Robin's Scribbles

When you walked into Jiwoo’s apartment, you heard far more banging and swearing than you expected. At first, you wondered if her roommate, Sooyoung, was working on another “D.I.Y. project,” but when you heard a sweet, familiar voice angrily yell, “Fuck!” you knew that it was Jiwoo. So, you slowly and carefully walked through her living room, looking for the source of the sound to determine if anyone was injured or otherwise in distress.

“Honey, do you need help?” you called as you walked through the kitchen toward Jiwoo’s bedroom.

“I’m fine, babe!” Jiwoo shouted back. “Just trying to get this fucking thing to stay put!” You heard more banging as she spoke, and you wondered what the hell was happening.

“What are you doing?” you asked as you entered her room.

“Oh, this!” she said, frantically turning around to show you the dresser that she’d just finished assembling.

It was small, barely fitting next to the one she already had, and it looked like it might fall apart if you touched it the wrong way, but you knew she’d put a lot of effort into putting it together. So, you smiled and said, “I’m so proud of you, my love. But, why?”

She looked shy as she answered, “You know how you’ve been spending the night here more?”

“Yeah?”

“I thought having a dresser to store your stuff in would make it easier,” she answered, fidgeting and blushing as she tried to explain. “Instead of bringing stuff with you every time like you have been, you could just keep some of your clothes here. I even got you a new toothbrush to keep with mine.”

You didn’t say anything for a minute, stunned that she took the time out of her already chaotic schedule to do something like assembling furniture just to make it easier for the two of you to spend time together. When you noticed that she looked worried, though, you smiled and said, “Thank you. It was a wonderful idea.”

“Are you upset?” she asked, clearly still nervous.

“Not at all. Just surprised, honestly. You assembled a dresser by yourself for me?”

“Well, I asked Sooyoung for help, but she had to work. And of course I did it for you. I love you.”

Without another word, you pulled her into a hug, struggling to comprehend exactly how you found someone like Jiwoo, who was always willing to go above and beyond if it meant making you happy or just making life even a little bit easier. As you held her close, you silently hoped that the two of you would spend the rest of your lives loving each other.

You didn’t know how much time had passed with the two of you silently holding each other close, but next thing you knew, you heard Sooyoung yell, “I’m home, Ji! Did you get that dresser put together?”

Jiwoo stepped away to yell back, “Yep! It was a pain in the ass but I did it!”

“That's great!” Sooyoung said as she passed by Jiwoo’s room to get to hers. “I’m going to Jinsol’s place for a girls’ night, so I'm not gonna be back until tomorrow. I'm just stopping by to grab the overnight bag I keep in my room.”

“Ok, have fun!” you and Jiwoo said at the same time.

After Sooyoung left, Jiwoo asked, “Do you wanna go get some of your clothes to keep here?”

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

With that, the two of you left to go back to your apartment. The drive was unusually quiet, with you focused on driving and Jiwoo keeping her eyes closed as she enjoyed the silence. It was common for Jiwoo to just rest whenever the two of you were in the car together, and you loved being able to give her a few moments of peace within the chaos of life.

When you got to your apartment, the two of you worked together to gather some of your clothes, as well as a few skincare products and a bottle of your favorite body wash to keep at Jiwoo and Sooyoung’s place. Once you finished packing everything, you drove back.

Once your stuff was inside, you worked together to fill the new dresser while Jiwoo showed you her newly expanded vinyl collection. As you decided where you wanted to put the clothes that you’d brought with you, she showed you each album and told you a little bit about it, like when it was released and fun facts about the songs.

“This one came out in 2019!” she said, her eyes sparkling as she showed you Miracle Pill by the Goo Goo Dolls. “I still can’t believe I managed to find it at a thrift store of all places.”

“I remember when you sent me some of the songs right after we started dating,” you said as you folded a pair of pants to put them in the dresser.

As you listened to Jiwoo talk about her favorite songs and all of the reasons they were significant to her, you thought about how much you loved it when she shared the things she loved with you. Every time she showed you another piece of her world, you fell just a little harder, and all you wanted as you put the last of your things away was to continue falling for her every day for the rest of your life.

After your things were put away, you pulled Jiwoo into a hug and said, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For doing this for me. For everything you do for me.”

“You know I do it because I love you, right?”

“I know. That’s exactly why it means so much to me.”

Thank you everyone for reading! If you liked this one, please make sure to like and reblog!

If you wanna check out my other works, my masterlist can be found here. If you wanna see what I'm working on, my upcoming works list is here. If you'd like to be tagged whenever I upload a new fic, my taglist form is here! You can also send me an ask or dm at any time to be added or removed.

── bang chan! ⋆˙⟡

── lee know! ⋆˙⟡

── changbin! ⋆˙⟡

── hyunjin! ⋆˙⟡

── han! ⋆˙⟡

── felix! ⋆˙⟡

── seungmin! ⋆˙⟡

── i.n.! ⋆˙⟡

⋆ pictures are all from pinterest, except for the binder in bang chan’s that’s my own and what inspired this lol

Nakamoto Yuta

The friend that You Call when You Just Wanna Have a Good Time

It all started when your phone vibrated, your phone flashing with a notification for a text from Yuta.

Yuta: You awake? You: Yeah. Why? Yuta: I found a new bar a few towns over. You wanna go? You: I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Remember what happened last time? Yuta: Nope. That’s precisely why I’m asking. I’m bored and want somebody to get in trouble with. You: Fuck it. Let’s go.

Just like every other time you went out, Yuta picked you up after your roommates went to sleep for the night and drove you to the site of your latest adventure. The bar that your friend dragged you to this time was smaller than the ones you typically went to, but you didn’t necessarily mind that. After all, you weren’t there to socialize. You were there to drink until you could barely remember your own name in an attempt to numb the pain. Sure, you would barely remember what happened the next day, if you remembered anything at all, but maybe that was for the best, considering the things you liked to do when you were drunk and hurting.

Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul

The Fuck Buddy that Says He Loves You because You Let Him Do Whatever He Wants

“I fucking love you,” Ten said with a loud groan as he pounded into you.  You were certain that he didn’t mean it when he said it, despite how many times he insisted he did, but you honestly couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Not when he fucked you hard enough that every ounce of pain that filled your heart was replaced by pure desire with every thrust. Sure, you knew that it was a temporary relief, a band-aid over the bullet holes that destroyed your sense of self and left you relying on empty distractions to get by, but you’d always thought that temporary relief was better than none at all.

Soft whimpers and moans fell from your lips as Ten continued to fuck you, and you held onto him for dear life. After all, you knew he wouldn’t stay after he was done. He did sometimes, mumbling soft promises that he wanted more than sex, but more often than not, he was gone as soon as the aftercare was done. You really didn’t know what was going to happen, so you were determined to keep him close for as long as you possibly could. Anything to feel something other than pain for once.

Lee Donghyuck

The Player that Thinks You'll be the One to Fix Him

Of course, you knew when you went home with Donghyuck that he only wanted sex from you. Did you care, though? No, you didn't. At least, not at first. You were just like him, looking for a good time and a little bit of attention with no real commitment. And for a while, that was exactly what you got.

Then, about a month after you started sleeping together, he started trying harder to keep a conversation going before he left for the night. As he helped you clean up, he asked you about your day, your dreams, and the things that made you happy. You really tried to dodge the questions, not wanting anything beyond a surface level connection, but he kept pushing.

"Seriously, what do you want more than anything?" he asked, looking at you differently than usual.

"I don't know," you answered once again. "Why do you even care anyway? I thought we were just fuck buddies."

"Well, I changed my mind about some things."

There was a moment of silence before you cautiously asked, "What things?"

"You," he answered, staring at you like you were the center of his world. You were silent in response, just shifting nervously in your spot, so he continued, "I wanna be more than just your fuck buddy. I don't know what it is about you, but you make me feel like I could be something better, and I like it."

"Yeah, sorry, but this isn't gonna work."

"What do you mean?" he asked, genuinely surprised by your reaction.

"You're not gonna use me to be a better person. That's not what this is."

"I'm not-"

"Get out."

Donghyuck stormed out of your apartment after that, and you collapsed into your bed and sobbed, asking yourself why you couldn't find someone that actually listened and respected you.

Lee Taeyong

The Pretty Boy that Makes You Wish You Were Beautiful

The first thing that people said about Taeyong when they saw him was that he was gorgeous. His eyes seemed to sparkle when he laughed. His voice was sweeter than even your favorite love song, the one that hadn’t been soured by years of feeling like love was too far out of your reach. His smile was like a personal ray of sunshine, always making the world around him a better place.

That was why it baffled you that Taeyong was willing to even be seen with you. You felt like you were everything that he wasn’t, and every day you wondered what made you so special. The fact that someone like him, the man that looked like Aphrodite herself crafted his smile, wanted someone like you, the person that couldn’t look in the mirror too long for fear of being driven insane by self-hatred, made no sense in your mind.

Maybe the differences that you saw between the two of you were why you walked away after a measly three dates. Why you told Taeyong that you didn’t want to see him anymore. As you told him that you didn’t think that the two of you were a good match, you considered telling him that it was nothing personal. That you just couldn’t ever see yourself measuring up to what he deserved.

Did you, though? Of course not. Instead, you gave a half-hearted explanation about incompatibility, which he could tell was a lie. He didn’t exactly try to stop you though, and you appreciated that. After all, if he did, you knew you’d break and tell him everything. And you couldn’t stand the idea of him seeing that you were just as weak as you were ugly.

Wong Kunhang

The Lovable Idiot You Only See Once

You could hardly believe how truly happy you felt when you met Kunhang at a party. He was funny, telling jokes that sounded ridiculous but never failed to make you laugh, and he was attentive, his focus never leaving you the entire time you were on the dance floor. In all honesty, it was strange. Was this the connection that you were so desperate for? Did you finally meet someone that could make you feel just a little bit less alone?

You never got to find out the answer to your question, since you heard someone call Kunhang’s name as you walked to the bar together. You tried to ask him for his number before he left, but before you could get the words out, he was lost in the crowd.

You wanted to be upset that you’d had another failed date, but in the end, you just couldn’t find it in you. Even though you were alone yet again, you still had fun with Kunhang, and you still had a silent hope in the back of your mind that one day you’d run into him again.

Kim Dongyoung

The Lover that You Want but Won't Allow Yourself to Have

Dongyoung was the one person that you hooked up with that you actually wanted a deeper connection with. The problem with that was that something felt off in a way that you couldn’t quite explain. You had no idea whether something really was off about him or if it was just your brain convincing you that you were unlovable again, though. Regardless, you still chose to keep your distance, refusing to let him get any closer than what was required for him to fuck you.

You knew that it was counterproductive to push Dongyoung away when he clearly liked you and wanted to get to know you better, but you couldn’t seem to stop yourself. That didn’t mean that you stopped yourself from hooking up with him, though. After all, he was pretty fucking good in bed, and whenever you were with him, you felt loved in a way that you just didn’t most of the time. And that made the uncertainty and confusion over what you wanted worth it.

Huang Renjun

The One-Time Lover that Sees Right Through You

After you and Renjun were dressed again, he gave you a knowing look and asked, “So, does this mean that you’re gonna leave now?”

You were surprised by his straightforwardness, but you still managed to say, “I mean, yeah. If that’s ok with you?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s fine. I figured you would, honestly.”

Surprised and offended by his completely correct assumption, you asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’ve hooked up with girls like you before,” he answered matter-of-factly.

“Girls like me?”

“I could tell exactly what you were doing from the second you walked into that bar and started looking at every man that gave you the slightest bit of attention like they hung the moon.”

“Oh really? What exactly was I doing?” you asked, frustrated by the almost-stranger that acted like he knew you better than you did.

“You go out to bars and hook up with people you barely know because you’re alone and can’t handle it. But every time somebody starts to get close, you push them away because you think you’re not worth loving, no matter how much you crave that feeling of loving someone and being loved back. Sound about right?”

“I-”

“Look, I’m not trying to judge. Just wanted you to know that I understand.”

His ability to read you like a children’s book stunned you into silence. With a defeated sigh, you sat back down on his bed and started to cry, suddenly overwhelmed by the complicated feelings floating around your head.

Renjun softened immediately when you started to cry, pulling you close and mumbling soft reassurances and apologies while you tried desperately to regain your composure. Eventually, you did, but even after you’d stopped crying, he begged you to stay the night, too worried about your wellbeing to feel comfortable with you leaving. You agreed, but you also swore to yourself you’d never sleep with Renjun again, no matter how much you loved the feeling of finally being understood.

Jeong Yunoh

The Friend that Thinks He Wants to be More

Every time you saw Jaehyun, he made a point to tell you just how beautiful you were and how happy he was to see you. Normally, you’d appreciate the compliment from your friend, since he was known in your friend group as the “king of cheering people up.” However, the almost seductive tone in his voice and the way he fidgeted whenever the two of you made eye contact made it clear to you that his intentions weren’t exactly platonic.

The problem with that was that you only saw Jaehyun as a friend, and you were certain that if he actually took the time to try and get to know you instead of just staring at you whenever you wore a skimpy outfit, he’d feel the same. But you knew that if you tried to tell him that, he wouldn’t listen, so you decided to just accept the compliments. After all, it was nice to feel wanted sometimes, even if you knew that it wasn't real.

Zhong Chenle

The Coworker that Thinks He Knows Better than You Do

You really tried to tune out your coworkers arguing, especially because you felt the argument was completely inappropriate for the office, but it was difficult with their loud volume and condescending tones.

“I’m telling you,” Chenle said from his cubicle. “Women like that don’t care about anything or anyone.”

“What do you mean by ‘women like that?’” you asked, butting into the conversation because you were sick of the bickering.

“The ones that go out to a different club every night to hook up with whatever poor sap is too distracted by how they look to think properly,” Chenle answered, uncharacteristically venomous.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit much?” Minhyung chimed in.

“No, I don’t,” Chenle said before turning back to his desk, signaling that he was done discussing it, even though he was the one that started the conversation by ranting about “women of today.”

You knew that you weren’t the only one tired of listening to Chenle’s rants at work, so you decided to take the logical next step and reported him to HR. Once you left for the day, though, you felt unbelievably drained. Sure, you knew that what he said wasn’t about you specifically, but it still bothered you. You wondered if it was because you knew that you were doing exactly what he was describing, but there was more to it than that. After all, it just showed how little he knew about the world and the people in it.

Na Jaemin

The Boy Next Door that Only Cares on the Surface

When you got back to your apartment building after work, you literally bumped into your neighbor, Jaemin. You tripped on one of the stairs and fell into him, and when he caught you, he asked, “Woah, you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said, collecting yourself. “How are you doing, Jaem?”

“Great, actually,” he answered, completely oblivious to the fact that you were trying to get around him to get to your apartment. As he talked about his work and relationships, you tried to pay attention, but your mind frequently wandered to the cleaning that would need to be done once you actually got into your apartment.

After Jaemin finished talking, he moved around you and walked down the stairs, not even bothering to say goodbye. Part of you was relieved, just wanting to get home, but the other part of you was a little hurt that he couldn’t be bothered. In the end, though, you tried to tell yourself that you didn’t actually care about how alone you felt when no one even had the time for small talk.

Park Jisung

The Brother's Best Friend that Promises Not to Tell

When Taehyun told you that Jisung would be picking you up from the bar at the end of the night instead of him, you were far from thrilled. You loved your brother dearly, but you’d always hated his friends, particularly Jisung. He had the kind of arrogance that got under your skin like very little else could, he constantly spoke down to you and treated you like a dumb little kid, despite your closeness in age, and he was insanely gorgeous. Of course, the fact that he was one of the most attractive men you’d ever seen wasn’t why you hated him, but it did make being around him more frustrating than it had any right to be.

Still, even though you hadn't had anything to drink that night, you hated driving, so you were grateful that Jisung agreed to pick you up. So grateful, in fact, that you decided to set aside your frustrations for the night. You even repaid his kindness by taking him home and giving him “the best blowjob he’d ever had,” as he described it once you were done. After helping him clean up, you smiled and said, “Thanks again.”

“No problem. I’m always happy to help a friend out.”

There was a moment of silence before you asked, “You’re not gonna tell Taehyun about this, right?”

“Of course, not. I’m not that kind of person.”

You breathed a sigh of relief and said, “Ok, thanks,” before leaning in to kiss him again.

Xiao Dejun

The Lover that Should Be Perfect for You

Every moment with Dejun should have been magical. He treated you like a princess every time the two of you went out together, never leaving your side unless you needed something or explicitly asked him for space. Not that you ever asked for space much, though. He also made a conscious effort to listen when you spoke to him, taking in the details of every story you told like they were the only thing keeping him alive. He loved you, and that was plain for anyone with eyes to see.

So why did you feel so empty when you were with him? Why did every moment feel more like checking boxes and maintaining a routine than spending time with someone that you cared about? You had no idea, but you did know that there had to be something wrong with you, since everything about Dejun radiated love and warmth. The exact opposite of your heart that had frozen over because of years of pain and heartbreak.

Maybe that was why you ran, to avoid freezing his heart too.

Lee Jeno

The Gym Rat that Makes You Feel Like You'll Never Be Enough

Unlike your other potential lovers, you didn’t meet Jeno at a club or bar. Instead, you met him at the gym during yet another failed attempt at getting your life together. He’d been using the treadmill next to yours, and when you both finished up, you exchanged numbers. You tried not to think about it, but a small part of you was hopeful as you walked away with promises of a date.

When you finally went out with him, though, it was a disaster. You tried to suggest dinner at a restaurant, but he declined. When you asked him why, he said that none of the places in town that weren’t “mass produced garbage,” in his words, had any healthy options that were actually good. You wanted to tell him that you thought he was wrong, but you held your tongue while the feeling of inadequacy threatened to follow you whole.

Instead, Jeno suggested going back to the gym to “work off the day.” You were exhausted from work, though, so you tried to suggest something that required less energy so that the two of you could just chill and get to know each other. His response to that was, “I’m not gonna sit on my ass just because you can’t keep up.”

Needless to say, you never went on that date, and the hope that you’d felt when you first met him was squashed like a bug that didn’t make it across the sidewalk in time.

Dong Sicheng

The One-Time Lover that Thinks He Understands

“I know why you’re doing this,” Sicheng had said as you gathered your things to go home after your first night together.

“Oh really?” you asked, trying to sound playful instead of worried. “Why am I doing this, then?”

“You think I don’t wanna see you again.”

There was a beat of silence before you asked, “What?”

“Oh come on, it’s obvious,” he said. “I saw the way you looked at me before you grabbed your bag.”

“That’s not-”

“It’s ok. I’m not offended. But, for the record, I would totally be down to see you again.”

“Thanks, but I think I’m good,” you said as you finally walked toward the door.

Once you left Sicheng’s apartment, you breathed a sigh of relief. When he’d told you that he knew why you behaved the way you did, you expected him to analyze you the way Renjun had, leaving you stripped bare in a way that felt vulnerable instead of exciting. But in the end, it was nothing more than an assumption that you wanted something from him that you hadn’t allowed yourself to want from anyone in a long time.

Maybe he was right in thinking that deep down, you did want more of a connection with him, but you never let yourself see him again to find out. After all, even misplaced attempts at vulnerability could be painful.

Kim Jungwoo

The Friend-of-a-Friend that Just Wants to be Close to You

Technically, you’d known Jungwoo for about three years through mutual friends. but you weren’t sure that you considered him a friend, too. After all, he’d barely spoken to you beyond basic greetings at group events, and you knew next to nothing about him.

Maybe that was why it was such a surprise when he walked up to you at Shotaro’s birthday party, threw his arms around you, and said, “Hey! I missed you. How have you been?”

You stiffened at the contact but still said, “Fine. How are you?”

“I’m good! Just wanted to catch up a bit because it’s been a while.”

“Jungwoo, we saw each other three days ago.”

“So? I can’t ask how you’re doing?”

“I mean you can, but it feels a little weird. We’re not friends, so I don’t understand why you’re pretending we are.”

Jungwoo deflated at your comment and walked away. He was immediately replaced by Shotaro, who asked, “What the hell?”

“I’m sorry! I was caught off guard!”

“You didn’t have to be such an asshole about it! He just wanted to get closer to you.”

“Well closeness is a gradual process. You don’t act like someone’s your best friend right out of the gate.”

Shotaro sighed and said, “Look, just be patient. Please. And try to talk to him. He wants to be friends, but doesn’t know how to reach out.”

As Shotaro walked away, you considered what he said. He was right, now that you were really thinking about it, and you started to feel guilty. Jungwoo had never done anything with malicious intent, so you decided to find him and ask for his number. After all, the process of getting closer had to start somewhere.

Liu Yangyang

The Party Boy that Pretends He's Never Felt Your Pain

You walked into Yangyang’s living room with Seulgi and Joohyun trailing behind you, and it didn’t take long for the prolific party host to catch your eye. After all, he had the kind of confidence that looked like it came easily, weaving through the crowd of guests like he was walking around puddles on the sidewalk. As you watched him, you found yourself envying his easygoing nature.

When Yangyang finally made his way to where you stood chatting with your friends, however, all it took was one look in his eyes for you to know that he was in the same boat as you. Sure, he did a good job of hiding his hurt from a distance, but actually seeing him face to face meant that you could see the hint of pain in his eyes and the small nervous habits that you’d caught yourself in hundreds of times.

When he actually introduced himself to you after speaking with Seulgi and Joohyun, though, it was like a switch flipped. He was all smiles as he pulled you into a hug and said, “Hi! Seulgi told me that she was bringing some friends. What’s your name again?”

You introduced yourself with a hesitant smile of your own and replied, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” he said.

The two of you continued to talk much longer than you expected, but you didn’t mind. It was nice to distract yourself from the pain for a night. And if you were right about the way Yangyang acted, he probably needed the distraction too, no matter how badly he wanted to pretend that he didn’t.

Qian Kun

The Well-Meaning Friend Whose Methods are All Wrong

“You can’t honestly tell me that you think this is healthy,” Kun spat.

“I never said it was healthy,” you countered. “I said it’s effective. There’s a difference, you prick.”

“There doesn’t have to be, you fucking dumbass.”

“In my experience, there does.”

“You’re never gonna listen to me, are you?” he asked, quickly losing patience with your insistence on self-destruction.

“Why should I? We both know you do the same shit that I do. At least I have the balls to admit it.”

“Do you really think that?” he asked. You were silent in response, so he added, “Whatever. I’m leaving. Good luck.”

With that, Kun walked out of your apartment, leaving you alone with your thoughts once again. You knew that he was just looking out for you, but you hated his condescending attitude. Especially considering the fact that he had his own less-than-healthy coping mechanisms that he leaned on a bit too much when the weight of his past felt like it was going to crush him. Still, you knew that he was right, so you decided to call him in the morning and apologize. But until morning came, you’d curl up in a ball on your bed and sob as you thought about what your life had become.

Johnny Suh

The Potential Lover that You Know You Could Never Have

Sometimes, running into Johnny at the bar made you want to cry. Not because he’d ever done anything to hurt you, or because you missed some prior connection, but because you knew that he could never want you the same way that you wanted him. After all, he looked like he was sculpted by the gods themselves, his voice sounded sweeter than even your favorite song, and the way that he carried himself made it clear that he knew just how attractive he really was. What reason could he possibly have to want anything more than a quick fuck from someone like you?

You couldn’t think of one, really. So, you kept your distance, at least emotionally. Sure, you still hooked up with him from time to time, but that was where your relationship with him stopped, no matter how badly you wanted more. Of course, sometimes he’d ask you why you never stayed the night after the two of you had sex, but you were a master of excuses by the time that started. You had to be to keep him from figuring out that you were slowly falling in love with him.

Thank you everyone for reading! I'm so unbelievably happy to finally be back. If you liked this one, please make sure to like and reblog!

If you wanna check out my other works, my masterlist can be found here. If you wanna see what I'm working on, my upcoming works list is here. If you'd like to be tagged whenever I upload a new fic, my taglist form is here! You can also send me an ask or dm at any time to be added or removed.

As much as you adore Mingyu, you are very aware that he has some rather questionable ideas in general— what with him being what you would call a Class A Himbo— and unfortunately, he has brought those questionable ideas into the bedroom on more than one occasion. There is now a strict rule about no balloons in the bedroom, and likely not for the reason you think.

So, although you do go to your shared room and get dressed down in a lingerie set you know that he likes, you truly can't say that you exactly have high hopes for whatever your boyfriend has planned.

When the door creaks open you grow confused, because all you see is Mingyu's hand appearing from one side to nudge the door open as wide as it can go. It takes a few pushes of his fingers before the door does actually swing open, and then his arm darts back.

A second later, Mingyu gallops into view, and you don't know whether you want to laugh or mentally log out more.

Because gallop isn't even an inaccurate description of the way he enters. Like a child pretending to play cowboys with one of those long wooden poles with the plush horse's heads set on one end with attached reins.

You can't tell whether the fact he has one of those children's toy horses makes it worse or not. You can't even admire the way his thick thighs— showcased by just the tiny pair of boxer briefs he's wearing— are pressed tight around either side of the thick wooden pole to keep it upright, with both of his hands barely fitting on the tiny little loop of faux leather that makes up the reigns.

All Mingyu is wearing are those tiny little dark boxers that don't even fully cover his asscheeks, a cowboy hat, and cowboy boots. Oh, and there's some thin dark rope looped diagonally over his bare chest. That can't be good.

“Howdy partner,” Mingyu starts, entirely serious in his roleplay and doing his best to put on the 'cowboy voice' you know that he and his friends have been practising together to be 'real cowboys'.

Even though you're still trying to figure out exactly how you feel about this particular roleplay choice of your boyfriend, you can't help but at least humour him. He's far too cute and sweet in general to not try, at the very least, to play along. “Howdy, cowboy,” you reply, a little dumbstruck, yet Mingyu lights up brightly all the same.

He wiggles slightly in excitement, forgetting himself a little in his joy, then remembers he's supposed to be a 'sexy, serious cowboy-man' and schools his expression. He doesn't even notice the amused twitch of your lips at his slip. “I'm new to town and I hear you're the person to come to when there's trouble.”

“Oh, there's trouble, is there?” You hum and shuffle to sit up against the headboard.

You're internally very relieved when he removes the horse and props it against the wall. It's much easier to take him seriously when he's standing there in all his ridiculously handsome glory.

“Yes, ma'am.” Oh, you could get used to him saying those words in that voice; pitched slightly lower than normal, and a little rough. Maybe their 'cowboy meetings' have been more successful than you've realised. Because Mingyu, nor his friends, have improved very much in the actual horse riding aspect of being a modern-day cowboy. But at least the voice is getting good.

“Sounds serious.”

“It is.” He steps a little closer, hands on his hips and you can't tell whether it's intentional or not, but it draws your eyes to his crotch in those tiny boxers leaving nothing to the imagination. Not that you need to imagine what he's packing underneath when he's always so willing to let you see, and feel, and taste. “Do you think you can help a cowboy out, ma'am?”

“Keep calling me ma'am and it sounds pretty likely,” you mutter and lift your gaze back up to his face. He's smirking at you now, well aware of how much you love his body. “Tell me, what's the issue, cowboy?”

“Well, you see, it involves a certain critter.” You try not to giggle at him using the term ‘critter’, you can't help it when all you can think of is the endearing way he and his friends will call any living animal or insect critter; often in a loud screech when a bug flies too close to them.

“Ooh, I see. You have a critter problem.”

“That I do, ma'am.”

“And a big, strong cowboy like you can't handle a single critter?”

“I'm more skilled with the bigger critters.”

“So this critter is small?” You wonder how many times the two of you will use the term critter; it really does not help set the mood, just amuses you honestly.

This situation has already devolved in your mind and Mingyu hasn't even noticed, he's still very serious about his big-boy cowboy role-play.

“Yes.” Then his face suddenly drops. “Wait, no! It's not.” He pouts a little, barely a little protrusion of his bottom lip.

“So, it's not big enough for you to handle yourself, but it's not small?” He nods and slips back into character. “How big is it exactly?”

“Big enough.” You think you understand what he's trying to do here. But you're willing to let it play out at least.

“Okay, give it to me.”

“Give it to you?” His eyes round out a little with the excitement those words bring him.

“I mean, tell me what it is,” you correct and try not to giggle at the disappointed little “oh” he lets out, understanding the miscommunication there.

Though, once again, he gets right back into character and locks his serious, sultry gaze on you as the tips of his thumbs hook into the waistband of his boxers without removing his hands from his hips. “There's a snake in my pants.”

Yup, that's about exactly where you thought he was going with this.

“I can't believe you've defiled my childhood like that, Mingyu,” you deadpan unimpressed.

His arms drop along with his expression. “What? What did I do wrong? It's just a line!” he whines. “Wonwoo taught it to me!”

“Wonwoo?” You sigh. “Baby, what have I told you about listening to Wonwoo where sex is involved?”

“That he's wrong, and that sitting in the tree outside our window with binoculars isn't a natural biology lesson, no matter if he takes notes,” he replies in very much the tone of a man who has had those very words drilled into him many times.

“I...well, yes, that is a very good one, thank you for remembering.” Mingyu perks up a little at your approving response. “But that's not what I meant.”

“Uhm.” He thinks hard. “That he's wrong that you have to bark during doggy style.” That particular memory sends shivers down your spine; you had hoped to forget it.

“Also very correct, and please don't bring that up again.”

“I'm sorry, I really thought he knew what he was talking about!” Mingyu defends quickly. “He's so smart, baby!”

“Uh…” You don't know how to respond.

Wonwoo is not smart, he may look scholarly with his glasses and cardigans when he's lounging around, but he is, like your boyfriend, just another pretty himbo. All four of the group are and you still can't tell who's the worst of them. Still, you adore the four and would never change a thing about any of them, even if their dumbassery has caused a lot of trouble since they moved to town.

So, you move on. “The point is, Gyu, you shouldn't listen to Wonwoo's sex advice, ever. Remember that?”

“Oh, right, yeah, you've said that before.” He nods slowly in understanding, looking kind of dejectedly down at the bedframe. He looks like a scolded puppy; it pulls your heartstrings enough to want to try and salvage the situation.

“Was this whole roleplay Wonwoo's idea?” you wonder. Mingyu looks up at you and shakes his head, lips pouted cutely at you and eyes big. “Yours?”

“Yeah. And Seungcheol's. You've never told me not to take sex advice from him!”

Okay, you have to admit, Seungcheol is probably the only one from Mingyu's three besties that you think would give pretty decent sex advice; you know he at least has active ongoing experience with a friend of your own, and they've always sung his praises.

Wonwoo is...well nobody knows for sure if Wonwoo has ever actually had sex. He kind of gives off horny virgin energy, honestly, whenever sexual conversations come up; but he's always been pretty smooth when flirting, so it could go either way.

And the fourth of their group is precious, naive Seokmin. You know he has experience himself but he's a very sweet guy and always seems scandalised when anything out of vanilla is mentioned.

“Okay, then I'm willing to pick this back up if you really want to try it, sweetheart.”

“I do!” Mingyu beams and suddenly looks as if you've offered him the world on a silver platter, drizzled in sweet syrup ready for him to slurp up.

Oh, does that remind you of another one of his slightly less questionable bedroom surprises. But that's an entirely different story.

“Okay, okay.” Mingyu takes a few breaths to calm his visible joy; it's so cute watching him bring his hands up as he inhales deeply then turn and push them palms downwards to the floor as he exhales.

He may have some very odd ideas, but man, did you score an adorable sweetheart of a boyfriend, who you hope will never change and always remain this way. You've not even been together that long, just a handful of months really, but you're pretty sure he's it for you. Your forever. The one you want to spend the rest of your life with.

When he's collected himself, he turns back to you and decides to entirely bypass the whole snake in his pants section— wisely so, you think— and starts to remove the ropes from around his torso. He only knocks his hat off twice, though you barely notice because now all you can think about is the fact that it seems like you won't be the one to have to bring up bondage.

While you're wondering if your big beefy boyfriend is about to hogtie you and have his way with you, Mingyu gathers the long rope in his right hand, and then takes one end into his left. It's now that you notice the very distinct large loop in one end.

Horror spreads through your body as you realise that Kim Mingyu has brought a fucking lasso into the bedroom.

“Gyu-” you start in warning, yet he's already pulling his arm back and launching the rope in your general direction. You yelp automatically, expecting to get hit in the face, yet it doesn't touch you.

There's a loud crash on your right so you look over only to find that the only remaining one of the pair of bedside lamps is now in pieces on the hardwood flooring with the loop of Mingyu's lasso caught around the shade.

It's like the balloon incident all over again.

And now you have zero bedside lamps, thanks to Kim Mingyu.

There's pure silence for a tense few seconds as you both stare dumbly at the mess on the floor.

Mingyu's whisper breaks the silence “Fuck.” And then you burst into howling laughter. “Babe!” he whines but you can't stop, toppling over onto your side on the bed with the power of your laughter.

The whole situation has been a mess from start to finish. It's a miracle you lasted this long without some kind of breakdown. You're just glad it's the laughing kind and not the mental kind.

It takes a minute of poutily grumbling about him working hard on the scenario; learning how to tie a lasso knot, and modelling endless hats and boots for his friends so they can help him pick the right ones, before the humour of it all actually hits Mingyu. It starts with a little giggle, and then he looks between you and the broken lamp a few times and has to flop across the bed as he laughs along with you, uncaring that his hat falls off.

Slowly, both of you stop laughing and calm enough to look at each other. You're still grinning like fools and there are tear tracks down your cheeks from it, but you're happy. He's happy. That's all that matters.

Mingyu shuffles over to you in a manner that makes giggles bubble out of your throat, until he's on his side close enough to lean in and press a soft kiss to your lips. “I love you,” he informs gently when he pulls back to look adoringly into your eyes.

Your expression softens and quickly melts into the mirror of his own as you brush your fingertips over his cheek. “I love you too,” you reply, smiling as he lays his hand over the back of yours to hold it in place and turns his head to kiss your palm, planting his love right there where you can keep it safe for as long as you want to. And then he looks back at you and holds your palm to his cheek. “Just no more lassos in the bedroom.”

Mingyu laughs and nods in agreement. "No more lassos in the bedroom.”

“House in general. Indoors. No lassos indoors.”

“Okay, baby.” He giggles and kisses you once more sweetly before getting up and picking his hat up off the mattress to plop on your head when you sit up. You adjust it so that you can watch as he crouches down beside the broken lamp to begin cleaning up the mess you made.

And as you watch him, there's only one thought on your mind.

Yeah, he really is it for you.

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“You burn through snacks,” Jeongin mutters. “You’re a black hole in joggers.”

You nod solemnly. The snack worry is real. You’re still not convinced you’ve packed enough to keep him fed and you have a niggling thought that you've forgotten something.

Chris shrugs. “Can’t help it if I’m a growing boy.”

You stifle a laugh, watching him with fond amusement. The cooler groans slightly as Jeongin finally manages to close the trunk with a triumphant, “Ha!”

You high-five him.

“Seriously though,” Jeongin says as Chris pushes his bag into the footwell of the passenger seat, “are you sure you don’t want to go to that glamping site instead? Wi-Fi, electricity, running water… less chance of being eaten by bears.”

“No bears,” you assure him. “Just scenic views, starlit skies, and mosquitos.”

Jeongin smirks. “I still say you should’ve packed Minho. He’s good with knives and can throw up a tarp without swearing through it.”

“Oi! I’m not like Changbin. I will be able to make a tent without cursing." 

You nod, deadpan. “Eat. Sleep. Rest. Those are the orders of the weekend. You’re getting away from work and relaxing. I’ll do the knives and swearing.”

Chris throws you a withering look as Jeongin snorts.

“And besides,” you add, “even if I had space for Minho, he and Jisung have tickets to that weird art-house movie downtown tonight.”

“Oh yeah,” Chris grins. “Their date night.”

You raise a brow. “Date night, huh?”

“They’re just going as… friends,” Jeongin adds quickly and wholly unconvincingly. 

“Yep,” Chris says. “Friends who just conveniently coordinated outfits and made a dinner reservation.”

“Hyung,” Jeongin giggles.

“Aww,” you pout. “We don’t coordinate our outfits.”

Chris rolls his eyes, but you catch the faintest blush at the tips of his ears.

You open the passenger door and pause as Chris glances toward Jeongin again, eyes softening with a flicker of guilt.

“You gonna be okay by yourself all weekend?”

Jeongin scoffs, waving him off. “Please. I’ve got Seungmin and Felix coming over for Tenken tomorrow, then Hyunjin and Changbin as backup the day after. I’m booked and busy.”

Chris tilts his head. “Booked and streaming, more like.”

“I will have Wi-Fi,” Jeongin declares like a holy right. “And when you come crawling back, mosquito-bitten and humbled by nature, I’ll have a tube of anti-itch cream ready as a welcome home gift.”

You snort. Chris groans.

With a final round of hugs and waves, you and Chris climb in. Jeongin pats the car like he’s blessing a ship for voyage.

Soon, the city falls away behind you, replaced by winding roads and the quiet green hush of the mountains ahead.

The mountain air is crisp—biting in the best way—filling your lungs with the kind of clean that doesn’t exist in cities. It smells of pine and damp earth, of wild things and relaxation. The clearing you’ve found is tucked deep within the woods, cupped by towering evergreens that sway gently above like ancient guardians. Their branches rustle softly, whispering secrets you can’t quite hear.

Beside you, Chris exhales dramatically, the crunch of gravel under his boots the only sound for a moment as he squints at the screen of his phone like it’s betrayed him.

“This is basically the dark ages,” he mutters, dragging the words out like a grumble but layering them in fond sarcasm. “No Wi-Fi. No electricity. Just trees and my impending doom by bug bites.”

You smile, the kind of affection that often sneaks up on you.

“You’re welcome,” you reply, bending to hammer the final tent stake into the soft, forgiving earth. “You’ll thank me after the ramen.”

Chris groans again—louder this time, exaggerated—but there’s laughter under it, the kind that pulls a giggle out of you. When you glance over your shoulder, he’s already watching you. His gaze lingers—steady, unreadable—for a heartbeat too long

Then, like a curtain being drawn too quickly, he shifts. Head ducked, he busies himself with the cooler, rummaging with a sudden urgency that’s too practiced to be accidental.

And still, something sticks. That look.

It lingers in the back of your mind, hazy and half-formed, like the afterimage of a dream you can’t quite remember. You tell yourself not to dwell on it. You’re friends. Really close friends. The kind who know each other’s coffee orders and irrational fears. Who’ve shared too many late-night phone calls and inside jokes to count. There was a time when you thought there was something… more, but risking this… your friendship? You couldn’t do that.

But still… that look…

It’s nothing. Nothing more than a look.

Just a look. With those maddeningly soft eyes. And an annoyingly handsome face.

Dinner is chaos, but the best kind—the kind where smoke curls up from a tiny camp stove and laughter cuts through the cool mountain air. The sizzle of meat on the grill mingles with the bubbling of noodles in a pot that’s seen better days. You’ve both spilled things, overcooked a few pieces, and accidentally dropped a fork into the dirt, but somehow... it’s perfect.

The scent alone is mouth-watering—soy sauce, garlic, a hint of char that clings to everything. You plate it all up messily, chopsticks clacking against enamel bowls as you hand Chris his portion.

He takes one bite and immediately leans back on his elbows with a groan of satisfaction, chewing with his eyes closed like he’s just been handed a Michelin-starred feast.

“This is actually amazing,” he says around a mouthful, voice full of awe and something teasing beneath it. “I take it back. I am thriving in the dark ages.”

You snort, half-proud and half-smug, nudging him lightly with your shoulder.

“Told you. Trust the wilderness queen.”

He shoots you a look, one brow arched, eyes glittering with amusement as he slurps up a noodle and points his chopsticks at you.

“Wilderness queen who forgot the marshmallows.”

Ah. That’s what you forgot.

“I packed you,” you counter, grinning. “That should count for something.”

He laughs, a real one, full and warm and unguarded. It rolls out into the clearing like the crackle of firewood, and your chest aches with how much you love that sound.

The stars are starting to appear above you, one by one, blinking into life like someone’s flipping them on by hand. The fire pops gently beside you both, throwing flickers of amber light across Chris’s face. He looks peaceful here—lighter, unburdened. A version of him the city never lets surface.

And for just a second, you let yourself look. Really look.

His lashes catch the firelight. His lips part slightly, lost in thought. There’s something boyish in the tilt of his head, the dimple of his cheek, something tender in the quiet way he exists beside you.

He’s beautiful in this light. Not in the camera-ready way you’re used to seeing him these days, but in the quiet, effortless kind of way that makes your breath hitch.

You blink it away. 

The fire has burned low, its embers pulsing gently in the dark like a heartbeat. The sky above stretches vast and velvet, spilling stars in every direction — infinite, unbothered, impossibly beautiful. Out here, without the glare of city lights, the universe feels close enough to touch.

You lie side by side in the grass, shoulders nearly touching. The warmth of Chris’s body beside you is subtle but impossible to ignore. The silence between you isn’t empty—it’s full. Full of breath, and closeness. Just the comfort that is Chris. 

Chris’s voice comes soft, laced with something fragile.

“I miss the stars from home,” he murmurs. “Back in Australia, I couldn’t name them, except the Southern Cross, but... they were... familiar. These,” he waves a hand at the sky, “feel like strangers.”

Something about that hits you deeper than expected. Maybe it’s the way he says it. Maybe it’s the quiet homesickness in his voice, or the truth that even skies can feel foreign when your heart is far from home. You glance over. His eyes are skybound, soft and distant, like he’s trying to remember something he can’t quite hold onto. It aches him. And you feel that.

So you shift, just enough that your head nearly brushes his.

“They’re not strangers,” you murmur. “They just speak a different language. My grandfather taught me a lot of them.”

You lift your hand to the sky, finger tracing invisible lines.

“That’s Vega or Jiknyeoseong,” you whisper. “She’s part of Lyra, the harp. My grandfather said she was the Weaver Girl, the one from the old story. She waits across the Milky Way for her love.”

Chris tilts his head toward you, eyes following your hand.

“And over there—that’s Deneb, Gyeonu-seong, the Cowherd. He’s in Cygnus, the Swan. And down here, see that one blinking? That’s Altair, in Aquila. Together, they form the Summer Triangle. It’s the same story in both names—two lovers separated by the river of stars. Allowed to meet just once a year.”

You trace the triangle between them in the sky, slowly, letting the silence wrap around your words.

“He crosses the stars to find her,” you add, voice quieter now. “Every summer.”

Chris doesn’t speak. You feel the stillness of him beside you, the way his gaze lingers follows the shapes you draw with your hand.

“And that one,” you continue, pointing toward the north, “that crooked W? That’s Cassiopeia. A queen. Beautiful, proud. She’s always watching. Sometimes upside down.”

Chris hums beside you, low and thoughtful. “Someone else who struggles to sleep.”

You smile, bittersweet. “She was cursed for her vanity,” you explain, remembering your grandfather’s voice. “The gods put her in the sky as punishment, spinning around the pole forever.”

“Cassiopeia,” Chris murmurs, tracing the constellation with his finger. His voice is soft and low and warm—not unlike the fire beside you.

When you glance over, his eyes are on you. Not the stars.

You freeze under the weight of it—the way his gaze feels like it’s searching for something.

Your pulse flutters.

You look back up to the stars, heart in your throat, and point again—desperate to focus on the sky, not the way his eyes made your skin burn.

“That one’s Hercules—he doesn’t look like much, but he’s there. Strong, quiet. Always watching over the others. I think if you were to have a constellation, that would be yours.”

Chris doesn’t say anything, just shifts slightly, his hand brushing against yours in the grass—whether by accident or intention, you can’t tell. Your pulse skips anyway.

“Your grandfather taught you all that?” he asks, his voice low, reverent.

You nod, your eyes still skyward.

“He said stories help you remember where you are. Even if you’re lost. The stars might move, but they don’t disappear. Not really. You just have to learn to look for them differently.”

Chris turns his head, slowly, deliberately.

“That’s nice.”

His eyes don’t leave you this time. You can feel the weight of his gaze on your skin more than you can see it, like gravity has shifted sideways and you’re falling—not fast, not hard, just… falling.

You clear your throat and look skyward. Just in time to see a streak of light tear across the sky, bright, fast and gone in the blink of an eye.

You gasp, a little squeak escaping your throat before you can stop it. Your hands fly up instinctively, pointing as if trying to catch the tail of the comet with your fingertips.

“Did you see that?!” you breathe, scrunching your nose with wide-eyed wonder. “Chris! Quick! Make a wish!”

He chuckles softly beside you. “That work here too, does it?”

“Wishing on falling stars is universal Chris. Now hurry! Make a wish!”

The fire crackles gently, and the world seems to hold its breath.

But Chris is silent beside you.

You finally glance at him wondering where his thoughts are, but his eyes aren’t on the sky.

They’re on you.

And not in the way friends look at each other. Not in the way Chris usually looks at you, when he's teasing you about forgetting the marshmallows, or arguing over who’s turn it is to buy the coffee. This gaze is quiet and unblinking and full of something you’ve been trying not to name.

Your breath catches.

You forget the stars. Forget the fire. Forget your heartbeat skipping in your chest.

“What’d you wish for?” you ask, barely a whisper.

His eyes flicker, searching yours.

“Can’t say,” he murmurs, lips curving just slightly. “Might not come true.”

But something has already changed in the air between you—like that star didn’t just fall through the sky, but cracked something open with it.

Your breath is still caught somewhere between your ribs when you look away. Back up. Back to the sky that suddenly feels too vast, too far. Your heart is thrumming so loud you’re sure he can hear it.

You try to laugh—something light, something to deflect.

“Guess I’ll make a wish too,” you murmur.

But when you close your eyes, there’s only one thing that comes to mind.

And he’s lying right next to you.

You turn your head, just slightly, and find him still watching you, like he never stopped. His eyes are softer now, gentler than you’ve ever seen them, catching the starlight and the firelight in ways that make your chest ache.

You don’t think.

You just lean in.

It’s instinct more than decision, a quiet shift of breath and courage. A whisper of movement. The briefest brush of your lips to his, soft, warm, and trembling with hesitation.

And then it’s gone.

You pull back fast, eyes wide, breath already shaking out of you.

“Sorry,” you say, too quickly. “Chris, I—I don’t know why I—”

“Hey,” he says, already moving, already chasing the warmth you left behind.

His hand finds your cheek, then the curve of your jaw, then gently tangles into your hair like he’s done it a hundred times before in a dream. You inhale shakily, but he’s already leaning in, forehead nearly touching yours.

“Don’t be sorry.”

He kisses you.

Sure. Slow. No trace of hesitancy.

Like he’s been waiting.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his hoodie as his lips mold to yours, tender and deepening by the second. Chris shifts, matching your breath for breath, his lips parting against yours in a way that sends heat flickering low in your belly. One of his hands stays in your hair, gentle but firm, while the other slides down, over your shoulder, along your ribs, until it ghosts your thigh.

You can feel his hesitancy in asking for more. Wanting more. But you are beyond that point.

Your hand slips beneath his hoodie, fingertips grazing bare skin—warm, smooth, taut with muscle. His breath stutters against your mouth, and when your palm flattens over his stomach, he exhales his hand finally, blissfully, tightening on your hip and pulling you closer.

You move with him, swinging a leg over his until you’re straddling him, your knees braced in the grass as Chris rises to meet you, pressing his chest to yours, your kiss deepening as his hands splay across your back.

Your mouths are hungry now, and he grips your thighs pulling you even closer so you can feel the heat of him… the hardness of him. 

“Chris,” you murmur against his lips as you rock forward gently. 

He gasps against your mouth, biting his bottom lip in a way that is pure sin. 

When your fingers curl beneath the hem of his hoodie, he lifts his arms without hesitation, letting you pull it off. His T-shirt follows, fabric brushing over his tousled hair before landing somewhere beside the tent.

And then he’s bare to you—golden in the firelight, shoulders broad, chest sculpted, defined lines rippling softly as he breathes. You take a second to just look.

Every line and curve, all sharp and toned.

And you’re suddenly aware of your own softness—how your skin gives more easily, how your curves feel vulnerable under his hands.

Chris sees it in your eyes.

He pauses. His hands still. And when his gaze rises to meet yours, there’s nothing but warmth there—gentle, careful, sure.

“Okay?” he asks, voice low, eyes searching.

You nod. And then, a little bolder, you pull your shirt over your head and toss it aside, leaving you in just your bra and jeans. 

His breath catches.

It’s not a sound of disappointment, shock, or surprise—it’s awe. He exhales and his eyes roam over your skin. Fingers tracing the lines drawn with his eyes.

“You’re…” He swallows, and looks right up into your eyes. “You’re beautiful Y/N.”

His hands settle at your lower back, wide and warm, pulling you close as he leans in and presses his mouth to the swell of your breast. Soft at first—gentle kisses over your skin. Then his lips part slightly, mouth trailing warmth as he tastes the curve of you, nuzzling into the softness.

You shiver. Not from cold. Not even from his touch. But the feeling of…being enough. 

One of his hands slides up, fingers splaying wide as they explore the line of your spine, up between your shoulder blades and down again. The other curls around your waist, anchoring you to him as he mouths at your skin with growing hunger.

Your fingers thread into his hair, those familiar soft curls, tilting his face just the way you need.

You reach behind yourself and unclasp your bra, the straps slipping down your shoulders, the lace sliding between your bodies as you let it fall away.

He exhales—shaky and stunned, like he’s seeing something sacred. His hands lift, slow and hesitant, like he doesn’t quite believe he’s allowed. When he finally touches you, it’s with a softness that sends shivers through every nerve.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes. Like it’s not just a compliment, but a truth he’s only now allowed to say out loud.

His palms skim the outer curve of your breasts, large hands cradling you as if he's afraid you might disappear. Then he leans in again, mouth open and warm as he presses a kiss over your heart—then to your breast.

When his lips close around your nipple, your breath stutters. His tongue flicks softly, then again, and you feel it everywhere. Your hands tighten in his hair, hips shifting closer, your thighs tightening around his waist as his mouth grows more confident.

His hands stay steady at your back, one slipping lower, tracing the dip of your spine, pulling you gently against him. Your bare skin slides against his chest, and the friction is almost too much but not nearly enough.

He groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin, and it makes you arch into him. Your clothed core pressing against his hard length.

“Been thinking about this,” he murmurs, voice gravel-thick. “About you. But I never thought I could…”

“You can,” you whisper.

Chris finds your lips again, lays you down gently on his hoodie that was tossed aside only moments or might have been hours ago. 

His hand lingers at your waist, eyes drinking you in as if committing the sight of you to memory. Then he starts fumbling with the button of your jeans, fingers clumsy with urgency.

“Sorry—”

But you’re giggling, he’s so cute. Even like this. Heart racing you reach down to help him, shimmying your hips and wriggling out of them with a graceless little huff.

He watches, transfixed, as you kick the denim free from your ankles, leaving you just in your panties beneath him. 

Chris’s gaze flicks down, then back up to your face. He leans in, one hand bracing beside your head, and captures your mouth again.

His kiss is slower now, deeper—less rushed, more sure. His body settles over yours, the weight of him grounding, electrifying. You gasp softly against his lips as his hips dip and his clothed length presses against your centre—just fabric between you, the friction melting and maddening.

He presses down again and this time you both groan. The sound tangled between your mouths. He breaks the kiss just enough to press his forehead to yours, breath ragged, his voice a rasp.

“God, you feel—”

You rock your hips up gently, and his answering grind nearly undoes you. Every nerve is alive, every inch of you aching and alert under his touch.

Chris shudders, one hand gripping your thigh, pulling it around his waist like he needs you closer—like closer still wouldn’t be enough.

Your leg hooked around his waist, his body heavy and perfect above yours. The fabric between you is suddenly unbearable. Every movement rubs you together in maddening friction, your soaked panties clinging, his shorts stretched tight around the hardness pressing against you.

Chris groans again, the sound rougher now, closer to a plea. His hand slides down your side, over your hip, fingers brushing the edge of your underwear. He pauses, lips hovering above yours, eyes searching.

“Can I?”

You nod, your voice caught somewhere between a gasp and a yes. 

He smiles softly down at you, his dimple caught in firelight, eyebrow arched, half teasing. “Words baby.”

Something inside you swells at the way he says it. 

“Yes. Please.”

He slips his hand beneath the waistband, eyes never leaving yours as he peels the last bit of fabric down your thighs, slow like he’s unwrapping something precious. You lift your hips to help, feeling the night air kiss your bare skin as the panties slide free. They join your jeans somewhere in the dark.

Your hands move next, fingers tugging at the hem of his shorts.

“Your turn,” you murmur.

He bites his lip at the sound, sitting up on his knees just long enough to drag them off, boxers too. The firelight flickers across his skin—bronze and shadowed, all muscle and tension and beauty. He’s bare now, fully, and so are you.

You both just look for a moment.

No teasing. No coyness. Just quiet reverence in the space between your breaths.

Then Chris lowers himself again, this time with nothing between you. Your thighs part easily for him, giving him space to settle fully over you.

Your skin is flushed where his touches yours—his hand cradling your thigh, his mouth trailing slow, open kisses across your collarbone. He’s everywhere, not rushing, just feeling. 

And when his length slides against your slick heat, unhurried, teasing, you gasp—arching up, hips chasing his.

“Chris…”

He groans at the sound of his name from your lips, deep and wrecked, and mouths at your throat, his hand tightening on your thigh, trailing his mouth down, down, lips brushing your breast, your ribs, your stomach. His hands map the curves of your waist like they were carved just for him, and then he settles between your thighs with a look that makes your breath catch.

His mouth finds you in a slow, deliberate sweep of his tongue—and your back arches before you even realise you’re moving. Your fingers fly to his hair, tangling deep, anchoring yourself to the feel of him. He groans into you when you tug gently, and the vibration pulses straight through your core.

The sky spins overhead, velvet dark, stars scattered like shattered diamonds. You're distantly aware of it, of the fire's flicker and the cool brush of mountain air on your skin… but none of it matters. Not when his mouth is working you open like this.

He's good—so good. Focused and unrelenting, tongue drawing lazy, devastating circles like he has all the time in the world. Like he wants to know every part of you by heart. He moves with precision, with intention, with devotion, and you're unraveling faster than you ever thought possible.

“Chris—” you gasp, hips lifting, chasing his mouth. “Oh my god—”

He hums again in response, hands pressing to your hips to hold you steady, to keep you right where he wants you. And when his lips close around your clit just so, you make a sound you never knew you were capable of. “Chris—close—!”

And then you’re there.

You cry out—raw and real and loud—because there’s no one around for miles. Nothing to muffle the sounds he’s pulling from your chest. No walls. No neighbors. Just the stars bearing witness as he takes you apart.

No one’s ever made you feel like this.

No one’s ever made you sound like this.

And Chris knows it.

You see it in the way he glances up through his lashes, eyes burning with something primal and softer, all at once.

He doesn’t stop—not until your thighs are shaking, your hands tugging at his curls in disbelief, and your breath is coming in broken little gasps.

When he finally comes up, lips slick and glistening with pride, he kisses the inside of your thigh.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispers, voice husky.

Even after you’ve come undone beneath his tongue, even after your hips have settled and your fingers loosen slightly in his hair, he stays nestled between your thighs like he belongs there. Like he never wants to be anywhere else.

His hands caress slowly up your sides, then down again—soothing, grounding, coaxing your body into something softer, more open, even as the tension simmers again, delicious and low.

His lips return to you—softer now, unhurried. He kisses the inside of your knee, the dip of your hip, and then he trails back to your sensitive core.

Then he starts to pull back—maybe to give you space, maybe to speak—but you’re already rising, already reaching. You tug him up with you, mouth crashing into his, all heat and urgency and tangled fingers.

This kiss is no longer sweet.

It’s starving.

Your hands find his jaw, his neck, the sweat-damp curls at his nape. You pour everything into it, everything that’s been building since the moment you caught him watching you out of the corner of his eye.

He groans into your mouth, like he can taste how much you still need him, like the sound is being dragged out of his chest. One of his hands finds your waist, the other your cheek, holding you steady as he deepens the kiss until you’re both gasping between each slow, claiming press of lips and tongue.

“Chris,” you beg.

His eyes are dark and wild and focused entirely on you. “Tell me,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “Tell me what you want.”

You lean in, lips brushing his, the words barely more than a breath.

“I want you.”

“You got me baby.”

You raise your hips, and guide him in.

Your bodies meet in a slow, aching slide that steals your breath, that makes him gasp your name like a prayer half-spoken. He fills you inch by inch, careful,  until you’re seated fully in his lap, thighs trembling around his hips.

It’s overwhelming—how full you feel, how right.

He holds perfectly still beneath you, letting you adjust, letting you feel. His hands cradle your lower back drawing soothing circles. You lean in, forehead resting to his, and for a few heartbeats, there’s just that—heat and silence and shared breath and the wonder of him inside you.

He’s so big. Bigger than you imagined. And you had imagined. He might be your best friend but you were never immune to him. 

You experimentally roll your hips, just a little.

Chris’s breath catches. His hands tighten. And you move again, slowly, setting the rhythm, deep, unhurried, savouring how he feels inside you. Every pulsing inch of him. 

“God, baby,” he groans, one hand sliding up to cup your jaw. 

You kiss him again, tongue and teeth, thighs burning. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and Chris understands, cradling your back he manouveres you easily, laying you back on the hoodie, settling over you. He moves slow, achingly slow and so deep. Rolling his hips, his body a warm shield to the cool night air. 

Your breath shudders as his hips draw back, just enough, before he sinks into you again. And again and again. Deep. So deep.

His pace is slow, unhurried, but every thrust is measured. Purposeful. Like he already knows every tender spot inside you. Like he has your body mapped out already.

One hand cradles the back of your head, the other sliding down to anchor your thigh around his waist. You arch into him, meeting him thrust for thrust, each one sending sparks spiraling up your spine. And all the while, he’s watching you—his eyes locked on yours.

The stars spin slowly above, distant and eternal, but the only galaxy you care about is the one you’ve found in his eyes.

Your fingers trace the curve of his spine, the sweat-slicked muscles beneath skin that trembles with restraint. You can feel it—how tightly he’s holding himself back. Every shallow breath, every subtle twitch of his hips, every heartbeat pressed to yours.

“Y/N,” it’s a groan. A plea. A prayer.

His lips drag from your mouth to your jaw, then down to your neck, where he lingers, tongue tasting the salt of your skin, teeth grazing lightly as you shiver beneath him. You wrap your arms around his back, feeling every shift of muscle, every ripple of his control.

His mouth moves lower—across your chest, down your breast, kissing the curve, your nipple, back to your mouth, like he can’t choose where he wants to be.

His fingers stroke along your waist, the curve of your stomach, then upward to cup your breast, his thumb brushing a tight, sensitive peak.

You gasp again, and his rhythm stutters—just for a moment—like he’s feeling it through you, his breath warm against your neck. You can feel it, his restraint thinning. How close he is.

“Chris—”

“Almost there, baby?”

You whimper in reply. Your hands tangle in his curls, tugging gently as you arch into him.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs again. “Come with me.”

And you feel it.

The slow rise of heat blooming outward from where he touches you. The build of pressure that spirals through you like the last inhale before a plunge. You hold onto him tighter. Dig your heels into the backs of his thighs. Feel your body clench around him in anticipation.

“Chris—”

“I’m here,” he breathes. “Let go.”

And you do.

With a cry that tears itself from your throat, you shatter—waves of pleasure rolling through you so powerful they leave you breathless. Your body clenches around him, trembling and slick and warm, and he follows you instantly, thrusting once, twice more before he lets go with a moan against your lips.

He spills into you, deep and pulsing, as the stars spin wildly above.

For a moment, the only sound is your panting, your heartbeats, your bodies trying to remember how to come down.

You blink up at the stars, skin damp, chest heaving, Chris still inside you, forehead pressed to your shoulder.

“Still not a fan of camping?” you whisper, dazed and trembling.

He laughs softly against your lips. “I take it all back.” Kissing the tip of your nose. “Every damn word.”

You lay there for a moment, still catching breath between giggles before Chris carefully pulls out of you, kissing you softly as he does. He finds his discarded t-shirt and drapes it over the lower half of you, his arms warm and firm as they curl around your back. He shifts just enough to pull you fully against his chest, skin to skin, his heart a steady drum beneath your cheek.

He kisses the crown of your head once, then again. Softer. Longer. Like he’s pressing every unspoken thing into you—thank you, I’ve wanted this, you matter to me. You look up at him, searching.

His gaze hasn’t changed.

Or maybe… it has.

It’s still full of that familiar fondness—the easy warmth, the safe kind of love he’s always given you. But now it’s something deeper too. Like some dam inside him has finally burst, and all that affection he kept just under the surface is rushing out, flooding you both in the quiet.

You let your fingers brush down his jaw, chasing the softness there.

He smiles, slow and sure, and kisses you again—gentle and grounding, like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held. Then you ask it, because you have to.

“What did you wish for?”

Chris leans back just slightly, eyes still glowing with the stars reflected in them. His lips curve, but he doesn’t answer right away. He dips his head, gives you another kiss, this one playful, lingering, before murmuring against your mouth: “Wi-Fi.”

You smack his shoulder with a groan. “Chris.”

But you’re already laughing, the sound bubbling out of you too fast, too giddy, too happy. He’s grinning too, cheeky and proud.

“What about you?” he asks, stroking a length of hair away from your face. “What was your wish?”

“Marshmallows.” 

He laughs, against your hair before he catches your face in his hands—thumbs brushing along your jaw—and kisses you again.

This one is slower. Deeper. No rush. Just you and him beneath the stars, your bare bodies tangled in the soft earth and the afterglow of something that’s no longer just tension or friendship or longing.

It’s love, in all its newness and possibility.

The stars still shine above you, ancient and endless, but tonight… they feel different.

Because now they hold stories of you.

Of Chris.

Of this moment.

Of every kiss yet to come.

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