Nothing."

"That sounds suspicious."

"It isn't."

"Seungcheol."

He groans.

"You're impossible."

"You avoided the question."

"I mentioned you sometimes."

"Sometimes."

"Sometimes."

The response is entirely too fast. You narrow your eyes.

"How many times?"

His expression immediately suggests the answer is significantly higher than either of you would like.

—

That night, after returning home, you find yourself sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the drawer again. You know you probably shouldn't be reading the notes.

They're private. Personal. Hidden for a reason. And yet. The temptation wins.

Again.

The next paper is dated in messy twelve-year-old handwriting. You unfold it carefully.

Things I wish for:

To beat Jeonghan at soccer.

To grow taller.

For Y/N to stay here forever.

Don't tell them I wrote that.

You stare. Then reread the sentence. Then reread it again.

The words somehow feel heavier each time.

For Y/N to stay here forever.

Simple. Innocent. Childish. Yet something twists painfully inside your chest.

Because you didn't stay. Because neither of you had any control over that. Because twelve-year-old Seungcheol didn't know he was writing a wish that would never come true.

—

Middle school had been awkward. Not terrible. Not dramatic. Just awkward.

The age where suddenly everyone became aware that boys and girls existed. The age where friendships acquired strange new rules nobody explained properly.

You remember sitting beside Seungcheol during lunch one afternoon. He arrived carrying two juice boxes. Immediately handed you one.

Completely normal. Entirely routine. Unfortunately half your classmates witnessed the exchange. The teasing started instantly.

"Ooooh."

"Look."

"It's Y/N and Seungcheol."

You remember wanting the ground to swallow you whole. Seungcheol had looked equally horrified. The two of you spent the rest of lunch aggressively denying accusations nobody had technically made.

Neither of you acknowledged how red your faces became.

—

You wake the next morning determined not to think about old letters. The determination lasts approximately twenty minutes.

By lunch, you're back at the flower shop. By evening, you're helping prepare arrangements for a wedding. By closing time, you're laughing so hard you nearly drop an entire bucket of peonies.

The transition feels alarmingly natural. As if this version of life has been waiting patiently for your return. As if leaving had only been an interruption.

Not an ending. 

The thought unsettles you.

—

The following week, the town begins treating your presence as permanent. The bakery owner asks whether you've found a job yet. The librarian asks if you're staying. Three separate neighbors mention available apartments.

You spend most conversations repeating the same answer.

"I'm only here temporarily."

Every single person responds the same way.

"We'll see."

The most irritating part is that nobody sounds uncertain. 

Least of all Seungcheol.

—

One afternoon, while helping water plants behind the shop, you finally ask.

"Did everyone in this town secretly agree to annoy me?"

He laughs.

"Probably."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

You splash water toward him. He dodges. Barely.

"Traitor."

"I didn't do anything."

"You never tell them I'm leaving."

His expression changes slightly. The smile remains. Something else disappears.

"Oh."

Immediately, guilt settles in your stomach. You hadn't meant—

"I mean—"

"It's okay."

The words are gentle. Too gentle. The conversation moves on.

Yet the silence lingers.

—

That evening, while closing up, Seungcheol disappears upstairs to search for inventory records. The opportunity presents itself. You tell yourself you're only checking one note.

One. That's all.

The lie fools absolutely nobody. Especially not yourself. You return to the drawer. Select another folded paper. Open it carefully.

The handwriting is older this time.

Less childish. More controlled. The date makes your chest tighten.

The year you moved away.

Things I wish for:

To have my own flower shop someday.

For Grandma to stop working so hard.

For Y/N to smile like they did before they found out they're moving.

I hate this wish.

The words blur slightly. You blink. Look away. Look back.

The paper remains unchanged.

The same ink. The same handwriting. The same impossible honesty.

For a long moment, you simply sit there.

Remembering.

—

The moving truck had arrived too early. Or maybe it only felt that way.

You remember cardboard boxes. Your mother's stressed voice. Relatives carrying furniture.

Everything happening much too fast. You remember friends saying goodbye. Teachers promising you'd make new ones. Adults insisting change was exciting. 

You remember hating every second of it.

Most of all, you remember Seungcheol. Standing beside the driveway. Hands shoved into his pockets. Trying very hard to act normal.

You'd both promised to stay in touch. You'd both promised nothing would change. At fourteen, promises like that feel unbreakable.

Reality is less cooperative. Calls become texts. Texts become occasional messages. Then birthdays. Then silence.

Not because either of you stopped caring.

Because life happened. Because growing up happened. Because distance is sometimes quieter than heartbreak.

—

A floorboard creaks overhead. You quickly fold the letter. Return it to the drawer. Close everything.

By the time Seungcheol returns, you're standing beside a shelf pretending to examine gardening supplies.

His eyes narrow immediately.

"You look suspicious."

"What?"

"You look guilty."

"I do not."

"You absolutely do."

You point at a random bag of fertilizer.

"Did you know this contains nitrogen?"

The silence that follows is devastating. Then Seungcheol starts laughing.

The kind of laugh that forces him to lean against a table for support. You hate him. Possibly. A little.

—

Later, after you've returned home, sleep proves impossible. Your mind keeps returning to the notes.

The wishes. The years. Everything that existed while you were gone.

Eventually curiosity wins one final time. Near midnight, you retrieve the drawer once more.

One last letter. Just one. You unfold it slowly.

The handwriting immediately looks different.

Shakier. Messier. Lonelier.

The date makes your stomach drop. A few months after you left. Nothing else is written on the page.

No numbered list. No jokes. No soccer. No flowers.

Just a single sentence.

Things I wish for:

Y/N comes back.

Just once. That's all. For a long moment, the room remains completely silent.

Outside, wind rattles softly against the windows. Inside, your chest feels painfully tight. You remember all the times you almost visited. All the summers you said maybe next year. All the holidays that slipped away. All the opportunities lost to convenience and distance and the assumption that there would always be more time.

The note trembles slightly in your hands.

And for the first time since returning home, you begin to understand that maybe you weren't the only person who spent years missing someone.

The realization follows you long after the lights go out. Long after the letter is folded away. Long after sleep finally arrives.

And somewhere across town, completely unaware of the storm currently unfolding inside your chest, Seungcheol closes his flower shop for the evening and locks the front door, still carrying pieces of a wish he made twelve years ago.

—

The worst part about reading the letters is that they make everything impossible to ignore. Not impossible in the dramatic sense. Not in the way movies portray it, where suddenly every interaction becomes charged with unbearable tension and every glance feels life-altering.

Instead, it becomes impossible to ignore the accumulation of small things. The details. The habits. The spaces someone occupies in your life without permission.

Before finding the drawer, spending every afternoon at the flower shop had felt natural.

After finding the drawer, you become painfully aware that Seungcheol automatically hands you a drink before grabbing one for himself.

That he remembers how you take your coffee. That he moves around the shop with the unconscious expectation that you'll be somewhere nearby. That every time the front door opens, his eyes immediately search for you before searching for the customer.

None of these things mean anything individually. Together, they begin to feel like something dangerous. Something you've spent years pretending not to recognize. Something that looks suspiciously like first love growing up and refusing to leave.

—

The flower festival arrives at exactly the wrong time. Or perhaps exactly the right time. You haven't decided which.

The annual event has existed for as long as you can remember, transforming the town into something bright and overwhelming for a weekend every spring. Streets fill with flower displays. Local businesses compete for awards. Families wander between stalls carrying bouquets and iced drinks.

As children, you and Seungcheol used to treat it like the most important event of the year. Now, as adults, it means two weeks of preparation and approximately zero free time. Not that you mind.

Being busy makes it easier not to think.

Unfortunately, Seungcheol keeps ruining that strategy by existing.

—

"You're staring."

You nearly drop the box you're carrying.

"What?"

He raises an eyebrow.

"You've been looking at me for ten seconds."

"I was not."

"You were."

"No."

"Y/N."

The use of your name should not feel that unfair. It does. Especially when accompanied by a smile. Especially when he knows exactly what he's doing. You point aggressively at the display you're assembling.

"I was looking at the flowers."

"Sure."

"Why would I stare at you?"

His grin widens. You immediately regret speaking. Across the room, an elderly volunteer watching preparations sighs dramatically.

"Please date already."

Both of you nearly choke.

—

The town has become unbearable. Not because the people are cruel. Quite the opposite. The people are far too invested.

Everyone appears convinced that you and Seungcheol are one conversation away from getting married. The florist across the street keeps offering relationship advice. Mrs. Kim has started winking whenever she enters the shop. Even children seem suspicious.

At one point, a ten-year-old asks if you're Seungcheol's spouse. You spend five full minutes recovering.

Seungcheol spends ten.

—

The problem is that every joke lands slightly closer to the truth than either of you are comfortable admitting.

Because somewhere between sorting flowers and revisiting childhood memories and reading letters you definitely should not be reading, something has changed.

Or maybe nothing changed. Maybe you've simply stopped running from it.

You don't know which possibility scares you more.

—

One evening, after the shop closes, rain begins unexpectedly. Heavy. Relentless.

The kind that turns roads silver beneath streetlights. You're trapped. Not that either of you seem particularly bothered.

Seungcheol locks the front door and flips the sign to CLOSED.

The two of you remain inside. Waiting. The shop feels different after hours. Quieter. More intimate.

The scent of flowers seems stronger somehow. The silence stretches comfortably between conversations. You sit together behind the counter drinking tea.

Outside, rain taps steadily against the glass. Inside, memories linger everywhere.

"You know," Seungcheol says eventually, "Grandma used to think you were going to marry me."

You nearly inhale your tea.

"What?"

His laughter echoes through the empty shop.

"I'm serious."

"Why would she think that?"

"You were ten."

"That's not an answer."

"You followed me around everywhere."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

"You're making things up."

"I'm not."

"You are."

He shakes his head.

"She used to tell me all the time."

The smile softens.

"'That one loves you very much, Seungcheol.'"

Something catches unexpectedly in your chest. You look away.

The rain suddenly becomes fascinating.

—

Later that night, after returning home, you find yourself sitting on the floor beside the drawer again. You don't even pretend to resist anymore. The letters feel less like an invasion now. 

More like a conversation delayed by years. The next note is dated two years after you left.

You unfold it carefully.

Things I wish for:

To stop thinking about Y/N.

Didn't work.

For several seconds, you simply stare. Then laugh. Actually laugh.

Because somehow, despite everything, fourteen-year-old Seungcheol and sixteen-year-old Seungcheol remain unmistakably the same person.

Hopeless. Earnest. Painfully honest. You continue reading.

The next note is eighteen.

Things I wish for:

To see Y/N again.

To stop comparing everyone else to Y/N.

Didn't work either.

The smile disappears. A strange ache replaces it. You know what he's implying.

You wish you didn't.

Because suddenly every year between then and now feels tangible.

Every missed opportunity. Every person he met. Every relationship that apparently failed to become something lasting.

The thought follows you into the final letter. Age twenty-one.

Things I wish for:

Y/N.

Just Y/N.

No explanation. No joke. No elaboration. Only your name.

The page trembles slightly in your hands.

—

The next morning, you arrive at the flower shop exhausted. Emotionally. Mentally. Possibly spiritually.

Seungcheol notices immediately.

"Rough night?"

You consider your options. Lie. Deflect. Change the subject.

Instead:

"Why didn't you throw them away?"

His hands stop moving. The flowers remain half-arranged between his fingers. For a moment, neither of you speak.

Then:

"The notes?"

You nod. The silence stretches. Long enough for your pulse to become annoying. Long enough for the question to feel dangerous. Finally, Seungcheol exhales softly.

"Because throwing them away felt like giving up."

The answer lands harder than expected. You stare. He continues looking at the flowers.

Neither of you moves. Neither of you looks away. The shop suddenly feels too quiet.

Too small. Too honest.

—

The conversation changes after that. Not dramatically. Not immediately. But something shifts.

A wall lowers. A distance disappears. You begin talking about things you've avoided for years.

University. Family. The struggles nobody posted online. The loneliness. The uncertainty. The versions of yourselves that existed while the other wasn't there to witness them.

For the first time, it feels like you're catching up properly. Not on events.

On each other.

—

The breakthrough arrives unexpectedly. Through gossip. Naturally. Because this town cannot help itself.

You're helping arrange flowers outside the festival pavilion when Mrs. Kim appears. You should have run. Instead, you smile politely. A mistake.

"Did you know," she begins immediately, "that Seungcheol never brought anyone serious home?"

Your heart stops.

"What?"

Mrs. Kim continues cheerfully.

"Such a waste."

You stare. The woman sighs dramatically.

"Everyone liked him."

The implications begin arriving one by one. Slowly. Terribly. You don't want to ask. You ask anyway.

"Why?"

Mrs. Kim blinks.

"Why what?"

"Why didn't he date anyone?"

The answer comes far too quickly.

"As if we don't all know."

Then she walks away. Leaving you alone with approximately twelve different emotional crises.

—

The festival opens the next day. Crowds flood the streets. Music drifts through the air. Children race between displays. Customers fill the shop. The entire town seems alive. 

You should be enjoying it. Instead, you're distracted.

Because every time you look at Seungcheol, another letter appears in your memory. 

Another wish. Another year. Another version of him quietly hoping for something he thought he would never get.

By evening, exhaustion settles over everyone. The crowds thin. Sunlight begins fading. And somehow you find yourselves alone behind the shop.

Again.

The garden glows gold beneath the setting sun. Dandelions sway gently amongst the flower beds. 

The same flowers. The same stubborn flowers. Hope disguised as weeds.

Seungcheol sits beside you on a wooden bench. Close. Not touching. Close enough. For several minutes, neither of you speaks. The silence feels full. Waiting. Anticipating. 

Like the final moments before a storm breaks. Then he says quietly:

"I was happy you came back."

Your breath catches. The confession isn't romantic. Not technically. But it feels significant anyway. You glance toward him. His gaze remains fixed on the garden.

A nervous habit you've started recognizing.

"I was happy too."

The words come easily. Truth always does. He smiles. Small. Soft. Real.

And suddenly you're struck by a realization so obvious it almost feels ridiculous. Every important moment in your life somehow leads back to him. Every memory. Every wish. Every version of home.

The thought settles heavily between your ribs. Not uncomfortable. Just undeniable. The sun sinks lower. The dandelions sway.

And for the first time, you begin wondering whether the final letter in the drawer isn't actually the end of the story.

Maybe it's only the beginning. Because tomorrow is the final day of the flower festival. Tomorrow you'll finish sorting the last boxes from your grandmother's house. Tomorrow you'll have to decide whether you're leaving again.

And somewhere deep down, beneath years of distance and excuses and carefully maintained walls, a small stubborn hope begins to bloom.

Much like a dandelion. Refusing to die. Refusing to be ignored. Refusing, despite everything, to stop growing.

—

The last day of the flower festival arrives far too quickly. You know this because you spend most of the morning trying not to think about it. Unfortunately, thinking about something and trying not to think about something are often the exact same activity.

By noon, you're painfully aware that this is your final week in town. By three o'clock, you've mentally packed your suitcase twice. By five, you've considered extending your stay. By six, you've considered cancelling your return entirely. None of these thoughts help.

Especially because every possible future seems to revolve around the same person. Across the square, Seungcheol is helping a little girl choose flowers for her mother. You watch him crouch down so they're eye level. Watch him listen seriously to her explanation. Watch him help arrange a tiny bouquet.

The girl leaves looking delighted. Seungcheol looks equally pleased. The sight hurts. Not because it's sad. Because it feels familiar.

Because it feels like home.

Because somewhere along the way, without realizing it, you've started measuring places by whether or not he exists in them.

And that seems like a dangerous way to live.

—

The festival winds down slowly. Stalls begin packing away displays. Families drift home. The streets gradually quiet.

For the first time all weekend, the town feels peaceful. You spend most of the evening helping return decorations to storage.

Boxes. Signs. Flower stands. The work is repetitive enough to keep your hands busy. Not your thoughts.

Those remain frustratingly active. By the time darkness settles over town, only a handful of people remain.

The cleanup continues. The shop stays open late. And eventually you find yourself alone.

Again. In the storage room. Again. Standing in front of the drawer. Again.

At this point, you suspect fate has completely given up pretending to be subtle.

—

The final note is hidden beneath all the others. Tucked carefully at the very bottom. Almost as if someone wanted it protected. Your pulse quickens immediately. Because unlike the others, this paper looks newer.

Not recent. Just newer. Adult handwriting. Adult paper. Adult ink.

Slowly, you unfold it. And the world narrows.

Things I wish for:

I don't think this one belongs to a dandelion anymore.

I think some wishes are supposed to be said.

I love Y/N.

I've loved them since we were kids making rules about wishes in the park.

And if they come back someday, maybe I'll finally tell them.

– Seungcheol

For a long moment, nothing happens. You simply stare. Reading the words once. Twice. Again. As if repetition might somehow make them less overwhelming.

It doesn't.

The confession sits plainly on the page. No jokes. No hiding. No pretending. Just the truth. The same truth that has apparently existed for years. The same truth you've spent the entire month slowly uncovering one letter at a time.

Outside the storage room, a floorboard creaks.

You look up.

Your heart immediately attempts escape. 

Because Seungcheol is standing in the doorway. And judging by his expression, he knows exactly what you're holding.

—

"Oh."

Brilliant. An excellent response. Truly.

Years of emotional buildup and the first thing either of you manages is:

"Oh."

Seungcheol closes his eyes. Briefly. The expression on his face suggests he is considering several possible methods of spontaneous death.

"You found that one."

You hold up the paper.

"A little late to ask me not to read it."

His groan echoes off the walls. You almost laugh. Almost.

If your heart wasn't currently beating hard enough to qualify as a medical emergency. The silence stretches. Neither of you seem sure how to continue.

Finally:

"You were never supposed to find that."

Your eyebrows rise.

"There are literally eight hundred letters in that drawer."

"There are not eight hundred."

"There are enough."

The corner of his mouth twitches. Then disappears. The seriousness returns. And suddenly the air changes. The humor fades. The truth remains.

"You meant it?"

The question comes out quieter than intended. Seungcheol looks at the floor. Then the shelves. Then literally anywhere except you.

Eventually, he exhales.

"Yeah."

Just one word. Simple. Certain. Enough.

Your chest tightens painfully. Because there is no hesitation. No uncertainty. No attempt to take it back. Just honesty.

The kind that takes years to build. The kind that only appears when someone is finally tired of hiding.

"Since we were kids?"

A small laugh escapes him.

"Unfortunately."

The response is so Seungcheol that tears immediately threaten.

"You make it sound tragic."

"It was."

Now he smiles. Softly.

"I liked you for fifteen years."

Your laugh comes out suspiciously emotional.

"I was very committed."

The tears win. Just slightly. Enough for your vision to blur. Enough for Seungcheol's expression to immediately change. Concern replacing nervousness.

"Hey."

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

"I'm having a normal reaction."

"This doesn't seem normal."

"It absolutely isn't."

And somehow that breaks the tension. Both of you laugh. Both of you look slightly overwhelmed. Both of you look suspiciously close to crying.

When the laughter fades, the truth remains. Patient. Waiting. You stare down at the letter again.

At your name. At years of wishes. At every version of him that existed before this moment.

Ten years old. Twelve. Fourteen. Twenty-one. Twenty-six. Every single one hoping for the same thing. Every single one writing your name.

The realization settles heavily inside your chest. Not because it's surprising.

Because it isn't. Not anymore.

Somewhere between the first letter and the last, you've already known.

You simply weren't ready to admit it.

"Do you know something funny?" 

Seungcheol looks confused.

"A dangerous start."

You ignore him.

"I used to wish for you too."

The words leave before you can stop them. His expression freezes. Completely.

"What?"

You laugh softly. Because honestly, the universe has a terrible sense of humor.

"Every birthday."

You look down at the letter.

"Every shooting star."

A smile. Small. Embarrassed.

"Every dandelion."

Silence. Absolute silence. 

"Seriously?"

You nod. His eyes widen.

"You never told me."

"You never told me."

"That's because I was terrified."

"So was I."

The answer arrives instantly. Truth again. Always truth.

—

The confession isn't dramatic. There are no grand speeches. No perfectly rehearsed declarations. No movie-worthy dialogue.

Instead, there is honesty. Messy honesty. The kind built from years of friendship.

Years of absence. Years of missing someone without fully understanding the shape of that feeling.

You talk. Really talk. For the first time. About moving away. About losing touch. About all the almost-visits.

The unanswered messages. The missed opportunities. The people you both tried and failed to become. And somehow, through all of it, the conversation keeps returning to the same conclusion.

You found your way back. Not immediately. Not perfectly. But eventually. You came back. And he waited. Not intentionally. Not actively. Just quietly.

Like someone protecting a wish.

—

The flower shop closes early the following evening. Not because business is slow. Because Seungcheol insists on taking you somewhere.

You recognize the destination immediately. The field.

The one behind the shop. The one from childhood. The one where everything started.

The walk there feels strangely familiar. As if no time has passed. As if every version of yourselves still exists somewhere among the grass.

The field is smaller than you remember. Most places are. The dandelions aren't.

They remain everywhere. 

Bright. Stubborn. Impossible to ignore.

Exactly like him.

—

"Do you remember the rules?" Seungcheol asks. You laugh.

"The rules changed every week."

"They were very sophisticated."

"They were completely made up."

"They were based on science."

"They absolutely were not."

His offended expression is immediate. You grin. Some things never change.

Thank God.

—

Eventually the conversation fades. The evening settles around you. Warm. Peaceful. Comfortable.

Seungcheol picks a dandelion.

Then another. Holding one out. You accept it automatically.

Like muscle memory. Like childhood. Like home.

The white seeds tremble gently in the breeze. For a moment, neither of you speaks.

"What are you wishing for?"

The question is familiar. The same question from years ago. The same field. The same flowers. The same boy.

Only now he's a man looking at you like you're the answer to something. You stare at the dandelion. Then at him. Then smile.

"Nothing."

His eyebrows lift.

"Nothing?"

You shake your head.

"No."

The answer feels surprisingly easy. Certain. Complete.

For the first time in a very long time, there is nothing left to ask for.

No missing piece. No distance. No unanswered question. No wish waiting to be granted.

Just this. Just him. Just the future.

Whatever shape it takes. And somehow, that's enough.

More than enough.

Seungcheol smiles. Slowly. Softly. The kind of smile that belongs entirely to you.

Then together, sitting side by side in a field full of dandelions, you blow the seeds into the evening air.

Thousands of tiny white fragments drift upward.

Carried by the wind. Carried toward whatever comes next. Not because you need wishes anymore.

But because some traditions deserve to survive. Some things deserve to bloom again.

And some first loves, despite distance and time and every reason they should have faded, are stubborn enough to wait.

Like dandelions. Like hope.

Like Choi Seungcheol.

Like you.

The seeds disappear into the sunset. This time, neither of you watches them go.