#thediamondlifenetwork

dad bod!seungcheol who just mere minutes later, is now a moaning mess as you suck him as if your life depends on it.

"fu-uck," he pants,  "slow down, babe." but the way he holds your head even tighter, says otherwise.

"can't!" you pant, taking him out of your mouth. "you get me all hot and bothered." he swears he could come right then and there and with that look in his eyes - he'd give you another child already.

"fuck me, baby." you moan, and he's trembling, barely holding onto the edge.

dad bod!seungcheol who grips your hips so hard, you're sure they're will be marks by the time you're done.

he wraps his arms around you, pushes you onto the wall and thrusts up into you - heavy balls smacking against your ass. the whines that comes out of your mouth is just pitiful.

he pinches your clit and your walls clench him tighter.

"fuck baby, you're so tight" he huffs. "you want to make me a dad again? huh?"

“cheol- slo- ugh. slow down” you pant as your legs shake every time his tip brushes your spot. the way his large, bulbous tip was brushing against your very inner walls had you dizzy. “-want more.”

"I'll give you exactly what you want, mama"

you moan so loud that the whole damn block might know exactly what he’s doing to you.

"not so loud, mama. baby'll wake up" seungcheol is grinning.

"mhmm, cheol." you breathe, gripping his biceps harder. "feels so good."

your fingers dig into his shoulders, velvet walls clenching around him as your body shook violently, thighs quaking as pleasure surged through your veins.

“fuck, cheol - ohh fuck ‘m gonna cum!” your legs feel like liquid - you are glad he's holding you - otherwise you'd be as good as putty.

“thaaat’s it, mama. come f’me.” he groaned, pushing in with a few more punishing thrusts before spilling inside your spasming cunt, thick, hot ropes of cum filling you to the brim.

he’s holding you flush against him, fingers pressing into your back, thumb tracing along your jaw. “god…you really are relentless,” he huffs, voice low, teasing but strained.

you grin, smirking up at him. “can you blame me?” his chest rises with a laugh. "hmm…nope,” he murmurs, lips grazing your temple. “not at all. and I think…I like it.” you trace over his shoulders, leaning closer, feeling the weight of him, the warmth, the lingering tension.

“good,” you whisper. “because I’m not stopping anytime soon.”

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disclaimer: i didn't want to make any svt member the asshole so i made him jungkook, but i love jungkook he's literally my bias in bts and my forever ult so please just remember that this is a work of fiction and it doesn't represent how he is in real life nor how i view him (it pained me writing him this way you have no idea kdjfgnrjeskgf). i also didn't proofread the last two scenes i¿m sawrry

last note: there are several pov switches throughout the whole fic, because it just went where it wanted, I had no control over it, it was the fic i swear.

check out my main masterlist ♡ dividers used: heartbeat, paper texture (banner)

i hope you enjoy! i'd love to read your thoughts :)

“Are you sure I won’t bother him?" 

You’ve blocked Jungkook’s hand from opening the door to his shared apartment, forcing him to look at your pleading eyes. 

“Babe, it’s not the first time you’ve come to watch a movie, he doesn’t mind, stop worrying.” 

“It’s just... he always locks himself up in his room when I come over. Maybe he doesn’t want to get to know me.” You whisper, in fear the door doesn’t muffle the sounds from outside and he’s standing just by the entrance. 

The few times you’ve crossed paths with your boyfriend’s roommate, he barely said hi before sprinting out of whatever room you were in. Sure, your relationship with Jungkook is fairly new, and you don’t expect to become friendly with his circle of friends so quickly. But if his closest friend won’t pay you any mind then how are you supposed to get along? 

“He does that to give us privacy, I promise it has nothing to do with you.” Jungkook doesn’t notice the coldness you're sure his friend exhibits towards you, as he has been that way every time he brought a new girl to their home. Jungkook attributes it to his friend simply giving him some space, to not make everything awkward by being the third wheel. “He wanted to watch a movie, and he said it was cool when I told him you were coming over.” 

A deep breath leaves your lungs at his confirmation, even if it’s already the tenth time you’ve asked the same question and got the same answer.

Inside the apartment, Mingyu sits manspreading on the couch, phone in his hand and headphones at the maximum not-deafening volume. Jungkook’s still in his fairytale phase, that time at the beginning of a relationship when he still tries to introduce his new partner to aspects of his life, in which Mingyu is included. That’s the only reason he accepted his friend’s insistent plea to hang out with you both tonight. And when a hand shakes his shoulder lightly, he knows it’s his Jungkook with his new catch of the semester. 

You sit on the other end of the couch, as far as possible from Mingyu’s motionless body, still unsure on where you stand with him. Neither of you make the effort to talk to the other while Jungkook goes to his bedroom to change. You don’t want to bother him and make him have a reason to dislike you, and Mingyu notices your nervousness, but prefers not to do anything about it. 

Mingyu has learned to not try hard to get to know Jungkook’s fleeting girlfriends, because no matter how nice or how pretty you are, in a matter of weeks, he knows his friend will find something to complain about and eventually use as an excuse to break things off. It’s a never-ending cycle, and he learned he can’t do anything to stop it. 

“What are we watching?” 

Jungkook’s loud voice breaks the ice beginning to build up in the living room, and quickly sits down between Mingyu and you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. He doesn’t seem to notice the ignoring contest going on, chatting with Mingyu like the other man wasn’t just dead silent. 

After discovering you’ve never seen Rocky, a few gasps from Jungkook and a lot of convincing later, the movie starts playing on the screen in front of you. You didn’t actually care what they chose, just happy to spend some time with your boyfriend, even if you’re not alone. 

Mingyu knows the movie from beginning to end and backwards, could even recite the dialogues if asked, not because he particularly likes it, but because Jungkook somehow always convinces the girls he brings to their home to endure it. 

He used to argue with him about the reputation he built of being a heartbreaker, but Jungkook doesn’t see it that way. To him, he’s just trying to find the one in an endless quest that never fulfills him the way he thinks a relationship should. But Mingyu knows Jungkook well, and the real reason why he can’t last in a relationship for longer than a few months is clear as day, but Jungkook’s blind to it. 

You pretend to focus on the storyline, Rocky’s growth journey that Jungkook was so excited about, while he comments on his favorite parts. It’s not a movie you’d pick if you were alone or with your friends, too manly for your taste, and the romance aspect is too shallow, but Jungkook’s perspective and insightful comments are making you appreciate it more. 

Tears begin forming on the corners of your eyes as the final fight progresses, your throat closing up in warning as the rounds pass and Rocky gets beaten up by his opponent. No matter the genre, movies always make you cry during the final act as the protagonist reaches the goal after struggling so much.

After the referee separates both opponents, tying at the 14th round, the public demands a rematch, but Rocky’s more preoccupied to look for the woman he loves. You try to sniffle quietly, no longer being able to put a stop to your weeping, and snuggle against Jungkook’s chest, just as his phone rings, receiving a call from Cathlyn. 

From the corner of his eye, Mingyu notices the whole interaction, and he almost gets shocked by Jungkook blankly rejecting the call in an instant and putting his attention back on the screen. How didn’t Jungkook notice you’ve been loudly sobbing for the past fifteen minutes is beyond him. But the shock lasts less than two seconds, as Jungkook's phone rings again and he gets up from the couch, heading to the kitchen with his phone in his hand and his thumb already opening Cathlyn’s text conversation.

You know Cathlyn has been your boyfriend’s best friend since high-school, and became inseparable since then. You even came to meet her a few times. She’s funny, nice and outgoing, effortlessly being the center of attention.

The living room gets cold again after Jungkook goes to the other room, and it’s too obvious that Mingyu just doesn’t have any interest in engaging in small talk with you. Your last sniffles echo against the walls, and the sigh Mingyu lets out almost sounds louder in the sea of dense silence. 

Another sniffle from you and a tired sigh from him, Mingyu gets up to go after his friend who doesn’t seem to be coming back to the couch soon enough. He leaves a pack of tissues in front of you without sparing you a glance, and just walks past the couch. 

"Dude, don’t just leave me alone with her.” You don’t mean to eavesdrop on their conversation. You really don’t. But the sound carries. And it just proves that Mingyu clearly doesn’t like you. “She’s your date, not mine.” 

“Sorry bro, Cathy was calling me nonstop. I thought something had happened.” Not necessarily true, as she called only once and Mingyu's aware of it. “She wants to go out tonight, clear her head a bit.” 

“I don’t care what Cathlyn wants. Your girlfriend was crying and you just left her there.” It’s almost like he was defending you, but something in his tone suggests that it isn’t about you specifically. You blow your nose one more time, and the sound echoes into the kitchen. “Listen, she’s still crying like a baby, go with her bro.” 

Last words you hear before heavy steps begin and get closer and closer to the living room couch until the man sits by your side. 

“Sorry babe, I know movies always get you emotional.” Jungkook apologizes sweetly, even if there’s something else in his mind. 

“It’s okay.” The sun setting behind the windows draws your attention away from your boyfriend. “I should get going. It’s getting late and I promised my roommate we’d go out for dinner.” 

Lame excuse, but you’re aware you’re not wanted at the apartment anymore by half the people living under that roof, and it really is too late. 

Jungkook nods, unbeknownst to the uncomfortable situation he's a part of, and grabs your coat as you get up from the couch. You turn back, smiling to Mingyu coming out of the kitchen as a form of goodbye, but he just nods and sits back down. 

“We're going out later, and Cathy’s paying, you wanna come? It’s a bar close to here.” Jungkook naively asks as he walks you to the door. He might be genuine with his invitation, but you’re not sure. 

“I told you I have an important meeting for the congress tomorrow morning, I can't go out." 

Jungkook hasn’t proven himself as someone with the best memory out there. You’ve had to remind him of important stuff a few times already. The key is to just take a deep breath and not let it stir up any anger within you, because that’s just how he is. 

“Oh, I thought it was on Sunday.” Jungkook asks just as Mingyu walks past the end of the hallway into his bedroom and shuts the door. 

Even he knows about your meeting, because you told Jungkook last time you were there, and even if he locks himself up in his room, the walls might as well be made of paper the way he can always hear your conversations. 

“Tomorrow is Sunday.” You note as you chuckle lightly. 

“Oh, shit. Then I guess I’ll see you when you're done.” He gives you a sweet kiss for the first time in the day, light and fleeting like a feather, and closes the door after you take a few steps towards the elevator. 

Nayeon closes her macbook suddenly, done with all the work you have been doing since the early morning, ready to take a deserved break. “So? How was the hot date last night?” She rests her chin on the palm of her hand, ready for whatever gossip you’re willing to share.

“It wasn't hot.” Your eyes don’t leave your notebook, in an intent to work on ideas to make the presentation more interesting. 

“You’re so secretive! C’mon, tell your best friends forever and ever what you did!” She insists, making you chuckle as you see your other friend mirroring her from the corner of your eye.

Your pen drops from your hand onto the table as you finally look at them. “It was just a movie night with his asshole roommate.”

“The hot one?” Jennie intercepts, now more interested than before.

“I don't know Jen, his only roommate.” You try to go back to your notes but your friends’ unrelenting stares make it impossible to concentrate. “And how do you even know him? I’d never seen him before meeting Jungkook.”

“It’s ‘cause you’re too cool for campus gossip,” Jennie takes the chance to poke fun at your lack of knowledge of basically anyone, “but everyone knows Jungkook and Mingyu.” They both giggle at their mention.

“Be serious, we're not in high school.” You deadpan, but deep down you know nothing really changes from high-school to college. The drama remains the same, just with a few years added to the people involved. “There’s no such thing as the popular guys.”

When you were younger, the different cliques that formed were crucial to what the experience was going to be for the years to come. And you used to live for the gossip. You always knew the latest fight or the newest couple before anyone else. It felt important at that time and it kept you entertained. But as you grew older, got into college and met new people, meaningless gossip lost its interest, your focus now on passing your classes, meeting new friends, and having the best contacts to move forward with your career.

Sure, you knew of a Jungkook, as your best friends are up to date with the gossip and like it or not, you end up hearing everything even if you don’t know the people they’re talking about. But before he approached you at a party, you had no real idea who he was. It’s true that when you first saw your boyfriend at that party, he caught your attention immediately, and it’s undeniable that if you had seen him before, you would’ve been caught in his spell like every other girl on campus.

“What I mean is that people take notice when two hot guys hang out everyday.” Nayeon points it out like it’s the most common thing in the world. And maybe it is. “They’re like candy to the eye, too sweet, unapproachable, but nice to see nevertheless.”

You don’t forget to roll your eyes before replying. “Mingyu’s still an asshole. He never talks to me! I’m sure he curses at me in his head every time I show up at their apartment.”

“He seems so serious all the time.” Nayeon adds, having your back. “He’s probably a stem major or something like that.”

“He’s always hunched over his computer, so he probably is.” You note, eyes returning to your notebook so you can keep working on the presentation and be done with the topic.

“I once tried talking to him at a party, but he just looked me dead in the eye and said he wasn’t interested.” Jennie’s stare gets lost to the view out the window as she remembers. “I barely told him my name.”

Nayeon and you exchange looks before erupting into laughter.

“You guys are so mean!” Jennie complains, but joins to laugh with you two.

“Hey, at least he had the decency to tell you that and not lead you on.” Jennie shrugs, not really hurt as she has already forgotten that cursed interaction. “He barely says hi to me before sprinting out of my sight.”

“He doesn’t really talk to many people except that group of friends they have. It’s not personal, he's just a little anti-social.” Nayeon puts her two cents in. “Just let him be an asshole if he wants to be one!”

“I shouldn’t let him occupy that much space in my mind.” You nod at them and they both nod back in agreement. “I’m dating his best friend, he’s going to have to accept it.”

Nayeon and Jennie exchange looks, raising their eyebrows at your words before going back to you.

You have a vague idea what they meant by that, but you still ask, incredulously. “What?”

“Nothing!” They say in unison.

They tried several times to enlighten you about Jungkook’s “reputation”, as they called it, but you prefer to get to know him on your own and not have your judgement clouded beforehand. Rumors are just that, rumors.

“Look,” with your hands slapped on the table, you order their attention, “I know you guys don’t really like that I’m dating him,” you observe, “but I promise, It’s fine! He’s really nice and I think he really likes me.”

“It’s not that.” Jennie says at the same time as Nayeon exclaims, “I’m sure he does!”

“We already told you, he usually dates for a few months before breaking up all of the sudden.” Jennie continues, paraphrasing every warning they already gave you. “We’ll have your back with whatever you want to do, just be careful.”

“I won’t let a tattooed man who I've only been dating for a couple of weeks break my heart.” At least you think you're stronger than that.

“Am I an asshole if I tell you to just not get your hopes up?” Nayeon asks, and if it was any other person, you'd get mad, but only because it's her and she just lacks tact sometimes, you let it slide.

“Yes! You are!” You chuckle, knowing she’s just looking out for you. “Thank you guys for worrying about me. Now, I think we should shorten the introduction a little bit. Everyone there already knows who Durkheim is, we don't need to explain his whole biography.”

The notes you've been taking all day stare back at you, now more of a bunch of senseless scribbles than useful annotations.

“Ugh! Back to work already?” Jennie’s body falls limp on her chair, not ready for more hours of brainstorming and not reaching any goals.

“The professor wants to hear the whole thing tomorrow, we can't show up with anything less than a perfect speech.” You insist, opening Nayeon's macbook again against her will.

“Do you promise to tell us any good gossip about those friends of his, in about…” she looks at her empty wrist, pretending there's a watch there, “two hours? We'll work diligently until then.”

A deep sigh leaves you with a barely there smile you try to hide. “Fine. Two hours, and then we can take a real break.”

The waitress carries two pieces of cake and the biggest strawberry smoothie you’ve ever seen in your life, heading to your table. The size of the cup brings out chuckles from both Jungkook and you, but as soon as it gets placed between you on the table, the two straws draw your attention, and Jungkook asks the waitress for another smaller chocolate smoothie. 

“You can have that all for yourself babe, I know how much you love strawberries.” 

You don’t admit that you were excited for the corny romantic moment of sharing a smoothie with two straws, appreciating that he at least remembered your love for berries. 

Jungkook’s phone keeps vibrating with notifications, which he reads but doesn’t respond to, trying his best to focus on whatever you’re telling him. His mind is anywhere but the diner where you decided to have an afternoon snack, battling between answering Cathlyn’s worrying texts and listening to the ideas you gave for the presentation you’re doing with your friends in front of various colleges soon. 

In the middle of your story is when you realize Jungkook hasn’t said a word, his eyes lost to the much more interesting brown swirls on the wooden table. 

“Is everything okay?” He’s been noticeably distracted lately, getting lost in thought more often, taking longer to reply to your texts. You attribute it to the time of the year, as he’s busier at work and with his studies, and so are you. But even if he says he’s fine, you’re beginning to worry. 

“Yeah babe, sorry, just a little tired.” His lips line up in a tight smile in an attempt to reassure you. “Do you mind hanging out at my apartment after we’re done eating?” 

Scraping your plans to catch an afternoon movie, you hum and nod before returning to eating your piece of cake, seemingly disguising your disappointment since he doesn’t ask any more questions. 

Jungkook leaves his plate exactly the way the server left it for him, the piece of chocolate cake with not even a particle less, his fork unused and clean on the side. He gulps down his new personal smoothie in a second, and as soon as the last piece of your cake is entering your mouth, he’s asking the waitress for the bill. He knows you’re still talking to him, he can see your lips moving, but your words enter one ear and leave through the other, having no meaning in his mind. 

Jungkook pays without asking for your share, which you weren’t even going to argue with him about. You’re usually a heavy supporter of each person paying for what they ordered, but as the minutes pass by, it’s becoming harder and harder to not get mad at him, so you’re going to spend his money without feeling bad about it. You know you should ask him about it, but shouldn’t he tell you if something was wrong? Especially after you’ve already asked him? Between being a pushover and pretending nothing’s happening, you end up choosing to just spend the rest of the afternoon with him and hope he’ll just tell you the truth. 

The walk to his apartment is less than 10 minutes long, but every dreaded step drags heavily, making everything move slower, with the both of you in silence, and the incessant notifications blowing up his phone acting as a remainder of his true priority. 

Jungkook’s trying to ignore the constant ping coming out of the pocket of his jeans, pretending he isn’t dying to just answer who keeps trying to contact him. 

And you have a vague idea of who it could possibly be. 

The cold apartment doesn’t feel welcoming as you enter through the door, lights off and deadly silent. Excusing yourself to the bathroom, you tiptoe around as if in fear. Your reflection in the mirror looks unmistakably disappointed and sad, and you wonder if Jungkook really didn’t notice or just didn’t care. 

He can be charming and gentle when he wants to, always so polite and respectful, but the ability to be aware of your feelings may be something he could work on. Or at least understand that the things he does ultimately affect you too. 

In the kitchen, he’s already forgotten his one rule for the date, and is carefully answering every message he got, the glasses of water he was filling for the both of you forgotten on the counter. 

When he hears you come out to the living room, Jungkook rushes to sit with you, with a plan already in mind. 

“Babe, will you get mad if I go for a bit?” His fingers trace lines on your forearm, and you begin to lean into him before your brain registers his words. 

“What? Why?” You ask as your eyes search for any type of clue on his face.

“Cathy called me,” he takes a second to think about the best words to use, “she had a fight with her boyfriend, and I have to be there for her.” 

Jungkook never liked Cathlyn's boyfriends. Something about them always feels off about them, as if none of them are ever right for his best friend. In his eyes, he just wants the best for her, someone who'll really be able to care for Cathlyn in the way he thinks she deserves. 

“Oh, I hope she’s okay.” Deep down, you wonder if it really is so serious that Jungkook feels obligated to stand you up. But it’s fair, she needs her best friend when she’s having a bad time. The fact that her best friend is your boyfriend is a coincidence you can’t be mad about. 

“I’ll be back before dinner and I’ll make it up to you, okay?” He’s already standing up, his arms on both of your sides as he crouches to give you a quick peck goodbye. 

The door closes shut before you can even utter a reply, and his steps echo on the hallway, getting further away every second, until you’re left in complete silence. 

In the quietness of the apartment, you instantly feel out of place, unwelcomed by the inanimate objects surrounding you. Seconds turn into minutes, the ticking of the clock being the only sense of time you have left. You don’t want to grab your phone, avoiding the inevitable feeling of disappointment that’ll take over you if there are no texts from Jungkook waiting in your notifications.

How stupid is what you’re doing? How desperate? Waiting for your boyfriend to come back from the home of the woman that seems to be his priority? You know you shouldn’t be feeling this way, especially since he's already told you that she’s just his best friend. But it’s still hard. 

The back of your eyes burn as tears threaten to come out, blurring your vision just as you hear a key turn, heavy steps entering the home you’re not supposed to be in. 

 ⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

Mingyu knew he'd find you at his apartment.  

Jungkook texted him that he had an emergency and had to leave in a rush. And Mingyu knows what “emergency” really means in that context. It means Jungkook rushed over to Cathlyn's at the first sign that she was feeling off, and he wanted to hide it from him so he wouldn’t have to hear the same reprimand again. 

What Mingyu didn’t expect was to find you on the verge of crying on his couch, scattering to find any form of tissue paper somewhere inside your bag. 

You both freeze, looking at each other for about half a second before rushing to greet. You pretend you weren’t crying, and he acts as if he didn’t notice. Mingyu utters a quiet hello as you mumble some kind of apology for being there, and then he locks up in his bedroom as usual. 

His friend put him in an awkward situation once again. Mingyu doesn’t want to get to know you more than he already does. He knows you're on a different major and that’s enough, because one day, in the near future, it’s going to be another girl walking through the door instead of you, and he’ll never see you again.

He tried a few times to stay friendly, but no one really wants to stay in contact with someone so close to the man that broke their heart. And he gets it. That's why he stopped trying all together. 

Mingyu would usually come home from work, put on his headphones, and spend a few hours on his computer until his stomach urges him to eat something. But for this particular afternoon he’s been put in, he skips the headphones in case you need something, or at least until Jungkook comes back, which he isn’t even sure is going to happen. 

A project for work distracts him for a good while, organizing different stats and numbers on the excel sheet his boss sent him earlier in the day. He almost forgets you’re on the other side of the wall. Almost. 

If he loses his focus on his computer screen, he can hear when you move around on the couch. What can you possibly be doing? Is what he asks himself at any noise that reaches his ears, but there’s never an answer. Until something alerts him that you’re not doing well. The same sniffle he heard days ago as you were watching a movie with Jungkook echoes against the walls of his bedroom.

You’ve been trying hard not to make any sounds that may disturb Mingyu, as you assumed he was busy by the way you could hear the non-stop clicking of his keyboard from where you were sitting. But your mind seemed to have other plans, so much so that you lost control of the cascade of tears brimming from your eyes. 

In between everything, you miss the sound of a door opening and steps getting closer to you. Mingyu comes into view as you’re wiping away tears with the back of your hand, and you can’t pretend he didn’t see you this time. 

He sits by your side in silence, mainly because he doesn’t know what to say, but also because he can’t just leave you alone in this state. He feels responsible in a way.

“Is he with…” Are the first words that come out of his mouth after seconds of dead silence. 

“He didn’t tell you?” You look up at him to find him staring into the wall. He shakes his head, glancing at your slightly blotchy face before looking down. 

“He just told me you'd be here, but I figured.” Your body relaxes the tiniest bit. Good, at least you’re not an unannounced guest. 

“She had a fight with her boyfriend.” You explain, more frustrated than understanding. 

“Right.” He simply replies. 

Both of you sit there, fixed on your spots, too aware of the other. Mingyu realizes you’ve stopped crying, maybe because you don’t want to cry in front of him, but at least your breaths became less deep than before. 

A growl from your stomach reverberates through the room, and you flush in embarrassment. 

“You can–” he coughs before continuing, “you’re here often, you can help yourself if you’re hungry, it’s no big deal.” 

“Oh, thank you,” you chuckle, trying to conceal the humiliation, “but he said he didn’t have anything. That’s why we went out. And I can’t really cook, so.” 

Never in the past weeks would you have thought you’d be sharing embarrassing details about you with your boyfriend’s cold roommate, but life has a funny way of turning things around. 

“I’m sure that’s not true. There’s no way you can’t do the basics.” His body turns, now facing you as he takes an interest in your not so fun fact. 

“I’m not lying! I can’t even make scrambled eggs.” You hide your face behind your hands, and you immediately hear Mingyu laughing as the dent beside you on the couch disappears. 

“C’mon, I’ll teach you. I happen to be a great cook.” Your stomach growls again, and Mingyu looks back at you as he walks towards his kitchen, leaving you no choice but to follow him. 

Mingyu’s not thinking about this exchange with you too much.

Yes, he’s doing exactly what he promised himself he wouldn’t, as this will inevitably make you both closer and he will not be able to turn back to his cold self again. But he couldn’t just go on with his day knowing you were having a bad one, and even worse, knowing you were crying because of his friend.

He had to do something, and if that something is becoming your friend for the afternoon, then so be it.

“Grab the egg carton with his name on it.” You chuckle as you follow his instructions, “and his milk too, why not.” If he left you stranded, the least you can do to get back at him is use his stuff and not Mingyu’s. 

Between laughs and Mingyu indicating instructions like he was teaching a 5-year-old to cook, time passes, you forget why you were at the apartment in the first place, and you end up with a fine plate of scrambled eggs that doesn't taste bad at all. 

“I told you it wasn’t that hard.” Mingyu sits in front of you on the rounded table as you share the food. 

“Well, I’ll let you know if your teaching lasts until I have to cook alone.” You chuckle and avoid his stare, realizing your words sounded much friendlier than you intended. 

Back in the living room, Mingyu’s ringtone disrupts your conversation, and his sigh alerts you that he might already know who’s calling. He gets up with another sigh, throwing you a knowing look before going to answer Jungkook’s call. 

You appreciate his effort to make you feel better, and when he doesn’t ask Jungkook any questions over the phone, only replying with yeahs and okays to whatever he’s telling him, you understand that Jungkook’s not coming back, and whatever he’s telling Mingyu will just make you feel worse. 

Before Mingyu comes back, you do the dishes that you used and get your stuff together. The decision to leave has already been made. 

“Leaving already?” He appears at the entrance to the kitchen, leaning on the edge of the door like a statue. 

“I know he’s not coming back. I’m sorry, I should’ve left earlier, I didn’t mean to be a bother.” It’s the first time you’ve addressed that feeling you have that you constantly bother him, and it’s kind of freeing. 

“You’re not a bother.” A man of few words, Mingyu feels like he meant a lot more with that simple statement than just dismissing your apology. 

His blank reply doesn’t feel forced, not like he only said what you wanted to hear. No. He said it automatically, not thinking much about it, and it took a heavy load off your shoulders. 

“Still, I should–” You’re now standing right in front of him, looking up at his face as he doesn’t realize he’s in your way. 

“Right, sorry.” Mingyu rushes to get out of your way, stumbling against his own feet as he walks backwards to go get his keys. “Do you need a ride? I could–” 

“Oh, thank you, but it’s okay. I’m meeting a friend at a restaurant close by.” A warmness spreads on your cheeks at his offer. “Do you happen to know which way to go? It’s supposed to be a few blocks from here.” 

To redirect his attention away from you, you show him the address of the restaurant on your phone screen. You frequent the neighborhood on a weekly basis, but the blocks tend to mix up, as the buildings look too similar to each other. Mingyu scratches the back of his neck, trying to remember the names of the streets around his place. 

“I think it’s three blocks to the right, and then two to the left.” He doesn’t sound very convinced, but you trust you’d be able to tell if he’s sending you the wrong way, so you take his word. 

Even after denying him, Mingyu still accompanies you downstairs, and you politely say goodbye to each other at the entrance before separating. 

The sun sets on the horizon, the golden hue painting the streets beautifully as you walk. ‘Third block to the right, then turn left,’ you mentally repeat, trying to concentrate on the directions as well as you try to find a street sign that'll tell you if you’re going the right way. 

As you reach the second block to the left, where Mingyu implied the restaurant should be at, your phone vibrates inside your purse. The unknown caller doesn’t give up while you contemplate whether to pick up or let it go to voice-mail, but something in the back of your mind urges you to answer. So you do. 

“Who is this?” In case that another telemarketer got a hold of your phone number, you try to sound annoyed. 

“It’s Mingyu, sorry,” his deep voice sounds the tiniest bit robotic due to the poor service, “I realized I sent you the wrong way. You have to turn right instead of left.” 

“Oh,” you chuckle as your eyes read the street number you’re at, “thank you.” You don’t tell him you could’ve figured it out on your own, a tiny smile appearing on your face at his gesture. 

“I should’ve warned you that I’m terrible with directions.” His breathy chuckle reaches your ear at the same time as a metal ruffling sound. Was he heading out to find you in case you didn’t pick up? 

“No worries.” Your mind is blank, as the two things you’re most awkward at doing are getting combined in one: phone calls and talking to Mingyu. “How did you get my number?” 

“I asked Jungkook for it just now.” That feels weird for some reason, but you toss that feeling away, trying not to overthink about it. “You okay?” 

“Yep! Heading that way now! Thank you! Bye.” You abruptly hang up on him, the only way you thought to end the awkward conversation. 

Your heart rate escalates, pumping hard like it’s about to beat out of your chest as you go the correct way now. Whatever you do, your mind still manages to replay what just happened over and over again, until you’re standing in front of the restaurant hostess.

Walking towards the table you see Nayeon sitting at, the idea of Mingyu having your number saved makes the back of your neck tingle with nervousness, and you can't shake the feeling even as you greet your friend and she starts telling you about her day.

Maybe you’re giving it way too much thought. It’s just the excitement of finally feeling like you’re growing closer to your boyfriend’s friends. Nothing more.

There's been a noticeable shift in the awkwardness of your “friendship" with Mingyu. You didn’t become best friends overnight, but at least he stopped fleeting away from you anytime you'd be over at their apartment, and wouldn’t deliberately choose the spot furthest from you at any group gathering. 

As you and Jungkook step out of his car and walk over to the front door for the costume party a classmate of his was throwing, you can only take a deep breath and hope your extroverted self appears after a few drinks, and that Mingyu doesn’t decide he hates you again, because he’ll be the only other person you know at the party. 

Not much of a partier yourself, you’re just trying, for him. Trying to join your boyfriend in what he likes, especially after he showed interest in you being there with him by inviting you. 

The loud music can be heard even with the door closed, and Jungkook texts his friend to come pick them up, because ringing the bell clearly won’t do anything. 

“Hi man! Sorry for making you both wait.” A tall blonde man who you’re sure is named Jackson welcomes you in, giving Jungkook a man hug before looking you up and down and asking. “What did you guys come as?” 

“I’m a firefighter dude! And she’s...” Jungkook looks at you waiting for your answer, not even trying to remember the name of the character you’re dressed up as.

“Mavis, from Hotel Transylvania!” You smile as Jackson finally lets you in, and you can see in his expression that he has no idea who you’re talking about when you walk past him. 

As soon as you cross the door, it is a relief to find Jungkook’s whole friend group there, sitting occupying the entire couch for themselves, only one big body missing from the ensemble. 

Jungkook only takes his hand off you to greet his friends one by one, and makes them promise to save you seats while you go to the kitchen to find something to drink.

It hasn’t been long since the party started, but the crowded house is already filled with that dense air mixed with the smell of sweat, and the sticky bodies make it harder for you two to advance into the kitchen.

Part of you is relieved that Mingyu’s nowhere to be seen, if he’s even at the party. Sure, you’re getting along now, but being around him is still stiff and awkward. Maybe you can use this opportunity to try and get close to Jungkook’s other friends. 

Sitting between him and other two strangers that squeezed themselves on the far end of the couch, that plan is quickly scrapped. It’s possible Jungkook doesn’t realize you’re too far away to be included in any conversation, he wouldn’t do it on purpose, but you have no will to tell him. Not when his body is fully turned away from you as he talks to Cathlyn and the guy she's dating, Yugyeom.

The music's too loud for their voices to travel backwards and let you hear, but judging by Jungkook’s menacing body next to yours, he doesn't seem to be liking the conversation. He didn't talk much about Yugyeom, that name being new to you as Jungkook’s hadn't even mentioned him before. And from what you know, he and Cathlyn have been having some problems for the past few weeks, so it's normal for her best friend to dislike him.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

Mingyu thinks of himself as somewhat of a good friend. Sure, he may have some faults and he fucks up every now and then, as everyone does, but whenever his friends need him, he’s there. He covers for Jungkook at school, listens to his girl problems as any friend would do, hates whoever he hates, and he’d never break that friendship over any random girl. That said, he’s still a man, and he has eyes. 

When he comes back from the patio after catching up with some old friends he bumped into, he first lays eyes on the striking yellow costume Jungkook’s wearing. But as he follows the bright color, he sees you sitting by his friend's side, his arm wrapped around you but giving you no attention as you drink from an almost empty cup. 

It's no surprise to him that Jungkook's too enthusiastically talking with Cathlyn instead of any other friend, or instead of dancing and enjoying the party. What shocks Mingyu is how blatantly he’s ignoring you, sitting so pretty by his side. 

Yeah, Mingyu can admit he finds you pretty. He might be a good friend, but he’s not blind, and denying it would just make him stupid. Any guy with a brain should be lining up for a chance to talk to you, getting lucky to be the ones you spare a glance to. Instead, you’re sitting with an arm around you and being ignored by its owner. It could be that he’s gulping down his fourth drink already, but he might even go as far as saying you’re his type. But that’s about as far as it could possibly go. You’re pretty, nice, and in love with his best friend. Well, maybe not in love yet, but you like him enough to put up with his shit. And Mingyu’s not interested. He can’t be.

A smile forces itself on your face as your eyes catch his across the room. The most polite way to acknowledge his presence without trying to interact with him further.

Mingyu nods your way and drives his eyes elsewhere. It’s not like he wanted you to do anything else, and even if he wanted to go up and chat with you, he couldn’t have fit in between you and the people on your other side crushing your free arm. 

So, he stays there, standing against a wall on the only free hallway –in which there aren’t any people because Jackson threatened anyone who dared to step within a two feet radius of his bedroom, watching the scene progress before his eyes.

Where his friend has a reputation of being a heartthrob, a player, or a heartbreaker, Mingyu’s always thought of as Jungkook’s serious and mean friend. A bad school reputation is the least of his priorities, and he doesn’t care to change how people he doesn’t care about think of him. It’s not like he’s not enjoying the party, he just prefers to stand alone and drink. If that paints him as a boring guy, so be it. He tries scanning the room to find a friend to catch up with, but it's pointless, only the bright yellow costume makes itself visible. 

It's mostly a blur of bodies messily dancing to 2000’s pop songs inside that room, but Mingyu could recognize his best friend's silhouette if he was miles away and 90% blind. Your costume contrasts with Jungkook's in a way that even drunk Mingyu realizes it’s you who's being dragged onto the “dancefloor". 

He sees you get loose as his friend's hands wrap around your waist and move your bodies in sync. It seems that every single light in the house is on despite it being a party, and you’re in the center of his line of sight, constantly and too easily catching his attention. 

What he doesn’t see, however, are your constant complaints about dancing, appearing as flirty whispers to anyone who wasn't listening. And after he takes his eyes off of you two to find a glass of cold water, you’re back again to your original place on the couch, this time with much more space around you. 

“Not much of a dancer?” His feet directed Mingyu to where you sat almost instinctively. There’s finally room to sit down so he’s going to take the opportunity before somebody else does. 

“Only when I’m in the mood.” Your stare’s lost somewhere in the room, paying attention to your drunk boyfriend dancing with his best friend. 

“I see.” You both sit awkwardly, body facing front and eyes focused on the same view. 

“Cool costume, by the way. I love Hotel Transylvania.” Mingyu manages to fill in the gaps of the heavy silence. 

“Thank you! You’re the only one that recognized me.” A small smile appears despite your bad mood. 

“People here lack basic culture.” A simple joke followed by awkward laughs from the both of you, the atmosphere doesn’t help to ease the tension of your interaction. 

“I wanted Jungkook to dress up as Johnny.” You have to stretch your neck to Mingyu’s side so he can hear you above the loud music. 

“That would’ve been cute.” Mingyu doesn’t know what else to say. It’s been a common occurrence for him to go blank when talking to you. 

“I guess he’s not a fan of matching costumes.” You try your best to continue the conversation, not really caring whether he’s interested or not. The little alcohol in your system won’t let you fall on an awkward silence again. 

“He probably got tired of them after so many years.” 

You freeze. 

“What do you mean?” 

Mingyu realizes he just fucked up. All those drinks he had before you came, and that one after, finally brought him to the stage where his mouth gets loose and he starts blurring out things he shouldn’t. 

“Uh–, I mean, Cathlyn used to force him to do it for halloween.” Force. 

For the record, Mingyu's not a liar. He might be loyal to his friend, not wanting to put him in bad situations, but he’s not going to go above and beyond to protect an already weak relationship. So, he picks a word that’s going to save Jungkook’s ass, but still saying part of the truth. 

“Right.” If you caught on to his deliberate choice of words, you don’t show it to him. 

 ⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

It’s pointless to get mad at your boyfriend for such a meaningless piece of information. Every relationship is different, and you shouldn’t be comparing yours to a much older one. Their bond’s just different! It doesn’t have anything to do with you if Jungkook didn’t want to do stupid matching costumes. 

Still, you’re glad Mingyu slipped and gave away the truth, and you appreciate his effort to make it sound less bad. 

Jungkook gives you no time to ponder on what to do though, as he stumbles his way back to you, so drunk he can’t regulate his strength and falls hard on the couch. 

“My heead hit the back of the c-couch with my head.” Jungkook pouts and slurs his words. 

“Ow, baby, you’re really drunk.” Mingyu’s eyes pierce through your back, and a wave of self-consciousness takes over you. “Should we go home?” 

Jungkook’s cheeks feel warm in your hands as you try to get him to look at you, but his drunk mind can only concentrate on one thing at a time, and for the time being, his eyes are focused on Yugyeom’s hands groping Cathlyn's ass shamelessly as they dance. 

“I don’t feel so good.” He only says, his drunk stare having a hard time straying away from that scene as he gets up and stumbles his way out the house.

Mingyu runs after Jungkook just behind you, and manages to catch him before he faceplants on the damp grass outside. 

“Where did we leave my car?” Jungkook asks no one in particular, disoriented from his almost-fall. “Wait, you’re not my girlfriend!” His eyes go wide as he realizes who was helping him and tries to escape. 

“I’m here, babe.” Before he manages to, you wrap your arm around his other shoulder, leaving him no choice but to be embraced by yours and Mingyu’s hold so he doesn’t hurt himself again. 

Now that you’re outside, with no music blasting at full volume, no people around pushing you constantly, and breathing fresh air, you’re too aware of your surroundings. Or more specifically, how Mingyu’s arm and yours touch behind Jungkook’s back. 

It's a weird way to break the ice of skin to skin contact in a friendship, but maybe it’s what you need to end the lingering awkwardness that surrounds your interactions once and for all. 

“I saw you drinking.” You scold Mingyu after you two lay Jungkook down on the back seat and he turns to find his way back to his car. 

“I’m not drunk anymore.” He mutters just before he trips with his own foot. “Okay. I’ll crash on the back seat for a while and then I’ll go home.” 

“I’ll drive you.” Mingyu's silence as he thinks of a polite way to turn your offer down only eggs you further. “I’m going there anyways.” 

“I-I wouldn’t want to take advantage.” He fiddles with his keys, avoiding your eyes. 

“Of what? Me? His car?” Mingyu hesitates, the gears in his brain visibly turning.

“I don’t know.” It’s quiet, his response, and no matter how cute and defenseless he looks when he’s drunk, you don’t really have time to wait. 

“I’m offering.” You deadpan, but try to flash a small smile so his drunk brain doesn’t understand your hurriedness as anger. “You’re clearly still drunk, c’mon, don’t make me have to drag you.”

Realizing there’s no way out of this other than listening to you, Mingyu caves in and gets on the passenger seat of Jungkook’s car. “You wouldn’t be able to drag me anyways.” 

Of course, you can't push an over six-foot-tall gym bro even if you use all possible bodily strength you have. "Hell yeah I can!” Your teasing stare meets his, and you know he got what he wanted by pushing your buttons. 

"I’d love to see you try.” 

An indescribable feeling completely shuts down the workings of every organ inside you. It could be what he said, but it’s just a common phrase to tease a friend. It could be his eyes that refuse to leave yours. Or it could be the silver of a smirk that appears as you hold your breath. Whatever it is, you push it down, hide it on the very back of your mind and put up ten walls to disguise as a simple and normal response to teasing.

“We should-” 

“I don’t like him.” The drunken backseat passenger you had forgotten about interrupts you. 

“Who?” The distraction allows you to break eye contact with Mingyu. A believable excuse to put a stop to whatever was happening.

“That guy she was with.” Jungkook looks like he’s talking to himself, his eyes closed as if he wanted to fall asleep and unaware of who he's actually talking to. 

“Cathlyn? Her boyfriend?” Mingyu intercepts so you wouldn’t have to ask the awkward questions, already knowing where this conversation’s going. “Yugyeom?”

“Ugh, don't say his name.” Mingyu’s instinct tells him to see your reaction, to check if you realize what Jungkook means by all of this, and especially if it hurts you. “He has a douchebag face.”

You chuckle at his pouty statement, but deep down his words pierce a surface cut on your denying heart. It’s gone as fast as it came, but it was there, and your hands automatically started the car, urging you to start driving like nothing happened.

Ever since the evening started, Mingyu knew Jungkook wasn't going to have a good time. Not since opening the door to the bar that revealed Yugyeom there with Cathlyn.

“Why is he here?” Jungkook muttered under his breath, annoyed, on the verge of being angry.

“She's allowed to invite her boyfriend. Just like you invited your girlfriend.” Is all Mingyu replied.

Jungkook has been in his life ever since he can remember. When their first tooth fell out, when they schemed behind their parents to figure out if Santa was real, when he got his first bicycle and Jungkook laughed in his face when he fell and scraped his knee, when they met Cathlyn in high school and Jungkook’s eyes shined brighter than ever, when they went to prom and lost their virginities on the same night, and when they got accepted to the same college and joined the same classes. Every memory Mingyu has, it’s always Jungkook by his side. He can't mess with that peace, no matter how violently he wants to tell his friend to stop playing with girls’ hearts and realize he’ll be much happier if he owned up to his true feelings.

So, he resorts to trying to make Jungkook connect the dots himself by telling him harsh enough truths. It’s a work in progress.

In the few hours you’ve all been at the bar’s pool table, Mingyu hasn’t said a word. He's been sitting alone at one table on the side, seeing his friends sucking at playing and actually having fun.

With the excuse of being tired and simply enjoying watching each round, he took the opportunity to be temporarily invisible. With all of them busy, he can look at you all he wants, smile to himself when you miss your shot, and pretend to be drinking from his half empty glass.

There’s not much more he can do. Whatever he thinks he feels, whatever he thinks of you, it’s wrong. That’s why, at that moment, he prefers the loneliness of his table. The crude reality punishing him in real time is enough.

Doesn’t matter if you’re on the same team as Jungkook or not, your attention is always focused on him. You search for his touch, his eyes, crave his attention on you. But the more drunk his friend gets, the more competitive he gets, and the little patience he had with your lack of pool skills is quickly dissipating.

Another round finishes, with the both of you losing to Cathlyn and Yugyeom again, and it’s more than obvious that Jungkook’s annoyed. When your opponents excuse themselves to the bar to get more drinks, you try playing on your own and see an opportunity to try and get Jungkook in a good mood again.

“I swear I know where to hit it! My arms just won’t cooperate.” A chuckle escapes during your lighthearted shout.

Jungkook sighs at your missed shot, your pout having no effect as he’s trying to conceal his annoyance. “Which one are you thinking?” He only asks.

“The red one, close to the middle?” You point to it, waiting for any reaction, but he just waits for you to continue. “If I hit it a little to the right, I think it can go inside the left corner hole.” Bodily coordination may not be your strong suit, but you’ve played enough online pool that your brain’s trained to draw the imaginary angles.

The main idea was telling Jungkook your theory, him realizing you actually have an idea of how to play the game, and finally teaching you how to get a hold of the cue stick correctly.

“You have to do it like this.” Jungkook takes the cue from your hands and takes your place, ushering you to the side to watch as he takes the shot. “Your index and middle fingers serve to place the tip of the stick where you want it.”

“But I-” You were right, and the ball enters exactly where you said it would, but you can’t chant victory. Not when his attention shifts to a heated argument just meters away from you.

In the second it takes you to focus on what’s happening, your eyes land on Yugyeom stomping out of the bar, a crying Cathlyn left behind. You don’t even have to check if Jungkook’s still by your side, as he soon enough appears with an arm around her shoulders in an intent to console her.

When he starts getting the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, and heads to walk out the door, you realize the comforting session won’t be quick. But why would it be? His best friend just had a screaming fight with her boyfriend in public. It makes total sense that he’d want to take her out to have some fresh air and a little more privacy than inside the full bar.

“If I knew the night would be like this, I would’ve stayed home resting for next week.” Your body falls on the chair next to where Mingyu’s been sitting in silence. His flat expression rapidly makes you uncomfortable, like you just crossed a line. “Shit, they’re your friends, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t hav–”

“No, you’re right.” He interrupts you, with a tone that implies you must've taken the words right out of him. “I get having troubles, God knows I've seen them go through stuff, but we're allowed to be tired of it.”

Between his cold exterior and sometimes unfriendly choice of words, Mingyu's surprisingly capable of understanding other people's feelings.

“Has this been happening a lot recently?” You don't care to sound like a gossip. “Her fighting with her boyfriend, I mean.”

Mingyu sighs, eyes wandering to the door through which both of his friends just stepped out of. “Let’s just say, it’s been a regular occurrence.”

“Well, let’s not let other people’s problems ruin the fun.” You decide out loud. You’ve been having fun since you got here, regardless of your boyfriend’s bad mood, and you’re not going to let anything ruin your last night out before the busy week you have ahead. “Do you want another drink?” You down the last sip of what Jungkook was drinking.

“Oh, actually, I’m saving to pay for gas for the trip we have next week. I promised to drive, so.” Mingyu explains, too apologetic for simply refusing a drink. “You’re coming right? It’s a congress that our college’s doing.”

“Of course I’m coming,” maybe you should be offended that he doesn’t know, but it’s not his fault, “I’m the one giving the presentation.”

“Wait, seriously?” Mingyu’s eyes go wide, in slight shock as well as in embarrassment. “I knew you had a big thing coming up, but I didn’t think it was that! How did I not know?”

“Maybe Jungkook forgot to tell you. You know how he is…” Mingyu nods at your statement, but the answer brewing in his mind gets cut short by the glass door opening once again.

As if he was summoned, Jungkook re enters the bar alone, quickly lets you know he'll wait outside for Cathlyn's uber with her, and leaves again without sparing you another glance.

Silence fills the void between Mingyu and you, only murmurs from the people around the bar manage to make it not unbearable. Awkward again, you never seem to have a normal conversation with Mingyu without feeling some type of way. Jungkook interrupting seemingly added a layer of tension very hard to dissipate.

“I’m gonna… practice playing.” You aren’t the best at handling awkward silences, so you stand up with that excuse. “I’m so bad at it! I think the stick does the opposite of what I want on purpose.”

Mingyu chuckles behind you, following you to the pool table to watch up close. “You’re not that bad.” You look at him dead in the eyes, head tilting to the side with scepticism. “I’ve been watching you play! You just need to learn how to get into position correctly.”

Your arms cross in front of your chest, deciding if what Mingyu’s saying is in any way true, or if he’s just trying to make you feel better. He takes the cue laying on the table, accidentally knocking a few balls away from their places in the process.

“Show me how you’d do it.” As he hands the pool stick to you, warm smile and standing tall facing you, you feel secure he won’t tease you if you’re awful.

“Okay, but don’t you dare mock me.” The lighthearted threat makes him chuckle again, and your fingers tremble grabbing the stick from his hand. “This is my usual.”

You mentally cringe at yourself, but you push through it and lean your chest forward, hovering over the table, setting the tip of the stick between your fingers and analyzing which ball to hit.

“I see where things might go wrong.” His voice sounds closer with each word, but it's not enough to prepare you to feel his chest against your back, his arms embracing you to guide your hand where he wants to. “Your hand’s too close to the end of the stick. You’re not in full control of it.”

When he places his hand over yours, helping you slide it up the cue, you’re sure your whole body’s covered in goosebumps. Your heart accelerates to unimaginable speeds, about to jump out of your chest as Mingyu’s breath fans on the back of your neck.

“I think we can get the blue striped one,” your mouth blurts out faster than your brain can think, “If I manage to hit the white a little to the left, I can go right and push it into the middle hole.” You try to play off the unprecedented effects Mingyu has over you, forcing yourself to get your mind back in game mode.

He doesn’t let go of his hold on your hand, his arm grazing yours even more closely. “Are you sure? That one seems like a long shot.” You can hear his smirk through his teasing words.

“Just help me hit it there.” Your head turns just barely to the side, finding his face much closer than you imagined, and your eyes roll before going back to the table, trying to mask the blush you feel creeping on your cheeks. “I know I’m right.”

“Relax a bit. It’s close to the hole, so you don't need to hit it too hard.” Mingyu extends his other arm over the table, helping you position the tip to hit exactly where you told him to. You don't dare move, his cheek brushing against your temple freezing you in place momentarily.

When you feel his hands tighten over yours, taking control of the stick with your fingers tangling with his, your arms fall limp, letting him shoot the shot. With the tiniest push, the barest tense of his muscles all around you, both your arms move the cue forward and hit the white ball.

The both of you smile as the striped ball falls in the hole you said it would, relaxing against one another before realizing just how close you really are.

“I told you, I was right.” You chuckle away from him, using cue in your hands as a barrier.

“I’m sorry I ever doubted your skills.” Maybe it’s the drink he was stalling to finish until you approached him, but Mingyu’s more relaxed with you tonight, a little more prone to smiling than usual.

“Babe?” But Jungkook’s voice quickly wipes it off his face. “Let’s get going, wait for me outside.”

“Wait!” You get off Jungkook’s hold, almost offended that he thinks he can drag you away at his will. “I was finally getting a hang of it. Mingyu’s a better teacher than you, you know.” You try to joke to ease the suddenly tense atmosphere, but it doesn’t work.

“I’m really tired, babe. And I promised I’d take you home, so, please?” Jungkook retorts, face turned your way, but his eyes are on his roommate.

The staring contest between the two men doesn’t stop, an indecipherable friction you don’t really want to find out the meaning behind.

“O…kay,” there isn’t really an out where the three of you will be happy, so you just accept Jungkook’s petition to leave, “bye Mingyu.”

You walk away, your hand in the air wishing for Jungkook to take it and come after you.

Mingyu begins to grab his stuff, assuming the both of you will be quickly out the door by the time he’s done paying his tab, but it seems the night is not over for him yet.

Jungkook grabs him by the arm and turns him around so they’re face to face. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What the hell man?” Mingyu shoves the other’s hand away, a hunch telling him his friend’s anger has something to do with you.

“I leave for a minute and you’re all flirty with my girl.” Jungkook’s always been a jealous man, but Mingyu can’t help but sigh at the accusation.

Still, Mingyu can’t lie and say he wasn’t flirting. He can’t say he didn’t love the way you were blushing and squirming under him. And he can’t say that it wasn’t what he was looking for.

“I was entertaining her because you left.” He retaliates with a part of the truth. “It’s getting old man, you can’t just leave her to go after Cathlyn all the time.”

“You’re back with that again.” Jungkook throws his arms in the air, easily irritated by the topic. “You know what? I’m tired of this.” As the confrontation he was looking for didn’t turn out the way he wanted to, Jungkook begins walking away, “I’m leaving, we’re leaving.”

“You never want to talk about it, but you know it’s wrong.” Mingyu adds, a little louder this time. “You gotta stop.”

“Why are you so worried?” Getting more frustrated by the second, Jungkook barely turns, not fully facing Mingyu. “You never cared about it before.”

“C’mon man, I’ve always noticed.” How awful of a person he is. Accomplice to his best friend breaking girl after girl’s hearts, it’s true that he never cared this strongly about Jungkook’s extracurricular activities. Even though he always tried to make Jungkook realize the truth by himself, for his own good, Mingyu can admit, to himself at least, that now he has an added, selfish reason to want his friend’s behavior to come to an end.

“It’s my life. When I need an opinion, I’ll ask for it.” With that, Jungkook finally leaves, getting out the door to where you’re waiting in the cold.

Mingyu wasn’t done with the conversation. There was so much more he wanted to say. He wanted to say that it’s your life too. Jungkook's messed up feelings were affecting the people around him too, especially every girl he dates to forget. Especially you. But he just couldn’t keep pushing it, not without the truth coming to the light.

Mingyu’s reputation of being too serious, or even heartless sometimes, wasn't born out of nothing. He's aware of his resting bitch face, of the way he bolts in and out of class and the way he's never the first choice for group projects in the classes none of his friends attend. If he cared what other people thought of him, maybe it'd hurt. But he has enough friends, friends who like him the way he is, and doesn't go to college to expand his contact list.

Going to university, to him, was exclusively a way for him to learn more about his likes and interests. He goes to his classes and focuses maybe a little too much, but it’s how he lives his days, how the hours pass until he has to go to work. That is, until you came into his life unprovoked, and disorganized his sharp and efficient lifestyle.

He never crossed paths with you on campus before, and if he were to run into you after the first time he met you, he would've probably ignored you and scurried to his building like a flash. But today, he unconsciously looked around, hoping to catch even a glimpse of your figure coming out of your major’s building. He hoped you’d see him and smile at him as you walked his way to make useless small talk. But you didn’t, of course you didn't, and as soon as he sat down on his usual seat in his favorite class, he realized. He’s fucked.

For the first time in his life, the numbers on the chalkboard didn't make any sense, the words coming out of his favorite professor's mouth sounded like a mumble of pure nonsense. His mind couldn't focus, diving into the memory of your sweet smile next to his ear. Or the shivers your body graced him with as his hands purposely covered yours on the cue stick. His hand would grab his pen to try and write a single sentence, and the feeling of your fingers barely interlaced with his would overwhelm him.

What’s worse than pining after your best friend’s girl? As of the moment, Mingyu has no answer. There’s nothing he can really do either, besides accept you’re in a sort of happy relationship. He can’t take you aside and say ‘hey, you know your boyfriend? My friend? Yeah, so I have a theory that he might be in love with his girl best friend, sorry!’ Even thinking of doing so puts a bad taste in his mouth.

He's aware that, currently, he's at least top5 worst friends in the world. And he's not looking to end your relationship and get bumped up to the top1. It's decided. He'll just ignore whatever feelings are bubbling on the pit of his stomach until they disappear!

Easier said than done, because nothing he does seems to get you out of his mind. And the vivid reminder that he’s nothing more than someone you have to get along with is screaming at him everywhere around his home.

The four walls of his bedroom imprison him, suffocate him with the thought of you. He is a bad friend. He does want you. He does resent Jungkook for keeping you his. But if he broke up with you, would Mingyu ever see you again? Would he ever get the chance to see the heat visibly rushing to your cheeks as he walked closer to you?

Mingyu hates himself. He hates himself for getting turned on at the memory of your body heat against him, shivering at his closeness but not pulling away, letting him wrap himself around you, even if the both of you knew he shouldn't. He needs to drive his mind elsewhere.

Locking in to work in front of his computer, trying to scare away the sturdiness building up in his jeans, it might become the first time he wishes it was his day to go to the office. The front door of the apartment opens, rushed steps and messy, wet, breaths echoing against every thin wall that surrounds him. The reminder that what he deeply wants, it's not, and should never be his.

Working from home has never been so much of a curse.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

Jungkook grips at your sides, his body flushing against you and pressing you further into the couch. The near desperate way his lips roam over yours has you gasping for air, but he doesn’t relent, hands making a mess of your hair as he hopes you give him the satisfaction he craves for.

He grinds his hips against yours with determination, and you press against him trying to give him what he’s hopelessly looking for. But no matter what you do, he goes in for more, your bodies getting more and more out of sync.

You try to give him what he wants, emitting sounds of a satisfaction you're nowhere near feeling. His mouth moves to the side of your neck, leaving marks you're not sure you want.

The white door, now in your line of sight, calls for your attention. You shouldn’t be thinking about other people while you have a man in between your legs doing everything to feel any type of pleasure. But if the yellow light sneaking below the closed door alerts you of something, is that the person at the back of your mind is probably right there, behind the dangerously thin cardboard the architects of the building call a wall.

“Isn't Mingyu gonna hear?” The choked up question comes out in a whisper, in fear, in panic. And the mention of his name speeds up your heart rate far more than your current activity.

Jungkook barely cares about your worry. “He's gaming.”

You know gaming implies wearing noise canceling headphones and tuning out of the real world. But is he really? 

“I don't know, babe, shouldn't we check?” It sounds stupid to even ask. Check? Knock on his door to very politely ask him if he can hear you having sex?

“He's not gonna hear,” Jungkook sighs, finally looking you in the eyes to answer, “and I wouldn't care if he did. He has to know you're mine.”

There's a speck of disdain behind his words, behind the weirdly possessive statement he just made. It leaves you more breathless than ever.

“What are you talking about?” You don't know what kind of egotistical manly fight they have going on, men friendships are not exactly your expertise, but it can't be about something you're aware of.

“Don't tell me you don't see it.” Jungkook hasn't gotten up from on top of you, but his hands on the sides of your waist tighten a bit more after your question.

“I don't know what you mean.” You chuckle in an intent to ease up the newly tense atmosphere. You didn’t mean to make it about him. “He's your friend, you shouldn't be jealous.”

“And you shouldn’t be talking about another man while you're under me.” Jungkook retorts, half angry, half still turned on. It's a weird mix. One that doesn't let you reply to correct yourself.

Jungkook lowers down to your mouth once again, kissing you fervently to make you forget about anyone else. And you decide to let go. He’s here, your bodies tangled together and your loose clothing crumbled up your torsos to feel each other’s skins. You shouldn’t doubt that, in that moment, he wants you.

You drift away into the feeling of his lips against yours, both hands cupping his jaw to relax the hurried pace he’s setting. His hands under your t-shirt feel good, like he knows what he’s doing, like he knows how women like to be touched, and it helps. It helps free your mind of everything else.

Still, you’re careful of the sounds that leave your lips. You let Jungkook’s tongue slip inside and dance with yours, muffling any soft moans you don’t get to restrain. He searches for something, his hips angling with yours to feel some kind of friction. If he keeps moving like that, you’ll be in the mood in no time.

A ringtone coming from the back pocket of Jungkook’s jeans disrupts the quiet setting. You stiffen under him, but he doesn't let his mood come down. You're grateful when he grabs his phone to decline the call and puts it on the end table in a rush, finding your body with his hands once again.

It's like, for the first time, he's prioritizing the time he planned to spend with you. He searches for your touch like nothing happened and you're the only thing he's thinking about.

“Just let it go to voice-mail.” Your hoarse voice surprises you, echoing over a new call. Jungkook doesn’t respond, not stopping the trail of kisses up your neck until your lips are against each other again.

But a call comes in again, and he groans against your mouth, trying to ignore it, letting the default ringtone soundtrack your activities until it stops on its own. It’s awkward, but he doesn’t stop kissing you and wraps your legs around him, trying to make you forget.

By the fourth call, you're both annoyed, and Jungkook reluctantly gets up from on top of you to check who's bothering him so much. The caller gives up just when he gets the phone in his hand, but from the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of him opening his texts. You don’t mean to spy on him, not wanting to be a controlling girlfriend that needs to know everything her boyfriend's doing, but it’d be nice to simply… get told.

The clicking sounds of his fingers typing on the small screen of his phone are about to send you straight to a mental hospital. Why's he typing so fast? So insistent? Is he mad? He's not telling you anything, as if he forgot he was just kissing you out of breath.

“Did something happen?” You dare ask, even if deep down, you know the answer is clear as day. You know who’s the only one capable of making him drop everything in a heartbeat. “Is Cathlyn okay?”

“She needs me.” Is all he replies. Cold. Decided.

“What do you mean?” The question manages to mask the anger brewing inside you. For now. But you need an explanation. How many times can you put up with the same situation until you blow up? He can’t expect you to be all right with being stood up constantly.

“Yugyeom broke up with her.” He explains without looking at you, like that’s enough of an excuse.

“She always needs you when you’re with me.” Bitterness bleeds through your mumble. It doesn’t feel good. You should understand that best friends need each other. But why are you never on the receiving end of his undivided attention?

“You can’t expect me not to care when she’s going through something. She’s my best friend. She goes first. Always.”

His words are like a bucket of ice water in the middle of winter. The explicit revelation that his priorities are carved on stone. There's silence as he realizes what he said, and neither of you dare speak up.

Your lungs expand but no air gets inside, and your throat threatens to close as your body prepares to start shedding tears. “Why make plans with me if you're just gonna sprint her way at any sign of trouble?” You can’t stop them. “You’re supposed to be with me.”

Tears cascade down your face, quiet sobs getting in the way of your pathetic pleads. Covering your face from the outside world, you shrink in place, giving in to the crying as Jungkook kneels in front of you.

“Baby, I'm sorry.” His now soft voice barely reaches you over your sobs. “I know I haven't been very present.”

“No, you haven't.” His hands carefully withdraw yours from your probably blotched face.

“I promise you,” Jungkook makes the effort to look you in the eyes, “after this, I’ll be better. I'll make it up to you.”

He tries. But you, convinced or not of his willingness to fulfill the promise, don't want him to leave. It's not about the fight, or the sex, or even him. If he leaves, it cements you as the second option. If it was about winners or losers, you'd lose.

“Stay.” It comes out so quiet you're afraid he didn't hear you.

But he did.

“I can't.”

Silence again. Deafening silence as you look at each other with different thoughts racing through your brains. He decided. There's nothing to be done.

Jungkook takes your hand in his and squeezes it tight in an attempt to bring you comfort. He thinks he's doing the right thing. He thinks he'll be able to nurse his best friend's heart and then come running back to you after.

At your silence, he stands up, reaching for his coat hanging on the hallway before sparing you one last look and heading out.

The soft click of the door closing behind him breaks you a little more inside. The couch, no longer warm with the weight of two bodies, feels empty, too big for you to fill.

Bare, exposed, you let yourself be vulnerable only for him to cut you off and leave you there, with your feelings blurting out of you in the form of tears and sobs. The undecorated walls judge you as you cry your eyes out. Is there something you can do that’ll make him like you more? You already try so hard, you’re just not… her.

When the white door opens to reveal the other man of the house, you're not surprised. Of course he was there, and of course he heard everything. Your luck wouldn't let you escape this situation without throwing a more embarrassing one at your hands.

It took Mingyu all of two seconds to realize what was happening. His headphones in the grip of his hand are proof that he did not want to hear what you two were doing, he just didn’t get to put them on. He may be a bad friend, but he's not one to invade someone's privacy.

That's why it took him a bit more time to decide to step out of his room. Would you let him be there for you? Would you be too embarrassed? You shouldn’t be, he thinks. It’s not your fault.

At one point, he got used to Jungkook abandoning his fleeting girlfriends at the first notification from his best friend that popped up. Mingyu never did anything for the girls, and they usually left after a few minutes. Maybe that's why most of them didn't like him. He didn't care, and they always cut ties with everything Jungkook related after the break up, so why would he?

He shouldn't be doing anything. Caring that you're crying alone in the middle of his living room goes against every rule he imposed onto himself. He should be cleansing his mind of you, stepping away from the weird not-friendship you two developed and going back to focusing on the things that matter. He shouldn’t let you climb up that list.

But as soon as he heard his roommate standing up and leaving, the itch at the back of his brain started screaming at him to do something. How can he step back and do nothing? He can’t be indifferent this time. Unfortunately, he does care. Unfortunately, every sob and quiet sniffle tugs at his heart and urges him to be there for you, to come out and try to be there for you as best he can.

The sight of you, even if it's not something he hadn't seen before, breaks him. Making yourself as little as possible, with your clothes wrinkled and your hair a mess, you let him sit by your side, the cold couch caving under him as he settles at a good enough distance that he’s close enough to feel him beside you, but not sticking to your side inappropriately.

The silence with him is a more understanding one. It’s not the first time he’s seen you cry, but you don’t dare say anything. Is there even something to say? You didn't argue, Jungkook didn't run away angry at you, he didn't tell you he hates you and wishes you were somebody else, yet, you feel as if he did something worse. Empty yet full of self deprecating thoughts you wouldn't voice out to the best psychologist on the planet. You couldn’t tell Mingyu even if you wanted to.

A hand, warm and firm, places just above your knee. It’s soft, careful, an innocent touch to understand that he’s there for you. The gesture is oddly comforting, and you allow yourself to feel everything. The embarrassment, the disappointment, the hurt, knowing Mingyu won't judge you for it.

“It’s not your fault.” Mingyu claims, his voice overpowering your racing thoughts.

Maybe it’s the way he says it so sincerely, but you break down even more. Your hands cover your face once again, bending down until your forehead touches your knees. Mingyu’s hand frees itself from the cage you created. He’s definitely had enough of your crying for the night by now. He tried to help and you repay him by dropping half your weight onto his hand and continue crying? If he leaves too, you wouldn’t blame him.

But he doesn’t leave. Instead, Mingyu wraps his arm around your shoulder and brings you closer to him. “He doesn’t deserve your tears.”

Your heart stops for a second, taking in your closeness and the reason behind it, and what he said about his close friend. Your head lays against Mingyu’s shoulder almost on its own, and he keeps you there, even if your tears start staining his shirt.

“He wasn’t like this before.” Your voice breaks trying to defend the you of the past, and the arm behind you stiffens before you feel his hand hold onto your other shoulder for comfort. “They warned me, and I didn’t listen.”

He shouldn’t be the one to tell you. Mingyu knows that. But you’re so broken, crumbling against him like there’s nothing else you can do, that he almost lets the truth slip out. It’s on the tip of his tongue, the thing that’ll break you even more. But he can’t allow himself to do it.

So, he stays silent, offering a place for you to let out all your feelings. Whatever you need to feel better, even if it’s just a little.

Mingyu doesn’t know how much time passes, or what you’re thinking, but he can feel how your breathing regulates with every second. Eventually, your sniffles become rarer and rarer, you straighten your posture and, unfortunately for him, step away from his hold.

“I’m sorry, I–” You can’t look him in the eyes, taken aback by the realization of what happened, guilt making you trip over your words, “I shouldn’t have–”

Getting up and gathering your things is the only thing you can think of doing. Whatever solace you found in his arms is now gone, replaced by an awkwardness you don’t know how to handle. Mingyu’s eyes bore holes on your back as you pick up your things that fell down when you first entered the apartment without care.

“It’s okay,” Mingyu’s gentle words help you relax, but the need to get out of the apartment is stronger. “You can stay, I don’t want you to leave while being upset.”

“I can’t be here, Mingyu.” You don’t mean to sound so hostile, but everywhere you look is a reminder of how pathetic you just were. It’s pushing you away.

“Is there anything I can do?” Mingyu hovers around you, not wanting to scare you away. He’ll do whatever you ask him to. “Anything.”

“I– I just want to be alone.” You walk yourself to the door, too tired to think about how you feel about everything that happened. Too busy to consider anything else. “I have to get ready for tomorrow.”

“Right, it’s tomorrow.” He’d forgotten about the college thing. Your college thing. He was so busy pretending to mind his own business and hiding from his feelings that he forgot you have your own life too. “You’re gonna do great.”

“Thank you…” Your hand rests on the door handle, hesitating leaving Mingyu after he helped you. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Your lips tight in the best smile you can manage, in an attempt to not seem mad at him.

“We’ll pick you up in the morning.” Mingyu announces, even if he knows you planned to come on your own.

“There’s no need for that.” You let out a sad, airy chuckle that squeezes Mingyu’s heart.

“No, We’ll–” he starts, but corrects himself, “I’ll pick you up. It’s not up to discussion. You, focus on resting.”

Mingyu takes the decision for you and opens the door himself, both of you ignoring the tingling at the touch of your hands. A quiet mumble goodbye is all you manage to say before going for the elevator. And Mingyu stays at the door until he’s sure the elevator’s going down.

The scorching mid-day sun heated the car so much you can’t rest against it. A few feet ahead, the guys stand in line at the convenience store at the gas station, with mainly energy drinks in hand and a few sandwiches. After driving the entire morning, everyone collectively decided to stop for a while for a bit of leg stretching and to recharge for more hours of driving.

It’s been a weird day from the start.

Mingyu picked you up like he promised, and even made sure you didn’t dare take an uber to their home by texting you they were on the way too early in the morning. You were about to open the uber app when he texted.

You barely got any sleep during the night, your brain switching from replaying the evening at Jungkook’s place and revising for the presentation. You rested so little, yet the usually soothing hum of the car isn’t helping you sleep, choosing to focus on everyone’s voice.

Since you opened your eyes, after tossing and turning all night, you didn’t let yourself think about anything that wasn’t the presentation. When to pause, how much to wave your hands in the air. It worked to an extent. But hearing Jungkook sitting by your side making the effort to talk to Cathlyn, who was sitting in the passenger seat while Mingyu was driving, almost made you go insane.

The only reason you’re alone waiting while the rest of them shop is because you insisted. No, you don’t need to go to the bathroom. No, you don’t want anything specific to eat. No, you don’t need to walk it out. Just in need of a little bit of peace. And Jungkook let you be. He’s been pretending nothing happened the previous night, and you’re glad he’s not forcing you to voice out your thoughts.

The bell above the store’s door chimes as everyone leaves altogether. Instinctively, you reach for the passenger’s door, as the idea was for Mingyu and Jungkook to switch seats so Mingyu can take a rest from driving, but a voice reaches you before you get the chance to open the car.

“Is it okay if I stay there?” Cathlyn runs over to you with a pack of chips in hand.

“Shotgun again?” Jungkook appears behind her, a sly smile on his face before he rounds the car to open the trunk.

She giggles at him but turns her attention back to you when she notices your silence and questioning look. “I’m sorry, I just get really dizzy in the backseat.”

Giving up on reality is easier than fighting it. You’re not going to be the one to deny the poor girl who just got broken up with. Sure, sit with your best friend, laugh with him and ignore the rest of the world outside your bubble. Who cares? “Sure, I don’t mind.”

The car is not that small, but with Cathlyn’s friend, who you didn’t know was coming on the trip until you were in front of the car on the street by your building, you end up between her and Mingyu in the backseat.

Feeling him by your side wakes up flashbacks from the previous night. But if before he was warm and comforting, he’s now rigid in place, looking out the window as the car gets back on the road. You don’t know what you expected, or why you feel a hint of disappointment at the pit of your stomach, but there’s nothing you can really do. You aren’t giving him many chances to be friendly with you either.

For a moment, you’re thankful for the cease in conversation, when Jungkook turns up the volume of the radio and random pop hits start entrancing everyone in the car into listening quietly. Cathlyn and her friend, who they call Mel, bob their heads to the song in sync without realizing, and it’s peaceful.

But then, the next song plays, and the two people sitting in the front part of the car collectively gasp. Mingyu shifts on your side, and you know he recognized what they did too.

“This is the song that–” Cathlyn starts, but they both laugh before she can finish explaining.

“He really hated you for that.” The only reason Jungkook’s eyes are on the road is because he’s driving, because if he weren’t, you’re sure he’d be laughing his ass off with Cathlyn.

“He hated me before too!” She slaps his shoulder before erupting into laughter again. “For no reason may I add.”

All three of you in the backseat just stare at them, listening, waiting for one of them to think of telling the anecdote. Your instincts want nothing more than to look at Mingyu, side eye him for a little help, but you fight them.

“What did you do?” Mel asks by your side, trying to get the attention from the party in the front.

“Our history teacher hated her in senior year.” Jungkook looks at Mel through the rear-view mirror. “She argued with him almost every day.”

“I can see her doing that.” While her friend chuckles at the bit of the story, Cathlyn still doesn’t turn around, almost exclusively laughing with Jungkook.

“And he threatened to fail me on the last test we had!”

“I keep telling you, there’s no way he would’ve done that.”

“It seemed like a very real threat to me.”

“So, you had to blast this song outside the classroom?”

“I had to make a show out of it!”

As they keep bickering about their senior year, leaving you out of the fun, the air around you becomes as awkward as ever. Mel’s laughing with them, the only one paying real attention to their jabs at each other. Mingyu, on the other hand, looks down as he plays with his fingers. You’re… bored.

The conversation you’re not a part of doesn’t interest you, the music’s no longer loud enough to help you take your mind off everything, and you have at least two more hours of agony.

So you focus on the cars on the road, the ones you pass, the ones that pass you, the grass, the animals, the farms, until your eyes finally close on their own.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

When you open your eyes again, the car’s slowing down, arriving at the motel that’ll house the five of you for the following days. It’s still bright outside, but the slightly orange tones in the sky and your stomach growling indicate the beginning of the evening.

A familiar hard surface below your temple holds your head in place. When exactly you fell asleep is the first question that pops up in your head. The second one answers itself quickly.

“We’re here.” Mingyu’s low voice accompanies his soft grip just above your knee, with a little reminder of the last time it was there.

As you lift your head and stretch your neck until it pops, it hits you. You fell asleep on Mingyu’s shoulder. A whole two hours where you bothered him, again. Made him take care of you, again.

“You should’ve woken me up.” Mingyu shakes his head at your intent of an apology, but you interrupt him before he speaks up, “I’m sure you were uncomfortable.”

“Really, I didn’t mind.” In the background, Cathlyn and Mel excuse themselves out of the car to look for their room in a rush. “I can wash all the drool off my shirt just fine.”

“I do not drool.” The way he chuckles compels you to join him. It’s easy, and the first time you even smiled in the day.

The door to the driver’s seat shuts closed with force, and both you and Mingyu scurry to get out of the car as soon as possible.

You don’t miss the way Jungkook studies you as he hands each of you your bags from the trunk. Cold as ice, he stays silent when Mingyu excuses himself to find their shared room.

“If your plan’s to make me jealous, that’s not gonna cut it.” Jungkook’s voice surprises you from behind, and the frown he wears on his face accompanies the angry tone.

“I didn’t plan anything.” He doesn’t speak to you the whole trip, and now he has the audacity to be mad at you? “But by the looks of it, whatever you think I did, it clearly worked.”

“Already looking for a rebound?” He follows behind you to the entrance of the motel.

“Jungkook, I don’t have time for this.”

You have hours and hours of practice ahead of you, and they might not be enough for your talk to be perfect. He knows the congress is a big deal to you, or at least he should. You can’t be thinking about anything else. Not about him. Not about your relationship with him. Not about Mingyu.

“Are you planning to break up with me?” You’ve never heard him talk like this before. He doesn’t sound hurt, just angry, jealous.

You scoff. “If you keep being an asshole, I might.” The answer blurts out without checking with your brain first. He didn’t expect you to say something back. You didn’t either.

“Fine.” Jungkook crosses his arms, waiting for you to say the words you’re not even sure you want to utter. “Do it.”

“Look, I can’t deal with this right now.” You take a deep breath, trying to think clearly, to not do anything impulsively. “You’re mad and I’m stressed. It’s not the best time.”

“Are you saying you’ll do it tomorrow?”

“What? I’m not saying anything, Jungkook, stop.” Your bag’s heavy on your shoulder as you rack your brain for anything to help you out of this. “Why don’t we take the night off, I’ll practice for tomorrow, you can relax after all the driving, and we’ll have a proper talk tomorrow. Okay?”

Jungkook huffs, mumbling something close to a ‘fine then, bye’ before storming off.

The back of your throat feels dry and hoarse from the hours of speech practice. How to modulate correctly, how to make your voice bigger. It takes a toll on you. 

When you and your friends planned to do the finishing touches the night before the congress, none of you thought you’d be trapped in a tiny motel room for hours, tweaking the words to seem more professional, timing yourselves to fit in the 15 minute time slot, and even going as far as to plan when and how to look at the screen behind you.

Your stomach growls incessantly. You haven’t had anything to eat in hours, besides the simple dinner the three of you had after setting up in your rooms. Seeing every one of you is tired, the girls don’t stop you when you get up and leave the room in search of a vending machine.

Somehow, the balcony has better lighting than your hallway, and you spot a big vending machine just outside your hallway. Picking a snack is not hard when your tummy begs for anything, so you grab the random chip bag you picked and begin to head back when you hear a loud thud and a curse coming from the next hallway.

Judging by which hallway you’re walking into, and the sheer size of the person bending over in pain in front of their door, it’s Mingyu.

“Are you okay?” You rush to help him in any way you can.

Mingyu’s head shoots your way and he curses again. “Shit, it’s you, hi, yeah.” He grunts in between words and tries to stand up straight. “I closed the door right in my hand. It’s no big deal, really. Go rest for tomorrow.”

Even from afar, you could see the sweat stains on the back of his sleeveless t-shirt. His shallow breathing and sweat dripping down his hair and face welcome you as you reach him. It's a sight. His skin glistening under the white hallway lights catches your attention a second longer than it should before it goes back to the cause of his pain.

“You’re bleeding!” Taking a closer look at the hand he’s holding, you see a growing red bubble right under the ring finger’s nail. “Let’s get you inside.”

“You don’t have to–”

“Shut up and go put your hand under running cold water.” After he’s helped you so many times, the least you can do is google what to do when someone has a bubble of blood growing under their nail.

The empty room catches your attention as you read the quick answers your search pulled up. “Jungkook’s not here?”

Looking over to the open bathroom door, Mingyu’s hand is under the running tap like you instructed, but he’s staring at you with an indecipherable look in his eyes. He must know about the fight you two had.

“He went out with some friends that came here too.” He answers before giving up and drying his hand. “It’s not clearing out.”

You should be used to him sitting closely by your side. Your breath shouldn’t quicken and your hands shouldn’t sweat as the bed creaks below him. Actually, you need to stop getting into situations where Mingyu needs to sit beside you. But you can’t help it.

Maybe focusing on his minor injury can help your body relax. “Okay, so, google says it should go away on its own in like… two or three days.” Even if there’s so many questions you have for him that you avoided all day, it’s not the time.

“I'll have to stay with a blood bubble on my finger for days?” His threatening pout lifts your mood quickly.

You chuckle, taking his hand in yours once again. “Does it hurt?” Mingyu shakes his head with a small smile growing in his face, letting you have your way.

Now that he’s calmer than when you found him outside, his fingers relax in your hold as you look for any bruises. His hand that held you and comforted you one too many times, now being taken care of by you. Rushes of warm blood follow where your skin meets his, even the lightest of touches aren't free of his effect on you.

“Why didn’t you go with them?” Your mouth betrays you once again, voicing out your thoughts instead of getting through the silence. “Your friends.”

“Didn’t feel like it.” His answer is simple. And you wish it was enough to satiate your curiosity, but you simply can't stop asking questions.

“Nothing more?” You don't know what you expect him to answer. Maybe you're just looking for excuses to keep talking to him, to stay in the momentary bubble that surrounds you every time you’re with him.

“I haven't been… liking him much lately.”

Mingyu's careful with his choice of words. Still believing it’s not his place to talk about what goes on in Jungkook’s life, he can’t not be honest with you, not when you’re so close to him he’s sure you can read every expression on his face.

A drop of sweat drips down the side of his face, training your eyes to follow its way down until it dampens the side of his mouth.

“You're best friends.” A remainder, more to yourself than to him.

“Doesn't mean I have to agree with everything he does.”

Mingyu hopes you understand the meaning behind his words.

You hope he doesn't notice the way your eyes stayed too long on his moving lips before going back to his eyes.

You both hope for things you can't voice out, charging the little space between your stares with electricity. With his hand forgotten in your hold, reading his expression becomes your main task.

None of you dare move, and you know, somehow, that he's waiting for you to do something –anything. What you don't know is what you want.

Your phone chimes in your back pocket just when you part your lips to speak. There's a millisecond, barely noticeable to anyone who wasn't watching Mingyu's gaze closely, where his eyes drift down your face. With your lips dry at his attention, you break the spell, letting go of his hand to reach for your phone.

Nayeon asks where you disappeared to, and sends a long chain of suspecting emojis when you tell her who you’re with.

“I–I have to get back.” Getting up from the weak motel bed in a flash, Mingyu's eyes follow you to the door. “Sorry for taking up your time.”

“You gotta stop with that.” He stops you in your tracks, with a soft grip on your wrist to turn you back to him.

“Stop talking like you're a bother.” He doesn't let you dismiss him. “You don't bother me. I wouldn't spend time with you if you did.”

“You didn't use to like me. And now you pity me, that's why you spend time with me.” Even if you'd like to believe otherwise.

“That's not true.” He doesn't let go of you, and you stop aiming to get out the door. “I don't pity you.”

“You never talked to me until you caught me crying that day.” Your head tilts, trying not to seem so serious with your counter argument.

Another text comes through your phone. You shouldn't be wasting time on such an important night. But is it really wasted time if you're spending it with him?

“It wasn't about you.” Mingyu reveals, but it doesn't really clear up your doubts. “I don't like getting to know people I'm not sure will stick around.”

“So, it's true.” You bring your arm out of his grip, a way to protect yourself. “I wasn't supposed to last this long.”

“Look. It's not my place, and I've already gotten too involved.” Mingyu's words fly over you, choosing not to overthink what he means. “Jungkook's shit is Jungkook’s shit, but you can decide what to do too. Don't wait for him to make a decision for you.”

“I'm capable of making my own decisions, Mingyu.” You say, convinced but weary of his tone.

“I know you are. He doesn't.”

The silence is striking, breathtaking, heartstopping. Words don't come up in your brain, an infinite echo of Mingyu's remark rendering you incapable of following a simple order.

“See you tomorrow.” You can only offer him a small smile before finally leaving the room full of him.

The applause almost breaks you down. You can finally take a deep breath. The thing you’ve been preparing for weeks, taking up most of your sleep time and raising the bar for how much stress you can handle, is finally done.

Well, not completely. Your speech is done, yes, but the time for questions begins. Jennie and Nayeon answer everything swiftly as your eyes scan the room for any known faces. You finished the presentation and you can barely catch your breath as your heart tries to slow down, so they take on the most annoying part of the job.

From across the room, behind the people eager to ask their questions with their hands in the air or attentively listen to your friends’ responses, the tall man only looking at you makes your heart stop.

Was he there the whole time? When you speak in a room full of people, you tend to disappear into your own mind, barely registering what surrounds you until your time’s up. He could've just got here, but deep down you know he didn’t. Deep down, you know he’s been there since the start, supporting you without your knowledge.

As a hand on your shoulder starts gently dragging you away from the stand, splitting the way between your connected stares, a sense of accomplishment washes over you. You're done, you can carry on with your life. 

In the hallway just outside where you just spent the most stressful hours of your life, you can hear the next group beginning their presentation, one that luckily you’re not required to be present for. Perks of being in the line up.

Getting out the other door, Mingyu searches for you and finds you walking over to him with the biggest smile adorning your face.

“What did you think?” Your friends’ giggles make it to your ears from behind. Merging the constant teasing you’re the victim of with their infatuation with Mingyu is dangerous, but there really is only one thing in your mind now.

“You talked really well.” The highlight of every word as his eyebrows wiggle with confusion lights a warmth in your belly that spreads across your body into a chuckle.

“You didn’t understand a thing, did you?” 

“I didn’t.” It’s his chuckle, and his smile, and his eyes glimmering, and his chin tilted down to get a better look at you.

Have you ever felt this way before? Easy under someone’s gaze, unafraid of making them feel less intelligent. He’s… genuinely happy for you. Out of all the presentations in the schedule, your subject matter was the least close to his field, yet he chose to listen to your sociology lesson.

“Thank you for coming.” You say before the magic fades. “You–you didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t want to miss it.” He’s the most genuine he can possibly be.

Mingyu undoubtedly, and selfishly, cares about you. From the sidelines, he saw you getting the opportunity, the toll the preparations were taking on you. He wasn’t going to skip one of the biggest moments of your life after seeing you struggle for so long.

“That makes one of you.” You don’t mean it to sound as spiteful, but the sour taste in your mouth as you realize who isn’t present triggers the resentful tone. “Anyway, I’m not gonna let some asshole ruin my day! We’re going to celebrate with the girls and some guys I have no idea how they managed to make friends with, do you want to come?”

Mingyu doesn't think about what you mean behind your invitation. “Sure, if you want me there.” He’d jump at any chance he got to spend time with you. 

Ever since that night at the pool bar, Mingyu never forgot your willingness to not let one bad moment overshadow an otherwise enjoyable day. A quality he could learn from. That’s why, he also can’t forget about the moments he comforted you, when everything became so overwhelming you had no choice but to let it all out.

“Let’s go then!” Your hand aims to stretch back for him to take, but the little angel on your shoulder wins this round, and you just walk out the hall with Mingyu following you, hand hanging cold by your side.

The evening sky greets you on the outside world, and the fresh air filling your lungs after being trapped inside the suffocating new college is very welcomed by your body.

Following your friends wherever they go, letting them choose which bar or club to go celebrate, you can only smile and silently walk behind them. Mingyu’s towering presence occupies the space to your right. He’s also silent, admiring the new city, letting you have the unspeaking moment you need.

It’s not long before you’re getting into a club with flashing colored lights and loud pop music coming out of the speakers. The sense of accomplishment embodies you whole. One less thing to worry about, one less thing weighing you down. You won't let anyone take the freedom from you.

It’s a carefree night. You let yourself be dragged to the packed dance floor, your friends leading the way amidst all the bodies crowding as they dance out of sync.

Being drunk could never compare to the happiness you feel as you join everyone dancing. You allow the music to take over you, with your hips and limbs coordinating to the rhythm of each song playing, blending into the sea of people.

You don't know when, you don't care how, and with no will to stop, you and Mingyu drift towards each other, the little space and dim atmosphere making it easy to hide everything wrong with what you're doing.

“You're happy.” Mingyu leans down to say to your ear. The only way you could hear him over all the noise.

“I am!” You don't fight the smile growing in your lips, focusing on the way Mingyu's eyes scan your face under the blue lights.

This time, the battle between the little angel and the devil dictating your choices ends with the victory of the mischievous voice that tells you to inch closer to Mingyu.

With the excuse of the loud music, you stand on your tiptoes to reach the side of his face, your lips grazing his ear as you say, “I'm glad you came.”

His hands steady you in place before you lose your balance, holding onto your hips and keeping you in place.

You should swat his hands away. He should stand back from the girl who isn't his. The tension sizzles from the tip of his fingers barely dipping into a bit of uncovered skin and up your body until your chest tightens.

“I'm sure you'd want someone else here.” Even with the scandalous meaning behind his words, you don't ignore the light teasing tone he purposely uses.

“I'm not thinking about him right now.” His eyes search for yours, finding only truth in them.

The people surrounding you, unscrupulously dancing against each other and paying you no mind, sway your bodies from side to side. Neither of you make a move to separate, letting the pushing crowd be the excuse for your closeness. You have the urge to wrap your arms around his neck, but you fight it. Maybe if he was something else, you would.

But the universe would never let you be this careless without some karma waiting for you.

When your gaze reluctantly disconnects from Mingyu's in search for your friends, the sight of two familiar people catches your attention a few meters to the side. You should've known he was with her. That he'd choose her over you even for this.

They're just dancing, and you can't complain about it because you're currently in the arms of another man too. It's just… different. 

Your hands find Mingyu's still on your sides, grabbing them softly to get them off you as your eyes go from the scene you just witnessed to him and then back. Of course, he gets it immediately.

“I can talk to him.” Mingyu has this instinct now, to shield you from having a bad time.

“No, I'll do it. I have a few things in mind to say.” While you appreciate him wanting to help, it’s something you have to do on your own. You can’t shield behind Mingyu any longer.

Making the sacrifice of looking like a psychotic girlfriend, the adrenaline moves your legs forward, no time to think further about what you’re about to do. They don’t see you coming, they probably didn’t even see you with Mingyu before, too sucked into their bubble to notice other people.

“Jungkook.” His shocked expression just confirms your theory. He notices you’re mad quickly, but the wheels turning in his mind, failing to find the reason for your anger, are so visible you can’t control your mouth. “Glad to see you’re having fun.”

“Hi, babe! I didn’t—see you come in!” He leans into the wall behind him for support, body as stiff as ever. “Having a good time?”

“Are you kidding me?” Admittedly, you’re raising your voice a few decibels over the necessary amount, but you’ve never cared less about drawing attention than at this moment. “You really forgot, huh?”

Only then, Jungkook realizes he messed up. It’s not normal to see you angry, especially not at him. “Let’s talk outside, okay? It’s quieter.”

You catch his eyes going back to Cathlyn before he places a hand on your lower back to direct you to the door. Astonishing, really.

“You could make it less obvious, at least.” The harsh cold night wind slaps you even more awake. “I’m not stupid, Jungkook.”

You’re not dressed to be standing outside on the street at this hour. The city’s too windy, making you shiver as if it was the middle of winter. You don’t want to look weak in Jungkook’s eyes, you need to look like you stand your ground. The cold is a mental state anyway, you can fight it.

“You’re not, babe, but what are you talking about? What are you doing here?” His cluelessness does everything but help his situation.

“We’re celebrating that our presentation was a success.” At the news, everything clicks in Jungkook’s mind.

“It was today.” Jungkook reminds himself out loud.

“Of course it was today! Why else do you think we drove all this way?” He has to be a special kind of disengaged and disinterested to selectively wipe his memory like this, you think.

“I’m sorry, baby! So much happened today, and I thought you didn’t want to see me after last night.”

“Don’t use one fight as an excuse. You forgot or you didn’t care. Either way, this was important to me and you didn’t come.”

People passing you on the street side eye the scene you’re making. Jungkook seems to care about being judged, taking in account the way his eyes widen at every raise of your voice.

At his silence, you keep going. “What did Cathlyn fucking need this time? What could have possibly been more important than your girlfriend?” It feels pathetic to call yourself that.

“You have to understand,” his voice becomes tense at the utterance of her name, “she’s my best friend. She means everything to me.”

You’re positive she’s listening to all of this. Hiding behind the club’s door waiting for the chance to come out and comfort her oh so dear best friend. It’s not her fault, but it’s hard not to grow an ill feeling thinking about her.

“Don’t I mean anything? Why get into a relationship with me if you won’t take it seriously? If you’re in love with someone else?”

It’s hard to form an articulated sentence when the anger and the sadness spar in your mind. It’s hard not to feel desperate, a pitiful attempt at making a careless man care about you.

Your gaze trains on the floor, tuning out Jungkook’s lame excuses and not truthful apologies. Without looking at him, and with only the grey sidewalk on sight, it’s like you can think clearly for the first time.

“I’m sorry, baby, I promise I’ll make it up to you.” It’s just a moment where you let his words register, and it’s the last thing you need to decide.

“No. You won’t.”

Jungkook shuts up instantly. Your gaze doesn’t falter this time, locking into his with your best poker face. You can see every thought passing through his mind, every little reaction he fights to show. He analyzes your expression, looking for another meaning, for any sign that you don’t mean what you said.

“I promise I will, baby, c’mon.”

The thing is, after so many promises, those words coming out of his mouth become meaningless. They’re just empty words he uses to get you to forgive him, he’s not being truthful, he’s just begging so he can feel better with himself.

“No! You won’t! That was your last chance.” It gets clearer and clearer to him what you’re saying.

You shouldn't have been silently enduring the scraps of his attention he was giving you. Waiting for your growing feelings to be reciprocated by someone who doesn’t respect you. Those feelings, however big or small —you’re not sure, quickly started dissipating at the realization that he simply didn’t care. It wasn’t his memory, or his busy schedule, it was the lack of intention. Care and intention he always showed to someone else.

“Babe…” He sounds like he gave up too, one last pity attempt you know he doesn’t mean.

“We’re done. You never wanted to be with me, and I certainly don’t want to be with you anymore.”

When you start walking away, Jungkook doesn’t stop you, standing where you left him with his eyes lost to the ghostly street.

Realizing the burden he’s been on your life and letting it go finally lets you see clearly. Your night might’ve been ruined, but you’re liberated from that pain. You’re not happy, but you’re not sad either, just walking forward, a new future ahead.

You’ve walked almost two whole blocks, the motel a half block away, when the sound of rushed steps chasing you alerts you. You didn’t think anyone would be coming after you, but you realize who it is right when the figure appears in your line of sight.

“Are you okay?” Mingyu’s breathless, slowing his pace to match yours. He definitely heard everything that happened.

“Yeah, I think so.” Even if you sound convinced, he stays walking with you.

“I’ll walk you inside.” He doesn’t look back, deciding on what to do. But you know he should be making sure his friend is okay. You guess he is, though.

“I'll be fine. You can stay with—”

“I want to make sure you’re okay.” Mingyu interrupts you before you can say the other’s name. “I don't care about him right now.”

Your heart stops for a moment before your brain catches up. All those times Jungkook left you and Mingyu came right to the rescue, when he got annoyed at them in the pool bar, or admitting he didn’t like what Jungkook was “choosing”. Of course he has to know how his best friend and roommate feels about everyone.

“You knew it all this time.” He doesn’t look at you, staring at the distance as he listens closely. “That he’s in love with her.”

“I didn't want to be the one to tell you.”

Your room door’s just one step away now, but you still stop in your tracks at his words. You never thought of his silence as his way to shield you from the truth. You never thought that the initial pity he took on you —even if he denies it, came from a place of hiding something from you.

“He was in love with somebody else while being with me! That’s the kind of thing you need to tell me!” Luckily, the hallway is completely deserted at this hour. You wouldn’t want to make another scene. You’re more aware of everything now, free but raw, as if anything could scar you.

“It wasn't my place!” For a second you understand Mingyu. Imagining him even implying it hurts more than realizing the truth yourself. But it still hurts. You trusted him with your most vulnerable moments, and all that time he hid that he knew the real cause for that pain. “And don't act like you didn't know it too.”

Mingyu’s harsh comment feels like a punch in the gut. There’s no malice in his tone, you’ve come to know him and his tendency to be too direct sometimes, it was just unexpected this time.

But he is right. There were signs everywhere for you to see, signs you turned a blind eye to. It was a thought that often crossed the back of your mind, but you dismissed it before you could think about it further. You were stupid to think you were paranoid and it meant nothing.

“Stop.” You realize you weren't looking at him and shoot your gaze up. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t blame yourself. He’s the asshole and you’re not at fault for believing him.”

“But I shouldn’t have. I thought I was smarter than that, turns out I’m just dumb.” You want to curl up in bed, hide from the judging outside world and forget all about Jungkook and the past few weeks. But not all of it.

“He’s the dumb one for not seeing how great you are.” Mingyu's hand on your shoulder manages to comfort you enough to hold off on the tears. “Are you okay? About breaking it off?”

“I know it was the right choice for me. But I have to assimilate it, I think. Sleep it off”

Mingyu nods in acknowledgement as your hand reaches for the doorknob. As if that was your way of ending the conversation, he turns his body to head out the grimy hallway, because he knows what’s next. You’ll cut off everything related to your now ex, a pack of memories in which he himself is included. This is why he shouldn’t have gotten involved with you. There’s no way you’ll want to be in touch with him after everything.

“Mingyu.” It’s your voice that makes him turn around. Even considering how heartbroken you must be, there’s a slight grin on your face as you think about what to say next. “I didn’t say I wanted to be alone.”

His heart accelerates as if it was miles ahead of the thought process his brain is having a hard time catching up with. Still, beyond whatever he wants and feels, he knows you need some time to think clearly, someone to be there for you regardless of feelings.

At his hesitation, you open the door and look back at him as you enter. It’s a clear invitation, one he accepts immediately.

After closing the door behind him, the unmade bed calls his name and he sits at the edge to take his shoes off as you begin your night routine in front of the bathroom mirror.

“I’m curious about something.” You look cute smothering moisturizing cream all across your face, Mingyu thinks. “Do you think she likes him back?”

He finds it in himself to chuckle. “Do you really want to talk about that right now?”

“Look, I won’t be sad about it if I can turn it into a gossip session later. It’s my way of getting over things, so please just indulge me this time.”

You’re looking at him as you tap your face with the pads of your fingers. Mingyu doesn’t see an ounce of sadness in your expression, instead, you’re very serious with what you’re asking. And he won’t argue with that logic, if that’s what it takes to help you forget and spend more time with you.

“She never told me anything.” Your half closed eyes and head turned to the side signal Mingyu to keep talking. “If he confessed, I think she could like him back. They already act like a couple anyway.”

Mingyu realizes he went too far. You don’t say anything, but your shoulders slouch before you grab your pajamas from the nightstand and lock yourself in the bathroom. That was definitely not what you wanted to hear. Shit.

“I hope they can finally realize they’re idiots.” When the door opens to reveal the loose but all too revealing clothes barely covering your body, Mingyu can almost hear all the air in his lungs escaping at once. “Are you getting in bed?”

Maybe it’s his mind playing sick games with him. You can’t possibly be asking him to slip under the covers with you and be calm about it. There’s a lot of things he can calmly face up to. The idea of laying down so close to the person who’s been making a mess of his every thought is not one of those. 

Still, he follows suit with your not so indirect invite. He doesn’t want to make assumptions about you, about the situation, or about what you want, so he lets you take the lead for tonight. Trusting that you’ll show him what you need and believing that he can give it to you.

The both of you lay awkwardly side by side, facing the ceiling deep in thought. Only the breathing sounds and the way your arm grazes against his keep Mingyu’s senses in check. He feels like a highschooler having his first conversation with his crush. He can no longer be the cool, calm self he praised himself to be. So, he resorts to silence.

“Was he always like that? Ending relationships after realizing it’s not what he wants?” You turn in your place, facing him with those doe eyes of yours that always make him fold.

“If it makes you feel any better, I think it’s the girls that break up with him.” He mirrors your position, feeling better at the entire situation when he sees your smile at his comment.

“Good for them.”

There’s something in your gaze that makes Mingyu question if it’s worth it to be loyal to his friend. Though that moral code must’ve been broken already, there’s still a line, no matter how thin, he hasn’t crossed yet. Emphasis on ‘he’, because he can never be sure what’s your next move.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He dares to ask again.

Mingyu’s hyper aware of how close you are. How you shift a bit closer to him as you think your answer. He thought the clothes he was wearing were okay to sleep in, but his bodily temperature keeps rising at the thought of you.

“I still feel a bit stupid.” He can’t stand hearing you talk about yourself like that, but he doesn’t get to argue. You shut his mouth closed, placing your index finger on the center of his lips before he can utter a word. A touch so innocent he immediately feels bad at how electrifying it felt. “My friends warned me that his relationships never lasted. And I guess I wanted to see it for myself. Have the empirical data, if you will.”

He sees your gaze go down from his eyes, and your hand goes down with it to whatever caught your attention. He swallows hard, waiting for just one signal. The chain around his neck tugs at the back, and he realizes you’re inspecting the little charm hanging from it.

“It’s not like I was in love with him.” Every word you say feels like fire on his end. “He was fun at first. That’s what I liked about him.”

You play with Mingyu’s chain like it’s second nature. Like you don’t realize your hand’s dangerously close to his chest, about to feel the beating of his heart growing stronger each second.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” That makes your eyes go up again, eyelashes fluttering so close he could count each one of them.

“I get why you didn’t, you’re a good friend. And I think it was better for me to realize on my own, if that makes you feel any better.” The smile that grows on him matches yours perfectly.

“I don’t know how much of a good friend I am anymore.” The honesty slips out of him under your scanning stare. “I’m here after all, aren’t I?”

Mingyu should feel guilty. He left the bar to go after you without so much of a second thought, leaving his supposed best friend to deal with everything on his own. That’s how much he cares about you. His need for you overflows into every area of his life, making the guilt disappear into the stream of things that don’t matter. You’re not taken anymore. And, deep down, he knows Jungkook’s going to be fine. He doesn’t care about you even a fraction of how much Mingyu does.

He’s still deep in thought when he feels your hand going up the side of his jaw. Your icy fingers contrast against his fiery skin, driving him to lean into your touch. He’d close his eyes and let you do anything you wanted if it wasn’t for the intoxicating force of your gaze.

The irrational part of his brain doesn’t let him stop you as your face gets closer so his. You’re slowly testing the waters, seeing if he’ll back down, but Mingyu’s quicker, and leans down the last millimeters to finally connect.

Your lips melt against his with a soft sigh, and everything stills for a moment. Enveloped with the tenderness of your touch, he feels you hazily pressing further against him, unsurely yearning for more.

But the rational part of his brain, the one that tugs on the last strand of morale he has, retrieves his head from your electrifying kiss.

“We shouldn’t—” Mingyu regrets it instantly at the sight of your saddened eyes. But he knows it’s for the best. He couldn’t live with himself if you weren’t sure.

“You don’t want to?” The way your hand flies away from his personal space almost makes him take it and put it back where it belongs.

“I do.” He sounds desperate. He needs you to understand. “But you should see how you feel when you have a clear mind.”

A thousand thoughts rush through your mind, visibly turning your expression soft again. Mingyu offers his arm for you to lay on, the most outlandish peace offering he can make without losing his mind first.

“Okay.” Your soft voice reverberates up his arm as you lay your head on his relaxed bicep. “Do you want to leave?”

He couldn't begin to imagine any dimension in the multiverse where he'd choose to stay away from the featheriness of your skin against his. “Do you want me to leave?”

“I asked you first.” Your light chuckle heals the worry beginning to creep up on Mingyu. In the future, he'll make sure you never doubt him again.

“I don't want to leave.”

The way your smile keeps making a blank slate of his brain should worry Mingyu. But he's never felt this way before, and if there's a chance, however big or small, that you could feel the same way, he won't go back.

“And I want you to stay.”

The morning sun rays bleed through the flimsy curtain, illuminating the otherwise plain motel room in a golden light. You feel warm all around, wrapped in Mingyu’s arms instead of the bedsheets that sometime along the night seem to have fallen to the floor.

But even in the confinement of Mingyu’s backhug, you feel free. What has been dragging your spirit through the floor finally cut from your life. The previous night’s events faded to a distant memory as soon as you laid your head in Mingyu’s chest and drifted to the best sleep you’ve had in weeks.

You don’t dare turn in his hold, afraid to wake him up and make him face the day. That’s the one thing you haven’t been able to dust off since you opened your eyes. The guilt.

Maybe for you, cutting Jungkook out of your life was the best decision, but Mingyu was his friend first, and last night, for whatever reason, he chose you. He chose to comfort the whiny girl that dumped his boyfriend instead of his best friend since they were in the womb.

The morning with him feels like sunrises on the beach, like a warm cup of coffee on the coldest day, like being trapped in an infinite bear hug. It feels like hope. And the guilt from wanting it all could consume you whole just like the need for him.

Mingyu must have mind reading superpowers, because his arms tighten around you before the guilt overwhelms you, easily forgetting it all at the feeling of his breath on your neck.

Neither of you say anything, sharing the comfortable silence, relishing being in each other’s arms. You don’t stop him when he tangles his legs with yours, feeling him everywhere from head to toe. You let your hands caress his forearms as they drift dangerously close to your lower belly.

It’s wrong. It’s definitely wrong on some moral level. Borderline evil even. It’s too soon, and you need to understand what you’re feeling before moving forward with whatever this is. This that feels so nice, so right, but so wrong.

Mingyu doesn’t seem to be having the same moral dilemma that’s running around your mind anymore. The hardness you feel pressing against your inner thigh followed by a gasp that spreads goosebumps all across your back confirming your theory.

In the morning haze, in the limbo between days where time doesn’t run and actions don’t have consequences, you give into his infectious desire. The agreement you made the night before flying out the window as soon as a fire ignites all across your body.

You purposely grind against him, the indecent action causing your face to feel even warmer. A low moan gets caught in Mingyu’s throat at the feeling of your ass against his morning wood, one hand gripping your hip to keep you in place.

“What are you doing?” His raspy voice sends another fire down your body, making you squirm in his grip.

“Nothing.” You feign innocence, pretending to straighten your posture but ultimately pressing yourself harder against his chest. “You don't like it?”

The space between your bodies is crushed impossibly tighter until all you can feel are his muscles tensing in his search for you. The barrier you left standing the night before, demolished with little care as he sighs to your ear.

“It's not that, princess,” every bit of skin Mingyu touches works like a button to make you need him more and more, “we should wait.”

You'd agree with him if it wasn't for the elastic of your sleeping shorts stretching to fit his wandering hand. It’s a timid action, one that contradicts his words but only gets encouraged by your gasp. These aren’t the hands that held you close when you were broken, no, these are the ones that felt you shiver pretending to teach you to play pool, the ones that pushed you against him in the dimness of the club. The ones you crave with your whole body.

At your reaction, he drifts further down, playing with the hem of your panties so painfully slow the grip of your hand on his forearm grows stronger with each second he doesn't fully touch you. His lips graze your shoulder, trying to contain himself from kissing every inch he can reach.

When he flattens on your pelvis, pressing you against his faltering hips, you swear your whimper drives him to not so innocently thrust behind you. The room is impossibly hot, but you don’t care, nothing matters other than your need to feel him inside.

Your mouth opens, hoping to work enough to plead for him, but a loud knock on your door startles you both out of the embrace.

If the earth it’s going to swallow you at any point in life, you hope it’s right then and there. Your panties are uncomfortably sticky as your embarrassed gaze connects with Mingyu, the both of you speechless with guilt. The most awkward second ever before another knock echoes into the room.

“Tell Jennie I’ll be out in a second? I promised her we’d go out for breakfast together.”

The embarrassment doesn’t let you look at him a second longer before you lock yourself in the bathroom. Maybe a splash of cold water on your face can help you not look like you just got cockblocked.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

However Mingyu thought his morning would go, the reality was far from his imagination, though it felt far better. He wouldn't mind waking up next to you again, heating up your skin with his touch until you whimper for him.

The sight of you, just woken up and shy at the boldness of what you just did, puts a sheepish smirk on his face. He almost forgets the wrongness of everything. But the decision he made, selfish and long forgotten, quickly comes back to bite him in the ass as he opens the door.

“Wow, this is a nice sight!” Jungkook's face morphs into sarcastic shock as the door reveals a disheveled Mingyu.

“What are you doing here?” In all honesty, Mingyu didn’t think about his friend last night, deep down knowing he wasn’t going to be hurt for long.

“Are you her bodyguard now? I just want to talk about last night.” Jungkook attempts to take half a step into your room, but Mingyu immediately blocks the door.

“It’s not the time to get in my way, man.” The baseless threat doesn’t make Mingyu budge in the slightest, which pisses Jungkook off. The man’s eyes widen after scanning the state of the room. “Did you fuck her?”

“What?” Mingyu can't believe what he's hearing. 

“I asked, Did. You. Fuck. Her?” Speaking each word with clenched teeth, Jungkook's voice bleeds anger.

“Why do you care?”

Jungkook barely lets him finish his question. “So you fucked her.”

The crude language puts a bitter taste in Mingyu's mouth. As if only the sex mattered and not everything else. Not that he comforted you at your weakest, that you opened up your heart to him, that you kissed him so softly he almost passed out. Mingyu can only hope the bathroom door miraculously becomes soundproof.

“Don't pretend to care about her now.” Never in his life has he talked to Jungkook this way, always afraid of what could happen to their friendship if he tried to put some sense into him. Then again, his actions never hurt someone Mingyu actually cared about.

“I bet you couldn’t wait for me to dump her.” The words spit out of Jungkook’s mouth like acid. “Eager to take on my leftovers.”

“Dude, I get that you're mad, but you're getting out of line.” The peacemaker in Mingyu takes over —it’s either that or a punch in the face, and tries to get his friend back in the hallway.

“I’m not mad!” He gasps with a hand to his chest. “Just shocked, that's all. Didn’t even let a day pass.” Venom coats every word he says, justifiably betrayed by the one friend he thought he could always count with.

“I didn’t mean for it to come to this,” Mingyu admits quietly, “I wasn’t supposed to care.”

There’s nothing as Jungkook processes those words. A tense second that becomes an infinite one, a void sucking every apology out of his mouth. Mingyu would pay millions to know what’s going on in his friend’s head. He could always tell what he was feeling even when he shut everyone off. But he was never the one causing his anger.

“I can g—”

“I’ll take the bus home with Cathy.” Is all Jungkook says.

His blank face waits for Mingyu to nod before walking away with no second thoughts. Out of the million outcomes he thought for this conversation, Mingyu never thought he’d be the one left speechless. But they both clearly need some time alone before going back to being roommates, before talking like two grown adults and resolving this.

It’s the sound of a door closing just meters behind him that takes him back to the room, your room.

Mingyu doesn’t know what to do to shield you from the hurt. He’s tired of simply being there to comfort you in the aftermath. He can’t stand the sight before him, your lips turn downwards trying to get a hold of your feelings. He can see it all, the process of all the emotions going through your brain, until your face settles to a serious expression.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that.” Mingyu stays at the threshold of the door, not sure if you’d still want him as company.

“Don’t be. I’m glad I did.” You stay put in place, half a step from the messy bed, looking everywhere but at him. “At least I don’t have to feel guilty anymore.”

Guilt. That’s what he noticed when he gained consciousness and felt you tense in his hold. “About what happened earlier—”

“I’m sorry about that,” you interrupt him in his hesitation, “you said you didn’t want to and I crossed the line.”

“It’s not—” Your lips part in surprise as your eyes fly to his. “I—shit, I don’t want you to think I’m only being nice for something in return.”

“You should be glad I don’t think of you that way.” It’s a weird feel of rejection, the one in your heart as you start picking up your things. A man says he doesn’t want to have sex after rubbing himself against you and fighting with your ex boyfriend. “We should pack, get ready to leave.”

“What do you think of me then?”

Mingyu standing leaning against the doorframe, following your every move with his eyes, makes you stumble upon every possible obstacle on your way. Even with your gaze elsewhere, you can feel him watching your every move.

“I think you’re a good man that lacks a sense of urgency.” Unfortunately, you didn’t bring much stuff on the trip, and you’re getting to the end of things to take your mind off of Mingyu. “Are you going to stare at me all day?”

“I like you.” Mingyu’s sure about a lot of things, but at the weight lifting from his shoulders, the way you stop at his words and how you wait for him to continue, he’s certain he’s never felt like this before. “I’m sorry if that's weird and wrong to say, but I do.”

“I—” There’s no way to describe it, how your mind clears of any reasonable thought the second those words escape Mingyu’s lips.

“You don’t have to say anything. Like I said last night, I want you to figure out how you feel on your own time. I’ll be here, you can count on me. I’m not going anywhere.”

His assurance helps. He somehow always knows how to help you, what to say, how to act.

Before you know it, you’re face to face with him, his warmth embracing you as he tilts his head down, waiting for your next move. Your cheek lays softly on his chest after wrapping your arms around him, hugging him tightly, the only way you have to express your gratitude.

Warm air effortlessly fills your lungs, the scent of him coating every one of your senses as he replicates your hug. His arms feel right around you, as if you were meant to be like this forever, and you relax in his hold.

“Thank you.” Two simple words that mean so much more are the only thing you manage to utter, hoping he'll understand. 

“Always.”

Some girls my friends met at the congress came to town and begged for us to take them to a club Do you want to come? It’s close to my place

As soon as you press send, you throw your phone at your bed on the other side of the room.

It’s been two weeks since the most eventful weekend of your life. Two weeks since you finally stood up for yourself and chose your well being for once. Two weeks since Mingyu started being one of the most important parts of your everyday life.

Those afternoons when he made you wonder if you actually fit in his friend’s life, when the thought of him would cause you an immediate headache, feel like a ghost of the past. You couldn’t imagine not being around him now, not receiving his ominous texts in the middle of the night after he finishes a random project for college that you don’t understand, or not seeing his face after class when he picks you up and  rambles about how good his class was that day.

He promised he’d be there for you, waiting for you to see how you feel about him without expecting anything in return. And every day that passes, the hurt and confusion fades away bit by bit, and a new, stronger, unexplored, feeling grows in your heart.

You don’t know what compelled you to invite Mingyu out of nowhere. You’re fully dressed, about to leave and with your friends already waiting on your building’s front door, but something at the back of your mind itched with a potent need to see him. Your fingers clicked on his contact and texted him before you could realize what you were doing.

It’s not two minutes later that your phone vibrates with a new notification. Your skin crawls with the combined anxiety of wanting to see him but also not wanting to see him at all. The usual two feelings that fight to take over every time you think of him.

You’re quick to run out your apartment before your friends come up and drag you out themselves. With your unlocked phone in hand, Mingyu’s name lights up your screen.

Sure. Text me address. I’ll meet you there.

The simplicity of his texts always makes you chuckle, embarrassingly smitten by his short sentences. You quickly text him the name and address before hopping off the elevator and joining your friends in the cold weather in which you’re not meant to be wearing the club clothing you chose.

You’d be a liar if you didn’t admit you were nervous to see Mingyu. The change came without warning. After getting used to him checking up on you, learning your coffee order and your class schedule, the anticipation started taking over you. Your eyes look for him around campus, your feet flee out of your classroom knowing he’s going to be there waiting for you.

You try to distract yourself when you get too in your mind about it, about him. It’s a difficult new kind of occurrence you’re not sure how to navigate, so you resort to acting nonchalant about it. That’s why, when he arrives and your friends make eyes at you, you don’t let the subject go further than admitting you invited him. It’s a normal thing for people to invite their friends to hang out!

But no matter how hard you try, your eyes don’t stop wandering to the bar, where Mingyu’s forgotten his quest to get another round of drinks and is talking to the most graceful and gorgeous woman alive.

Of course, Mingyu chose tonight of all nights to look like a prince coming to the rescue. A fitted black shirt that even with the lack of light inside the club managed to highlight his build. You almost fainted when he locked eyes with you across the room and smiled walking all the way to you.

And you’d caught that girl’s eyes glued to him when he first entered the club and greeted you all. As soon as he took one step away from you to walk to the bar, the girl unhooked herself from your group and followed him. 

“I wonder what’s taking so long with the drinks," You’re barely processing your words as they leave your mouth. As if you haven’t been policing the interaction since it started.

“Yeah, did he…” Jennie’s voice trails out before she can finish, following the line of sight you basically burned in the air after so many stares. A small smirk flashes through her before she mumbles, “Oh.”

Now there’s four more pairs of eyes witnessing why you’re making a fool out of yourself.

“Guess he found something else to do.” Still digging your own grave, you can’t stop making stupid comments.

Jennie and Nayeon exchange a look you’re too busy to catch, while you make sure your empty drink is still… empty. Yeah, the very interesting plastic cup in your hand. Definitely the most interesting sight you can be staring at. The cheap cocktail you thought could ease out the anxiety, and now that the little effect it had left your body, all you can do is laugh at yourself.

“Who is she anyway?” You didn’t even catch her name before she jumped at the chance to get Mingyu alone.

“We presented right after her.” Your friend’s voice barely reaches you over the loud music, and on top of that, you don’t really care to know much about her anyway.

“Right…”

It’s not a big deal. What else did you expect? That he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off you like the last time you were in a club together? That you’d feel him all around you again as he felt you up with everyone watching? Stupid. You got too comfortable, took him for granted, and he got tired.

“Are you okay?” Nayeon materializes by your side, her hand on your arm steering your eyes back to her.

“He can do whatever he wants! I really don’t care.” Seeing how they can always tell what’s going on with you, of course they read through the lines.

The other two girls you came with look confused before they dare to speak up.

“We tried telling her that he was off limits," One says as the other confesses, “We thought you two were together.”

The girls’ confusion only fuels yours. You really didn’t want to think about it further before, just in case, but it gets you wondering. “W—why would you think that?”

“We just saw you talking after you presented," The blonde one giggles before her friend adds. “You guys looked cute!”

How did they get to that conclusion after the simplest interaction? Were you that obviously nervous? Was the prickling of your skin visible when he stood too close by your side? It’s become the norm for you two to act this way, the invisible skinship boundary long broken.

Deep down, you know there’s no reason to doubt him. You want to be weary of him, find one single flaw to use as an excuse to not like him, but it’s pointless. Mingyu’s never proven to be anything other than supportive. He’s been so patient with you, the deeper feelings for him developed almost on their own. No warning.

Even before breaking up with Jungkook, Mingyu was always present. Since that first day he found you crying, he made sure you had company, made sure you didn’t get too in your head and helped you have a good time. He was there for you before you even realized you needed it.

You took him for granted for too long, and now he has a pretty girl in front of him showing clear signs of attraction, all while you get scared texting him.

You've been so stupid, so blind to what you had in front of you, that now you're losing it, seeing it disappearing from your life with your own eyes.

The charged stares you've been sparing them must've made their way into Mingyu’s sixth sense, because he finally unglues his eyes from the girl and connects them with yours. You know you have no right to be jealous, you two are nothing, just two people with a very complicated relationship.

As if he knew everything going through your mind, Mingyu smirks your way. He fucking smirks. The twist of his lips cause a chain reaction from your hanging jaw down to your insides becoming a roller coaster. You barely hear your friends saying they’re going to the restroom, choosing to stay and challenge Mingyu.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

When he got your text inviting him out, Mingyu was sitting on the couch that had seen it all happen. Jungkook, just beside him, easily took a peek at the notification that lit up his friend's mood.

“Is that her?”

Even if they’ve resolved the bad blood between them, Mingyu couldn’t help to hide the reality of his feelings from Jungkook. “Yeah," He told him after replying to your text.

Mingyu could count with one hand the few times you had dared to text him first these past few weeks. Seeing your name pop up, inviting him out, was thrilling.

It's been no secret that every time Mingyu disappeared to go somewhere unannounced, he was going with you. Jungkook knew it, but it was time he encouraged it.

“Dude, if you like each other, I'm not looking to get in between," Jungkook assured with his eyes back to the tv in front of them.

“Isn’t it weird?” Mingyu tested the waters, checking if he was hallucinating the support.

“It’s only weird if you make it weird," Jungkook shrugged, as if it were that simple.

The situation is weird. And maybe it will always be weird.

Mingyu started making up this fantasy in his head, where, in the future, you’ve finally let him in and he can love you the way you deserve. One where you can look back at the past and laugh with that blinding toothy smile of yours, with all the hurt being just a distant memory. But before you two get to that point, Mingyu will make sure nothing gets in the way of your happiness ever again. And he foolishly hopes you find it with him.

“Is she okay?” Jungkook’s question took Mingyu out of his thoughts. “I’ve been thinking if I should apologize or not.”

“She’s fine,” at that moment, Mingyu realized that maybe his best friend is better at hiding how he feels than he thought, “but an apology wouldn’t hurt.”

Having long conversations was never their strong suit, so the topic ended there, with Jungkook deep in thought and Mingyu getting up to change clothes.

Something drove him to try and be more presentable for you. The last time you two went to a club together, he almost gave up everything right then and there. Now that there are no barriers between the two of you, he won’t hold back at your advances, he won’t freeze if you dance close to him. At least that was his initial goal.

When he arrived at the club, Mingyu had to pause as soon as he saw you across the room. The smile you showed your friend after something she said illuminated the whole room, leaving nothing else in front of his eyes but you.

He greeted all your friends as politely as he could without straying his eyes off you. His hand traveled itself onto the small of your back, keeping you intoxicatingly close to him as best he could. And he didn’t want to leave your side, but maybe breathing an air free of your perfume would help him think clearly, he thought.

Talking to one of the girls you were with, Mingyu partly feels bad for already forgetting her name. The overworked bartender’s taking too long to prepare all the drinks, and he has no other choice than to entertain the girl. 

Answering her questions gets harder and harder with the music blasting, and as she places her hand on his arm to get closer to him, Mingyu can feel the interaction being under someone’s scrutinizing eyes.

Is this all in his head? Are you really standing with your arms crossed and the cutest frown ever on your forehead, almost killing the girl in front of him with your stare? The corner of his mouth lifts autonomously at the thought of you not liking him flirting with another person.

He hasn’t seen this side of you, the jealous and slightly possessive one. And even if you’re nothing more than friends, he loves it. He loves the way you squint when you lock eyes, how you shrug when he doesn’t back down. It’s easy for him to excuse himself and walk towards you again.

At the sight of him, you turn your back on Mingyu, pretending to be dancing alone. So, he has no other choice but to stand behind you and ask in your ear. “Something on your mind?”

Your back tenses against his chest, but you don’t move away, allowing Mingyu to wrap his arms around your waist to keep you close. With your friends suddenly nowhere in sight, he interlocks your fingers while in his hold, helping you relax even if you’re still pretending to be mad.

“You took your time.” The initially suffocating sea of people now feels protective, working like a barrier between your bodies pressed tightly together and the outside world. “Having fun?”

“I am now," Mingyu’s lips graze the side of your face as they lit up in another smirk, growing goosebumps all across your body. “How about you?”

Somehow, being like this doesn’t feel weird. You’ve had Mingyu’s arms wrapped around you so many times now that they easily mold to your figure. There really is only one difference, one that none of you dare speak up but washes over your every interaction.

“I was thinking of going home already.” You look down at your hands tangled in one, fearing that Mingyu can notice at any time how butterflies erupt in your stomach at every word he purrs right in your ear. “Not much to do here.”

“I can take you," His choice of words halts your breath, but you remember.

Untangling Mingyu’s hands from yours, you turn around in his arms to face him, regretting instantly as soon as your eyes connect again.

“You should stay. You looked like you were having fun.” That makes Mingyu chuckle, and an embarrassed warmness bursts inside you at the sound.

“I didn’t think you were the jealous type, princess.” And you didn’t think he was the type to tease you in public, but life takes you to unthinkable roads sometimes.

You scoff as an excuse to take your eyes off him for a second. “Jealous, huh? You’re funny.”

In an intent to get away from his menacingly broad body, your hands take the unconscious decision to push his chest away. But you don’t have the true will to do it, or the strength. He’s too big, too muscly for you to move, and he traps your hands against him, against the sheerest shirt ever that lets you feel every muscle tense under your touch.

“I’d like to think I can make a girl laugh sometimes.” He’s all you can see, covering every spot in your vision with his unerasable teasing smirk.

“Yeah, I saw that.” At the roll of your eyes, there’s no denying that you’re jealous anymore. Do you really care if he knows anyway?

“Oh, you did? Controlling.”

“I’m not controlling! You can do whatever you want, I won’t get in your way.” If he wants to flirt with an emotionally available girl after the infinite amount of time he waited for you, you can’t stop him. You’ll take your feelings to the grave.

Something brews in Mingyu’s mind at your rebuttal. “You won’t?”

“No.” 

For the first time in forever, Mingyu willingly unclasps one of his hands from yours, “And if I do this?”

Mingyu’s fingers creep up your neck and get a hold of your chin, titling it up until you have no other choice but to look him in the eye. He waits for your answer, as if you’d ever say no. As soon as you nod, giving him the okay, another smirk is the only warning you get.

Your lips, meant to be pressed against his forever, part with a sigh as Mingyu's arms wrap around your waist. The world around you, with frantic music and people moving at lightspeed, fades to nothing in his embrace. You move along Mingyu’s soft lips naturally, letting your heart convey your feelings through the kiss.

The memory of that last kiss you dared give him all those days ago can’t compare to this one. There’s no hesitation this time, no guilt restraining you from following your true desire. Nothing outside your bubble really matters as your hands travel up his chest to keep his head in place.

His hair feels soft between your fingers as you push yourselves together closer and closer. You never want anything else in life, just kissing and kissing Mingyu until your lungs give out. It’s unfortunate that you can’t.

“Let me take you home," He gasps with your lips just millimeters away.

Your stomach twists and turns with anticipation. “Okay,” barely a whisper accompanies your nod, fearing the way your voice could come out if you said more.

With his hand in yours, walking the moonlit streets in swift steps and giggles, any worries you had slip away with the wind. The feeling of his lips linger on yours every second it passes, every breath you take, every step forward until you stop at an intersection and Mingyu pulls you into him again.

The walk blends between kisses and hand squeezes to check if you’re in a dream or not. You never want to back away from his hold ever again, but as your building materializes in front of you, you're forced to take your hand off the hem of his shirt.

The elevator’s wall hits your back as soon as the automatic doors let you in, barely giving you time to push your floor’s button before Mingyu’s over you again. His mouth takes yours with a hunger that grows every second you’re not inside your apartment. He’s losing control, succumbing to his desires the more you show your want for him.

By some way, your tangled bodies manage to reach your door, though Mingyu’s hands refusing to stop going over your hips and waist are the challenge to overcome. Your fingers tremble trying to turn the key the right way, your nervous system focusing on the lips kissing every inch of the side of your neck he can reach and his fingers slipping underneath the fabric of your top.

As soon as you close the door behind you, the reality closes in on you. With Mingyu’s arms wrapping around your waist again, the bag you forgot you were holding dropping onto the floor with a thud, and the bright lights in your apartment making everything clear.

Mingyu notices your sudden hesitation and stands before you, worried eyes studying you, looking for any sign to tell him what's happening in your mind.

“I made you get in a fight with your best friend," Your reminder is like a dagger against the silence.

“Is that what's bothering you?” His eyes find yours and understand immediately. “We're fine,” He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “he actually encouraged me to come tonight.”

Your eyes widen with hope, leaning into his touch when he doesn't retrieve his hand from the side of your face. “Did you guys—”

“We talked,” Mingyu's voice explains so softly, one wouldn't think he was just making you gasp with that same mouth on yours, “and I told him he should apologize to you.”

Standing in the middle of your entrance hallway, you feel stupid for even bringing that up. He wouldn't be here with you if he felt guilty. He wouldn't be cupping your face in his hands, making you look up to him to find the glimmer in his eyes outshining every light source in the room.

“And you’re sure about this?” What ‘this’ means, you’re not sure either.

“I've never been more sure about anything.” Your breath hitches at his answer, your body noticeably frozen as you look for a non-existent lie in his eyes. “Maybe we should take things slow, let you figure out what you want.”

Before he can back away from your personal space, you react. “No, no, I want this too. I want you.”

Those words coming out of your mouth combined with your hands gripping his shirt to keep him in place quickly make Mingyu regret his previous statement. You're so close, too close to him, saying you want him with your eyes dark and wide.

Mingyu’s hands stay on you, caressing the side of your face as if he was debating whether to give in and kiss you again or do the rational thing. Yours, instead, find the first button at the end of the all too well fitting shirt Mingyu’s wearing, and start unbuttoning it one by one.

“I should take you out on a real date first," Mingyu maintains with a sigh, but not stopping you in your quest.

“I personally think,” at his unmoving body, you take a step closer, with your hands against his chest not daring to sneak under the welcoming fabric, “we’re past that, don’t you think?”

For a second, Mingyu thinks you’ll be able to feel the rapid beating of his heart, stronger with each second your hands lay on his chest. Rationality is losing the fight against his desire.

“Just making sure this isn’t a rebound situation,” Mingyu blurts, even if he doesn’t really care about it for himself. He’d take whatever you give him.

“You aren’t a rebound. This isn’t a revenge plot.” You think for a second before you continue, “You saw me cry way too many times and were there for me at my weakest. You make me feel seen, wanted, and getting to know you has made my life better in ways I could’ve never imagined.”

Your words go through Mingyu's ears and right into his bloodstream, getting warmer and warmer the closer you get. His hands go down your body, encouraging you to move forward until your chests touch.

“I needed you even before I knew what I needed.” You can sense the tears beginning to build up, but you push through. He has to know. “I know what I want now, and it’s you.”

“If this is a dream, I never wanna wake up,” every word Mingyu says comes with a widening smile.

You chuckle, wrapping your arms around his neck with confidence, “I can assure you, it's not.”

As if you've been getting chased by your feelings all this time, putting it into words and letting it all out works, and your brain stops racing. You can finally breathe, think, see.

“So, was that a no about the date?” As always, Mingyu manages to make you chuckle again, and it reverberates all across both your bodies. Every shiver of his, you feel, with the minimal skin to skin contact against his barely uncovered chest and the tiniest top you found to put on.

“You can take me on a date another day. Now, I want something else.” You don't know where all this confidence is coming from, but seeing the shock in Mingyu's eyes, it only grows. “You okay with that?”

“I’ll give you anything you want.”

The space between your faces charges with electricity as you take in his words. An unconscious bite on your lower lip pulls his gaze down, egging him to close the space slowly. You almost don’t register his advance, focusing on the part of his lips that were just on yours minutes ago.

There’s nothing more to be said, no invisible walls to tear down, only you and him and the pull between you, pushing you closer until your breaths mix. After all the obstacles you overcame, and the bumps that lead you to where you are now, there’s no more time to waste.

When your heads meet again, your tingling lips mold against Mingyu’s for the thousandth time, worried about nothing and wanting it all. And he doesn’t hold back either. His hands on your waist venture up inside your top, feeling your back tense at his touch as the fabric crumples up, leaving more of you exposed to him.

You can’t hide your craving for him any longer. You follow his rhythm eagerly, making a mess of his hair between your fingers and pushing him further against you. Every touch of his makes you gasp, and he takes the opportunity to kiss down your jaw and neck. His hands and lips everywhere.

“Might as well just take this off.” Mingyu’s lips print a smirk on the sensitive skin of your neck before pulling back. You get what he means immediately as he tugs on your top, taking  it off you as soon as you put your arms up.

His hands feel your chest up to his liking, getting to know the places that make you sigh into his mouth. Every touch of his fingers makes that spot light up like fire, and every sound you make encourages Mingyu more and more.

Your hands sneak under his opened shirt, feeling the firmness of his chest directly elicits a groan from Mingyu, making you shiver as you slip the fabric down his arms.

Your living room becomes a cliché mess of scattered clothing before you direct the both of you to your bedroom. You barely have time to drink in Mingyu’s body before you’re falling with your back on the mattress, chest to chest again, bare against one another, free of any fabric in between.

Mingyu slots between your legs effortlessly, a low moan coming from him as his hardening length grinds softly on the crevice between your limbs. His golden skin that was the star of your every dream, finally at your reach, soft and warm under the pads of your fingers.

“Gyu—” Words choke up on your throat as you feel his lips wrapping around one of your nipples.

“You're gorgeous,” His lips against your chest makes you halt your movements, mind focused solely on him, “so pretty, only for me.”

It's almost as if he was talking to himself, but you moan at every compliment, arching your back for more of him. And he loves it. Loves the way you react to the stream of thoughts that run around his brain every time he looks at you.

“Fuck!” The curse leaves you both in unison when Mingyu finds his digits against your core.

“I barely even touched you and you're already ready for me?” Mingyu feels your reaction to his words first hand as a wave of arousal hits you.

“Fuck you,” you gasp and he chuckles, kissing down your torso until he’s facing your core.

“I'll take care of you, don't worry, baby.” His breath fans at your wet folds, so close to where you want him but still teasing you with his fingers.

You’re about to fight back when you feel him teasing at your opening, his eyes entranced by how ready you are for him. All the anticipation, the tension between you from the past weeks, culminating at once at this very moment.

The slickness leaking out of you from all the kissing and groping makes it easy for him to set the pace. Mingyu’s fingers stretch your insides with expertise, as if he learned every spot of yours to touch to have you squirming.

The torturously slow thrusts of his fingers drive you crazy, curling and hitting exactly where you need them before he’s pulling back. You don’t hold your sounds back, your every reaction letting Mingyu know how good he makes you feel.

“That’s it, baby,” His low voice sets fire to the blood rushing through your veins, and your walls clamp harder around his fingers.

Your knuckles turn white as you grip the sheets below you, and Mingyu’s other hand has to hold your thighs apart so you don’t close them around his head.

“Mingyu—shit!” His lips leave a trail of breathy kisses on your inner thigh, trying to help you relax and take him in, but ultimately turning you on further. “Gyu, wait.”

“I love that you’re calling me that.” He listens and stops thrusting, leaving his fingers to fully fit inside you.

“I need you.” You’re not embarrassed to say what you want. Not with him.

“But you have me?” He tries to tease, but you’re ahead of him already and immediately correct yourself.

“Inside.” His fingers adjust themselves inside you, almost making you forget what you were asking for. “I need you to fuck me.”

Mingyu chuckles at your neediness, but you know he wants it just as bad. His rock hard length draws your attention as he stands up and retrieves his wet digits from you, leaking and ready to split you in half.

There’s a second of hesitation as he looks at you splayed on the bed, as ready for him as he is for you. You recognize the train of thought going through him and stretch your arm to open the drawer below your nightstand, where you keep condoms just in case.

It’s sinful, the sight of Mingyu rolling down the condom as his eyes rake up and down your body. When he kneels on the mattress, fitting like a glove between your legs, it takes another kiss of his on each of your spent legs for you to realize that what’s happening is real.

Caged between both of his arms, his hands holding his weight on both sides of your head, your legs wrap around his waist and push him inside you, at last.

His length fits inside you, opening up your walls to mold to his shape as you both moan.

Your hips collide as he hits your deepest parts. “Being inside you is gonna kill me.” You can feel the twitching of his cock deep inside you. He paused to let you get used to his size, but the last thing you want to do is wait.

“I’m gonna kill you if you don’t move.”

You’ve learned teasing him works wonders, and as soon as those words leave your lips, he’s complying with what you ask of him. “Whatever my princess wants.”

Whatever thoughts you had, they fade at the drag of his length deliciously making you his with each thrust. Deep and slow, he lets you feel everything he has to give before almost pulling out.

The skin of his back becomes the victim of your scratches, your nails digging into his tense muscles with every grind of his hips. But no matter what you do, how you touch him, how loudly you moan, his pace remains at the same torturing speed.

“Relax, baby.” A hand caresses the side of your face, and you realize you’d shut your eyes closed at the feeling of him pushing inside you.

Mingyu lowers his head, flushing your chests together again as he kisses you softly, matching the pace of his thrusts with his tongue tangling with yours. He drinks every sound you make, as they are only for him, and lowers his hand down your torso until it meets your connected cores.

Your sensitive clit feels like fire under the touch of his fingers, circling around it to help you ease up the tension. “That’s it, baby, taking me so well.”

Everywhere he reaches becomes your new favorite place for him to touch. From your lips, down to your cunt, and all the way inside you, everywhere now has his name written. You’re his.

The pulsing of your walls around him doesn’t cease, becoming quicker and harder the more he continues with the slow pace. Your insides wait for every intoxicating thrust as if starved of him, craving everything he gives you and more.

His lips move on yours, parted and unable to work, mumbling praise you don’t get to hear as every one of your senses focuses on the fire inside you threatening to burst. Mingyu’s hips falter, having trouble thrusting inside you as you tighten impossibly tighter around him.

Your vision turns white as your orgasm explodes without so much as a warning. Your legs tremble around Mingyu’s pistoning hips, thrusting endlessly searching for his release.

Mingyu’s broad body falls limp on you as his length twitches, coming inside the condom with a groan while your walls hug him tight.

You lay under him happily, a smile on your face as you stare at the ceiling. He feels warm all around you, a feeling you could get used to. Mingyu can’t resist it and kisses you again. He’ll take every opportunity he can get to feel your lips on his.

“What's on your mind?” He asks, eyes locking in to yours as he slips out from you before attacking your lips again.

You both smile in the kiss before he stands up to discard the used condom and put his boxers back on. “Just thinking where you can take me on our date.”

He turns around with a glowing smile. “You’re thinking about that already?”

The way he lays down on your bed with you, naturally wrapping you in his arms and pulling you to him, feels like a dream come true.

“Of course, baby, I always think ahead.” You note the way he blushes when you use that nickname on him and snuggle against him.

Listening to Mingyu’s steady breathing and heartbeat under your ear, drifting to sleep has never been easier. 

The smell of freshly grounded coffee fills the air around the café Mingyu picked. A cozy new place, lighted with yellowy light bulbs and with a space designated to read books you can borrow from the shelves covering the walls. It opened a few weeks ago in his neighborhood and he’s been insisting you try it out together since.

You’ve been on countless dates with him already, but you still feel nervous having him sit by your side in the booth. Still get embarrassed when he asks for a big smoothie with two straws for you both.

You don’t see a future where you don’t get nervous around him, but he’s always there. A future without him wouldn’t be life at all. And the best thing is, Mingyu feels the same way.

“Are you sure they’re coming?” You ask as your eyes drift to the glass door for the tenth time in the past five minutes.

“I promise they are!” Minguy takes your jaw in his fingers to make you look at him. “Remember to not say anything about the apartment. He'll as her when he's ready”

“What are you talking about?” You ask, feigning cluelessness, and Mingyu chuckles before giving you a peck.

Detaching your lips is always the hardest chore. But after a few awkward instances where you let your kisses deepen in public, you both decided to control yourselves, even in a secluded booth like the one you’re currently in.

Mingyu’s eyes light up watching the street from the window you’re sitting against, and you turn around to see the people you’ve been waiting for. 

Jungkook and Cathlyn walk inside the store holding hands and with matching smiles on their faces as they greet you. How Mingyu convinced them to go out on a double date with you still astonishes you, but you’re glad everything that happened could finally be put behind you.

It was hard at first, even after Jungkook apologized to you, you didn’t dare go inside their apartment for months until Mingyu moved in with you a few weeks ago.

As soon as they sit in front of you, the plan you’ve been scheming starts. Your eyes lock with Mingyu’s and he instantly realizes what you're about to do, but not even his hand squeezing your thigh under the table can stop you. “So, Jungkook, what are you going to do now that you live in the apartment alone?”

note: it's finally here!!!

thank you all for being so excited this past month and for reading this monster of a fic i somehow came up with.

“Okay.” Yumi clears her throat. “In celebration of y/n Powers’ upcoming motion picture, I thought it fitting to do a rewatch of the Hollywood sweetheart’s entire discography. As is the case with any movie worth watching, there is a story to be told about Powers’ rise to fame and progression in her films. We start with her first-ever credit as an unnamed ‘girl next door’ in a would-be drama that turned out to be more of a romcom due to its lead’s unintentional and cringy comedic timing. Thus, Powers found herself as a romcom staple, and that’s what audiences are used to seeing from her. It’s quite the leap from girl next door to powerful femme fetal that Powers now portrays herself as in Tarantino’s new film ‘Death, Dawn, and the Rise of Cowboys.’”

Mister Unimpressed has a reputation as being a douche bag of a critic, but between his handsome face and his hardball questions when it comes to plot and character, somehow, he’s recently been promoted to an interviewer for a large publication. In fact, he’s set to interview you for your new film next week, so listening to this review gives you a good idea of what tone the interaction will have. 

He might be an asshole, but he has a deep knowledge of film. 

Despite his extensive history, you’d started in the industry before him, and he’s only actually reviewed the last four of your films, so it’s interesting to hear his qualms about your first movies and his critique, which borders on misogynistic, of your acting.  

“It’s in Powers’ sixth film where we see her make a turning point toward actual drama, and at exactly halfway through the movie, in a slow-paced, heartfelt scene shared with veteran costar Kevin Costner, the audience gets to witness Powers’ very first realistic on-screen tear. Every other attempt at crying before this had felt surface-level, as if Powers was more focused on staying beautiful than truly embodying her character.”

You scoff as Yumi continues to read. Seungcheol is an absolute dick, a handsome one, but a dick nonetheless. 

You’re dreading your upcoming interview with him, but it’s just something you’ll have to endure. 

One:

You’d arrived at the studio ready to take on Mister Unimpressed, but as you sit down across from him, your anger skyrockets.

He’s so much more handsome in person. There’s a regal curve to his lips, and his smooth skin is further defined by sharp cheekbones and perfectly sculpted dark brows. His black hair is slightly longer than he usually wears it, and curled ever so slightly to accentuate the masculine aspects of his attractive face.

Mister Unimpressed is in a simple white button-up, but the suit jacket over it is a greenish beige that sets off the darker colouring of his hair and eyes. The gold chunky necklace around his pretty throat borders on being too eccentric, but for some reason, it just fits, and it matches the gold pinky ring that flashes at you as he adjusts the question card in his hand.  

When he smiles, your heart skips a beat. It’s giving wolf in wolfish-sheep clothing, if there even is such a thing. He’s so beautiful, but you know his mind and tongue are both as sharp as a dagger, and he’s unafraid to use them.

“Ready? Action!” 

“Good morning,” he says, his shoulders relaxing as the interview commences.

“Hello,” you say, forcing a smile as you adjust in your own seat, smoothing your black dress down against your thighs.

“So, ‘Death, Dawn, and the Rise of Cowboys,’ I’m sure many would call landing a role in a Tarantino film as the opportunity of a lifetime. How did you find the experience working on a movie of this magnitude?” 

“It was wonderful,” you admit. “Obviously, for many actors, Tarantino is a bucket-list director. It was such a unique movie set, full of amazing actors and a team that really has movie-making down to an art form. I was very lucky to be part of this.” 

“I’m sure many of our viewers at home recognize you from a handful of rom-coms. You started as a more background character, but you’ve worked yourself up to a lead, with heartthrob Jacob Elordi as your most recent on-screen love interest. Do you feel like this femme fatale, powerful cowgirl character in Tarantino’s film is a type of role you’re familiar with, or is she something new? 

“Well, she’s definitely not the girl next door,” you joke, thinking back to what Seungcheol had said about you in his review. 

He makes a face, cocking his head to the side, and you feel your anger bubble inside of you. “I mean, there are aspects of that naive girl next door attitude, if you took her off her porch, threw her on a horse, and convinced her to commit high-risk train robberies in the name of love for an older man, wouldn’t you say?” 

You take a deep breath. “This film allowed me to work on deeper emotional conflict within my character than I’ve experienced in my recent romcoms,” you insist. “My character, Belinda, has those aspects of softness in her, sure, but she’s much more complicated than that, as most women are. She struggles with the historical context of femininity, and the idea that at that time, it was very much a man’s world.”

“Yet, she’s clearly afflicted with daddy issues and a need to please men, which some would say is a clearly male-centric view of the world.”

“Some may say that, yes, but being a powerful woman doesn’t need to mean you’re not interested in love. Being in love can be one of the most courageous things a woman ever does, and while I won’t get into the statistics on the reasons for that, I think many women would agree with me on that.”

Seungcheol smiles at you, and you get the sense that he’s trying to figure you out. “After a career of romcoms, which is what you’re known for, do you think the audience will appreciate the change into a more drama-centered role?” 

“If Matthew McConaughey could do it, why not me?” you shrug, trying to appear nonchalant.

“Do you think your filmography would stand against McConaughey’s earlier works?” Seungcheol cocks a brow.

You take a deep breath, ignoring Yumi in the periphery of your vision as she shakes her head at you, wordlessly begging you to back down.

“Mister Unimpressed,” you sigh, “you might be a renowned film critic, but I’m currently unimpressed with your inability to fully appreciate the feminist notes in my past three films. I think if you decided to review my films with a more female-centric lens, and truly did your homework on what it means to be a woman in different historical contexts, you might be able to take off your big boy misogyny glasses for a minute and appreciate that women can be complex while still engaging in themes like love and longing. Coming of age in a world where men think they have a right to judge absolutely everything women do can lead to a character like Belinda, who is a feared outlaw in her own right, but doesn’t restrict her heart the way men might expect her to. ‘Death, Dawn, and the Rise of Cowboys,’ is a drama, not a rom-com, but it’s a fully fledged commentary on all sorts of human experiences, and my character Belinda isn’t defined by her attraction to older men, it’s simply one of the many parts of her complex characterisation which made her such a challenging, and rewarding character to portray.” 

Seungcheol lets out a whistle. “Well, that was a mouthful.”

“So was your last article,” you fire back. “I get the sense you just don’t like romcoms, or romance in any form. You certainly don’t see the need for it in drama or action films.”

“I’ll admit, romance is my least favourite genre.”

“So you’re not an Adam Sandler fan? He got his start with movies like The Wedding Singer, Fifty First Dates, Mister Deeds- you must not like his castmate Drew Barrymore, or other romcom stars like Hugh Grant, or Emma Stone?”

A chuckle escapes Seungcheol. “I guess if I had to compare you to one of those actors, it would be Sandler.”

“Which I’ll take as a compliment.”

“He’s quite one-note,” Seungcheol says. 

“Seems you never got a chance to see Spaceman,” you seethe, crossing your arms over your chest. “Do you have anything else to ask me?”

“Well, since you think I’m such a misogynist pig, might as well ask one final question.” An annoyingly beautiful grin makes its way across his pretty lips. “How much did that dress cost, princess? It fits like a glove.”

“More than you’re suit,” you fire back, standing. “You can trust me on that.” 

Two:

The premiere had gone off without a hitch, and your interview with Mister Unimpressed has gone viral, stemming all sorts of discussion about women in the industry and the rise of ‘red pill masculine’ thinking. Comment sections are full of backlash and praise for both sides of the conversation, and it’s drawn even more press to the movie. It’s as they always say, no press is bad press, and you’re just thankful your outburst didn’t get you canceled.

It seems many agree with you on the concept of strong female characters still having romantic feelings. There have been a handful of very well-regarded female critics who have written soaring reviews praising you for your work, and a number of costars you’ve worked with in the past have reached out to congratulate you on ripping a new one out of the world’s most controversial critic turned interviewer. 

Even so, the world seems to be holding its breath waiting for Mister Unimpressed’s final review of ‘Death, Dawn, and the Rise of Cowboys.’

He’s usually very on point with his reviews, posting them faster than most critics, so this lag in putting his opinions out to the world is very uncharacteristic and is only adding to the contention surrounding your now infamous interview.

“Still no review,” Yumi sighs as you both settle for your nighttime routine in your hotel room. “This whole situation is a nightmare.”

“I think it will be okay,” you tell her, wiping your makeup off with a cleansing pad. 

Yumi laughs. “I’m glad you’re optimistic.”

“I pointed out major concerns in Seungcheol’s ability to give an impartial review; maybe he’s just rethinking his way of doing things.”

“I’m not sure one call out from a woman could change a man like that.”

“Maybe not, but the backlash might. Many of his female fans are taking my side. I don’t think Seungcheol ever intended to have a primarily red pill male fanbase. He can say what he wants about women, but that man is clearly too vain to give up female attention and praise. He’ll have to think very carefully about how he goes about this.”

Three:

It’s been twenty-four hours since the prescreening release of your new movie, and there’s still no review from Seungcheol. You’re trying to remain calm, but even you are getting worried now. You’re about to start your nighttime routine when you get a text from Yumi, and it stops you in your tracks.

Yumi: Seungcheol wants to talk to you

After a pause to think it through, you call your agent. “What do you mean he wants to talk to me?”

“I don’t know, he reached out, said he wanted to clarify a few things with you before he can post his review.” Yumi sighs. “I’ll send you his number.”

“Is this a good idea?”

“At this point, I honestly don’t know.” 

“Yumi-”

“You have a good grasp on this. I know I’m your agent, and I help with PR, but speaking your mind created waves in the system, and after seeing more and more articles about feminism and the rise of powerful women in film- I don’t necessarily think this has been a bad thing. People like you because you’re raw, and you speak your mind.”

“So I should call him?” you clarify.

“I think so.”

You discuss it for a few more minutes, and then you hang up, staring at Seungcheol’s number as tingles of anxiety waft through you.

Taking a deep breath, you give Mister Unimpressed a call.

“Hi, It’s me, uh, y/n,” you say when he answers.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” For some reason, he actually sounds happy, and it throws you off.

“Well, I’m here to talk.”

“I was hoping we could do it in person.”

“It’s almost midnight,” you point out.

“I know a place,” Seungcheol insists.

You release a deep sigh. “And I suppose you need to talk tonight?”

“I want to post my review, but I really want to run it by you first.”

“As professional courtesy, before you bash me again?” you scoff.

He lets out a deep chuckle. “I can understand why that might be the impression you have, but I promise it’s not what you think.”

“Fine. Send me the location.”

Four:

You hadn’t bothered to get dolled up for this weird impromptu meeting with Seungcheol, and you feel a little out of place when you meet him in a hotel bar. Sure, it’s after midnight, the kitchen is closed, so there aren’t any people, but it’s still a 5-star establishment, and despite the late hour, Seungcheol is as handsome as ever in a red suit.

You wonder if the colour is significant, if he’s about to be a little demon to you again, and you sigh as you take a seat across from him.

He looks you up and down, taking in your beige cardigan and messy hair, your yoga pants and lack of makeup, and you wonder if he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t.

He simply clears his throat. “Quite the turnout for your prescreening,” he notes. “I feel I should buy you a celebratory drink or something.”

“You don’t have to buy me anything,” you insist. “What’s this about?”

Seungcheol swallows thickly. “Guess we’ll get right to it.”

“No need to force niceties now.”

Mister Unimpressed lets out a chuckle, toying with the crystal glass of what looks like whiskey in front of him. “No one has ever spoken to me the way you did in our interview.”

You stay quiet, wondering if he’s going to continue. When he doesn’t, it’s clear he expects a response of some kind, so you take a breath. “Is this about the review you’ve yet to post? Some sort of weird blackmail where I have to kiss your ass to get you to write favourably?”

Another grin, and you hate how the smile lights up his face. “You really don’t think very highly of me, do you?”

“You haven’t given me a reason to.”

“This isn’t blackmail,” Seungcheol assures you with a sigh. “I want to hear your perspective on your character.”

“Are you going to take me seriously this time?”

“I just…” Seungcheol relaxes back against the booth, and you’re aware of how broad his shoulders are as he takes a deep breath. “I gave what you said some thought. And I suppose you’re right that I have a very male-centric way of seeing things. I wanted to hear more about your experience as a woman and how that has influenced how you choose to portray characters that you view as powerful, even if the men watching the film might be oblivious to the complicated internal struggles you’re trying to convey.” 

“I’ll discuss this with you, but I hope you know, there’s something to be said about the fact that you’re taking my time to explain this to you instead of doing your own research,” you point out. “It’s as if the onus and responsibility are always on the women to explain things instead of you, as the man, going and looking into the countless essays written by women about this exact issue.”

Seungcheol cocks his head to the side. “I guess I can understand that.”

You take a deep breath. “Let’s talk the whole daddy issue angle. I’m assuming you think it makes the character weak?”

Mister Unimpressed lets out a chuckle. “That might be one way of viewing it.”

“Gendered trauma is an issue in our society,” you explain. “Living in a patriarchal world, often, women feel the need from a very young age to perform for their fathers. They watch brothers get love for being masculine, and some women feel they have to be less girly in order to get that same attention. My character in the film, Belinda, struggled with that. She comes from a family of men, strong men, and when you worship something, imitation is often an outcome. Despite all her hard work, Belinda is still a woman, and she craves the validation that men seem to receive inherently. Think about the Barbie movie, and the iconic American Ferrera woman speech.” 

“You won’t hate me if I have to look it up, will you?”

You sigh, waving your hand to give Seungcheol the space to look up exactly what you’re quoting.

From there, you begin to chat about all sorts of female empowerment. About women directors, and women-centered casts, the Bechdell test, why you chose to work with Tarantino despite his sexualization of women and feet-

Before you know it, it’s two am, and one of the waitresses shyly approaches your table. “Hey guys, I just wanted to let you know, the bar is closing up, so final call.”

“I’m alright,” you smile, taking a breather from your heated conversation with Seungcheol. 

“One more Manhattan, please,” Seungcheol nods to the server, pushing his empty glass to the side of the table. 

The waitress scurries away, and when she comes back, she pauses as she sets Seungcheol’s drink down. “I also just wanted to let you know, Miss Powers, I idolize you.” 

Your heart leaps in your chest. “Thank you.”

“And as for you, Mister Unimpressed, I’m unimpressed by you!” She says it in a teasing tone, like they’ve been doing on TikTok where thousands have been making a meme out of your interview with Seungcheol.

He stares at her, gobsmacked, and the server flashes you another shy smile then scurries away.

“Do women really feel that way about me?” Seungcheol asks.

“Well, you’re single, right?” you laugh. “Maybe it’s the stick up your ass and the misogyny glasses you’re so fond of wearing.” 

“I’m not a misogynist,” he sighs.

“Sure you’re not,” you tease. “And your shit doesn’t stink, and your opinions are always a hundred percent and undeniable-”

He gives you a hard look. “It’s getting late,” he admits. “Can I get you a taxi to go back to your hotel?”

“I’ll call one for myself,” you insist, pulling out your phone. 

“You play characters with daddy issues, but you refuse to let me buy you a drink or get you a cab,” Seungcheol laughs. “Explain that to me.”

“Well, there’s this thing called acting, it’s where I pretend to be someone else-” 

Seungcheol rolls his eyes with a scoff. “I’m just trying to figure you out. You’re a lot different than what I expected you to be.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have such prejudice against people you’ve never met based on who they play on the big screen.”

“Maybe you’re right,” he nods. “Thank you for meeting me.” 

Five:

“Okay, so it’s a long review,” Yumi tells you with excitement as you get in the car to head to an appointment. “I’ll give you the big takeaways and send you the link to read when you have time.”

“Lay it on me,” you laugh. 

“Basically, Seungcheol explained that after speaking with you, he’d tried to do his due diligence by discussing his past reviews of women-centric movies and themes like love with the women in his life. He said a number of them explained that your view was spot on, that you play complicated women with nuance that few men understand even when pointed out to them.”

“Not the women in his family taking my side of things,” you scoff.

“There’s more!” Yumi says, practically shaking with excitement. “He wrote in length about how the two of you met to speak further on the subject off camera. He said, and I quote, ‘Although in the past, I have portrayed myself as Mister Unimpressed, when Miss Powers showed up to an impromptu meeting without any of the glitz or glam, it impressed me greatly. Here is a woman, a multifaceted woman, willing to put in the work to educate a man such as myself, a man who hasn’t always been the most kind in his reviews of her work. Miss Powers pointed out I could have done the research on my own, and in hindsight, she’s correct, but she walked me through her opinions on the deeper conflicts that women face, and she opened my eyes with a level of grace and easy going humour that I will not soon forget.’”

“Wow, I for sure thought he was going to mention my chipped nails or something,” you joke.

“He noted that the interview you did has turned into something of a meme, and his attempts to educate himself aren’t to garner any sympathy. Seungcheol noted that he’s excited to see where your career takes you, as this first attempt to break away into a more drama centred film genre was spectacular. Then he says, quote, ‘Not only is she a Sandler, a Stone, a Barrymore, and a Grant, Powers is without a doubt, the next McConaughey, and we will all be blessed to see her on our screens for years to come.’” 

“He said that?” you ask in shock.

“Verbatim,” Yumi grins. 

“Holy shit.” You sit back against the seat of the car, letting out a deep breath. 

“I don’t know what you said during your off the clock interview with Seungcheol, but whatever it was, you knocked it out of the park.” 

“He probably just wants his female fan base back,” you note, but something in your heart tells you there’s legitimate hope that you’ve helped Seungcheol turn over a new leaf. The feminist inside of you says it’s not your job to have done this for him, but the idealist part of you says it had to be done sooner than later, and unfortunately, when it comes to misogyny and the male centric view of film and media, women have to be more outspoken than ever to make a change like this one. 

Six:

Life has gone on, and in the months since your interaction with Seungcheol, you’ve seen the continued shift in how he reviews things. It’s a good sign that he’s actively trying to be better.

You’re in LA for a red carpet event, waiting for your friend to finish up an interview for her recent movie, and that’s when you notice Seungcheol. It looks like he’s completed an interaction with another movie star, and he catches your eye.

Damn, he looks good. It’s a Black Tie event, and he’s taken it to the extreme, black button up and everything under his dark suit. But it doesn’t look tacky, and there’s a textured element to his monochrome outfit that draws the eye.

You feel drawn to him, and you have the time to approach, so you do. 

“Hey,” you smile.

“Hey, yourself,” he grins back. 

So much has changed about his countenance, it’s almost as if he’s shy to talk to you. This regal, hard hitting man looks cute even.

“You know, with your character development as of late, for a guy who doesn’t like romcoms, you’re setting yourself up to be in one,” you tease.

“As long as it’s a romcom and not a drama.”

“Says the guy who has always preferred dramas,” you point out, cocking a brow.

“I like drama, but I don’t want drama with you. No enemies to lovers bullshit, at least… I hope we were never enemies.” It’s a shockingly candid statement from the man you’d once considered to be a heartless misogynist, and it definitely takes you aback.

“Not enemies,” you say. “I just thought you were a bit of a dick.”

Seungcheol laughs and holds up his hands. “Guilty.”

“Who knew it would take one romcom actress reaming you out to promote so much growth,” you laugh.

“You’re not just a romcom actress and we both know it,” Seungcheol says softly. You watch him look you up and down, and you can see the gentle shift in his expression, the softening of his eyes and the relaxing of his shoulders. “This might seem out of the left field, but how would you feel about getting drinks sometime?”

“Like another educational interview?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a date.”

 You let out a laugh of shock, gaping at him. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly.”

Shaking your head, you look him up and down. You’ve always been attracted to Seungcheol, despite his rather irritating pigheaded personality, but it does look like he’s turned a new leaf. Who would you be if you painted him with one brush and never allowed him to change his colours for a reappraisal?

“I’ll go out with you,” you tell him finally. 

A beautiful grin spreads across Seungcheol’s lips. “I’ll text you.” 

Seven:

You pride yourself on being a powerful woman who doesn’t need a man, but for the date, you allow Seungcheol to play the role of provider.

He picks you up in his Porsche, holds the doors open for you, and takes you to a drinks and tapas place that he’d reserved a secluded seat at.

With no prior discussion on what you’d be wearing other than Seungcheol telling you to wear a nice dress, somehow, you’d both decided on soft green as a colour, so it looks like you’re matching as you take your seats and order some appetizers and drinks.

“As a thank you for my feminist education, you’re letting me pay tonight, deal?” Seungcheol grins. “Get anything you want.”

“Part of me wants to argue-”

“But you won’t, because I’m insisting.”

“Very mans man of you,” you giggle.

Seungcehol shrugs. “Feminism can say what it wants about equality and splitting cheques, but I was still raised with chivalry in mind, and I can’t think of a more deserving woman to take care of, even if it’s just for tonight.”

“You really have turned over a new leaf, haven’t you, Seungcheol?”

“I’ve done my best,” he admits. “Been having movie nights with one of my cousins in town, she’s a huge fan of yours and insisted she teach me about feminism and historical context and stuff.”

“Did you finally watch the Barbie movie?”

“I did,” Seungcheol laughs.

“And?” you grin. “What did you think?”

“I thought it was really good. It kind of gave perspective on living in a patriarchal world in reality versus the matriarchal women-empowered world of Barbie. It made me rethink how important representation of all kinds is in media.” 

“Did you go to school for film studies, or English, or journalism, or anything? They didn’t have a women's studies course when you were in university?” you question, toying with the stem of your sangria glass.

“Being a film critic wasn’t exactly what I went to school for,” Seungcheol says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. 

“No?”

“Originally, I was supposed to be in business. But, I’ve always loved movies. I ended up doing a movie critic column in my university newspaper once a week, and I fell in love with it.”

“Let me guess, you started with movies like ‘The Wolf of Wallstreet,’ and ‘The Big Short’?” you tease. 

Seungcheol smiles and shakes his head. “You know me too well.”

“I think you’re just a little predictable,” you shrug.

“I didn’t know being a movie star meant you minored in psychology.”

“There’s an aspect of psychology in all storytelling,” you point out. “You have to understand that everyone is layered and complex, and if characters in film are done correctly, they are too.”

“What about you? What did you go to school for?” Seungcheol asks.

“English.”

“I should have guessed that,” he grins. “But let me guess this, your favourite was the romantics?”

“And I had a seminar on film adaptations of novels,” you nod. “That kind of kick-started my obsession with taking words off paper and putting them into reality.”

The two of you continue to talk, and when you come to a discussion about your top three favourite movies, with Seungcheol noting ‘The Godfather,’ ‘Twelve Angry Men’ and ‘Jaws,’ everything about him makes sense.

“None of those movies have anything to do with women!” you bellow. “They’re all major failures to the Bechdel test!”

“Jaws technically passes the Bechdel test because there’s one scene where two women talk about living in the town and not about men.”

“Wow, it barely passed what should be an easy test, congratulations!” you laugh, shaking your head at Seungcheol.

“And I suppose your top three movies are all romances?” Seungcheol teases, cocking a brow.

“Don’t even try me. Everything Everywhere All At Once, a movie about the turbulent relationship between a mother and daughter, it includes multiverse and one of the most shockingly cinematic and touching scenes ever when both characters are literal rocks with googly eyes, sorting through their trauma and tumultuous relationship-”

“It won a ton of oscars,” Seungcheol nods. “Good movie.”

“If you had told me you hadn’t seen it, I would have taken you home right now and made you watch it.”

“I’m sure you could take me home and force me to watch other movies I haven’t seen that you think are important.”

He smirks at you like it’s a challenge, and your heart races in your chest.

“Fuck it, pay the bill, and let’s go watch movies.” 

Seungcheol laughs. “Yes, ma’am.” 

Eight:

You’re not sure how this happened, but you and Seungcheol are in your livingroom, watching movie after movie with strong female leads. You’d found an oversized pair of sweatpants and a hoodie for him to wear, and you’re in a matching set, both of you looking like lazy bums over separate bowls of microwave popcorn as you critique and discuss movie after movie.

This has felt more like a night with a best friend than a date, and you kind of enjoy that. Seungcheol had given off a playboy vibe when you’d first met him, but you now realize that without the suit and the chunky gold jewelry, without the Porsche and perfectly styled hair, he’s so much more than that.

He hasn’t flirted with you at all, or tried to inch closer to you on the couch, he’s been completely respectable, and it’s starting to drive you wild.

It’s nearly two am when you finish watching both Kill Bill movies, and you’ve explained that while Tarantino has a few weird sexualization of women tendencies, he still has created some of the most bad ass women in film. You find yourself yawning, and Seungcheol turns to look at you.

“Getting sleepy?” he grins.

“A little,” you sigh. “Come cuddle.”

He raises his brows at you. 

“This is a date, isn’t it?” you whine. “You haven’t been doing any date like things since we got here.”

“I’ve been trying to be respectable.”

“Doing a good job of it, too good,” you joke, closing the distance yourself as you wriggle closer to Seungcheol. He lifts his arm allowing you to tuck into his side and get comfortable.

“To be completely honest, with how much bickering we’ve been doing, part of me wasn’t sure you even liked me that way,” he admits.

“Why would I have agreed to a date if I didn’t like you?”

“Women are complex, I’m sure there are lots of reasons,” he teases.

You find yourself laughing, shaking your head and releasing a sigh.

“See, you just went through like five emotions in the span of two seconds.”

“Count the emotions then,” you insist.

“You laughed because it’s comedic that I’ve reached the point of admitting that women are very complex, you shook your head because men always say women are too complicated to understand, you sighed because I annoyed you, but you smiled after because you’re endeared by how cute I am when I annoy you-”

“And number five? That was only four explanations.”

“And… you cuddled closer to me because despite the conflicting emotions, you’re into me, and you’re frustrated by me being a gentleman when you probably want me to be more dominant even though that contradicts some of your more feminist ideals.”

“A man can be dominant and still respectful,” you point out. “In fact, men who are dominant should be the most respectful since a woman is bestowing her trust on them.”

“Guess that’s true.” Seungcheol shifts. “Here, let's try this.” He gently touches the bottom of your chin, and you adjust to look up at him. “May I kiss you?”

A shiver of excitement runs through you, and a broad grin breaks out on your face. “Yes, please.”

Seungcheol returns your smile, and he slowly dips his head down to press his lips to yours for the first time.

He’s so gentle, and it leaves you wanting more. You grab the back of his neck, deepening the kiss, and he matches your energy. Shifting while kissing him desperately, you move to straddle him, and his hands find your hips, steadying you as you make out, taking each others breath away.

You thread your fingers through his soft dark hair, gently tugging on it and making him groan, his fingers digging into your hips.

You want him so badly it almost hurts, but you force yourself to pull away, gasping and trying to catch your breath as you look down at him.

He looks as dazed as you feel, staring up at you with pink flushed cheeks.

“It’s getting late,” you tell him, knowing that if this continues, you’ll be tearing each other’s clothes off.

Seungcheol swallows thickly. “Wouldn’t want to mess up your beauty sleep, princess.”

The petname causes butterflies to erupt in the pit of your stomach, and you stifle a moan, your core throbbing already.

“When can I see you again?” he asks.

“I’ll have to check my schedule.”

“Right, you’re a busy woman,” he nods, leaning back and running a hand through his hair, his gold pinky ring glinting.

“We’ll work something out,” you insist.

“I don’t doubt it.”

With one more breath to get control of yourself, you get off of Seungcheol. “I’m sorry to cut this short, it’s not that I didn’t like the kiss-”

“I think we both liked it a little too much,” Seungcheol jokes, adjusting his sweatpants.

You try not to look, but you can’t help but peek at the boner pushing up against the dark fabric.

“I don’t sleep with guys on the first date.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t expect that,” he assures you, reaching for the cup of water on the side table next to him. “Give me a second.”

“Okay.” Your skin flushes with heat, and you head to the open concept kitchen, filling your own tumbler with ice water to cool yourself down.

A few minutes later, you’re escorting Seungcheol to your door.

You can’t help but steal another kiss, and he hungrily presses his lips to yours, his hands teasing just above your ass as if he wants to grope you but knows he should be chivalrous. You can see the clash of wants versus his need for control of himself, and it makes you even hornier as you break the heated kiss for a second time.

“I’ll text you,” you insist, taking a deep breath.

“Goodnight, princess.”

“Goodnight, Cheol.” 

Nine:

It’s been two weeks since your first date with Seungcheol and your schedules haven’t aligned, but you’ve been texting every day, and getting to know each other. You’ve given him ‘homework’ to watch certain movies and he’s been updating his reviews of older movies, adding to his repertoire. 

Tonight is the night you finally get to see him again, and you don’t bother with any of the going out for a date bullshit, you both know you want to watch movies and cuddle, amongst other things… and Seungcheol arrives to the date in the sweatpant outfit you’d given him last time.

You both laugh at the way you’re dressed, and you pull him in for a kiss.

His hands are very grabby, in the best possible way, but he still avoids your ass, choosing to instead grip your hips, his lips hot and heavy against your own.

You make out all the way to the couch, and Seungcheol lets out a sigh. “So what are we watching?”

“I was thinking horror movies or something.”

“Horror? You want to cuddle with me all night, huh?”

You laugh. “Not every movie we watch has to be some great female lead film with a commentary on sexism and the deeply ingrained patriarchal expectations of our current and historical society. Sometimes, we can just watch a house filled with ghosts and demons.”

“So the Conjuring.”

You stare at him. “How did you know?”

“It’s one of the better horror movies about ghosts and demons.” 

Seungcheol sits down, and you immediately take your seat right next to him, cuddling close to his side while his arm wraps around you casually. 

“Before we start, I wanted to talk to you about something,” you tell him.

“Yeah?”

“Well, I mean, lets be real, we’re probably having sex tonight-”

“We are?” 

“Don’t act all shocked,” you laugh, pushing at his chest.

“I just wanted to know if-” You trail off, biting your lip.

“If I’m seeing anyone else.”

“STI’s are a real thing.”

“So are condoms,” he laughs, “and I brought some just in case.”

“Oh.”

“But to answer your question, no, I’m not seeing anyone else.”

Your heart leaps into your throat. “You’re not?”

“Why would I be?” He shrugs.  

“I don’t know, clearly my job has me on a very rough schedule most of the time. Long distance isn’t exactly everyone’s favourite idea in the world when they’re considering a relationship with someone- I mean, if that is something you’re considering.” 

Seungcheol is quiet for a moment. “We can make it work. There isn’t really anyone else I’d want to make it work with.”

“Really?”

“Are you seeing anyone else?” he asks.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because as much as you infuriate me sometimes, I feel the most mentally stimulated with you. No one else challenges me in the way you do, and no one else pushes me to question the ways in which I think about things.” 

“Funny, I could say the exact same about you.” 

You grin up at him, cupping his cheek to draw his lips to your own.

It’s a softer kiss now, a kiss of understanding, of mutual respect and clear intention of direction for your future.

Soon, you’re starting the movie, and Seungcheol shifts to be your big spoon as The Conjuring begins to play. 

He’s not nearly as hesitant and respectful as last time, and you don’t want him to be.

Pretty quickly into the movie, he begins to kiss your throat. You release a sigh, tilting your head to give him better access as he searches for your sweet spot.

At the same time, his hand slips under your hoodie, teasing over your bare hip.

You can’t help but react, pushing your ass back against his crotch, loving the sensation of his fingers on your skin.

His cock is already pressing up to meet you, and your core throbs at the knowledge. You can’t help yourself, flipping onto your back so you can press your lips to his as Seungcheol continues to spoon your side. His fingers tease your panty line, and you whimper into the kiss, muscles tensing with anticipation.

“Please,” you whisper, part of you knowing he won’t cross the line without permission first.

Seungcheol’s hand slips below your waistband, but over your panties, teasing your clit through the flimsy material. 

You moan desperately, mouth hot against his own as he begins to work you up. 

“So wet already,” Seungcheol groans. 

“Been needing you,” you admit.

“Been needing you too,” he grins.

You wiggle your hips, feeling desperate and annoyed with your panties still being in the way of direct contact, but you know what will urge him to go faster.

You lift your hoodie and sportsbra, exposing your breasts to Seungcheol, who breaks your kiss to look down at them.

He’s breathing heavily, watching you toy with your nipples, wiggling your hips to grind your pussy against his hand.

“You look so perfect like this,” he muses.

“I’d look better with your mouth on my nipple,” you counter.

Seungcheol releases a chuckle, and then he adjusts, shifting so he can tease his tongue along your breast while his fingers rub harder on your clit through your panties.

The first flick of his wet muscle against your sensitive bud as you groan, throwing your head back and closing your eyes. When he takes your nipple into his mouth to suck on it, your entire body lights up with hot energy.

Your panties are soaked through now and you know it, but despite the annoyance of it, there’s something delicious about being teased this way.

If this feels like ecstasy already, you can’t even imagine what his cock is going to feel like.

You can’t help yourself, you shift a little, awkwardly cupping your hand over his bulge and rubbing gently.

Seungcheol moans against your breast and the sound goes straight to your core, which throbs desperately, making you cry out too.

Your free hand threads through his beautiful dark curls, keeping his mouth on your chest as you wiggle your hips harder against his hand, chasing the high that you know isn’t far off.

Seungcheol’s teeth drag teasingly against your nipple and you cry out, eyes clenching shut.

“I’m close, fuck, I’m close already and you haven’t even actually touched me,” you gasp.

You can feel him grin, and you moan louder, focusing on the pleasure building inside of you. He rubs your clit even harder and you begin to pant, your heart thundering in your rib cage like a million tiny birds aching to burst free.

One more nibble at your nipple has you orgasming hard, your pussy clenching around nothing as ecstasy floods through you. The sound you release is the most pornographic noise that’s ever come from your lips, and Seungcheol rubs you through your high, even as your thighs close around his hand. 

Overstimulation has never felt this good, and it overtakes you completely, in the best possible way.

You’re not sure how long you orgasm for, but when your muscles finally unclench, you slump back, trying to catch your breath, body still twitching with after shocks.

Seungcheol pulls away from your chest, looking up at you with a grin.

“That good, huh?”

You can’t even speak yet, mind still numb, but you manage a nod.

“I’m going to eat you out now, you know, for feminism,” Seungcheol jokes, and your core throbs at the notion.

He pulls his hand from your sweatpants, sitting up and carefully manuevering around you so he can get down onto the floor in front of the couch. Then he gently adjusts you too, tugging at your pants and pulling them down your legs.

“Your panties are ruined,” he notes. “I kind of want to keep them as a souvenir.”

All you can do is giggle, lifting your hips to allow him to remove the flimsy fabric. Then you take off your hoodie and your bra, leaving you completely naked for Seungcheol as you adjust on the couch, sinking down and spreading your thighs for him.

Seungcheol swallows thickly, gaze shifting up to you. “You’re perfect,” he tells you, bringing his lips to your inner thigh so his breath teases over your most sensitive spots. “Every, single, inch.”

Each press of his mouth to your skin feels like heaven, and you relax further against the couch, enjoying the way he adjusts your thighs over his shoulders. 

“Are you a fan of overstimulation?” he asks.

“I think I can be, but no one has ever really tried.”

“If it’s too much, just tell me to stop,” Seungcheol says softly. 

“Okay,” you whimper, heart racing with expectation.

Seungcheol starts by rubbing your slit with his thumb, gently testing your clit to see how sensitive you are.

You jolt from the brief contact, and he looks up at you with a grin. 

“I’ll be nice,” he promises, slipping two fingers into your drenched core.

You mewl from the sensation of him stroking your inner walls, and he works you open slowly, testing the waters and carefully watching your reactions. His mouth moves to your inner thigh again, teasing you but still giving your clit time to recuperate. 

Closing your eyes, you give yourself to Seungcheol and the pleasure he’s coaxing out of you.

He continues to finger fuck you, but then he brings his second hand up, gently toying with your clit with his thumb.

Your core clenches tightly around his digits, and you let out a deep groan.

“I think you’re almost ready for my mouth,” he muses, pressing another sloppy kiss to your inner thigh.

“I want to feel it,” you whimper, loving the attention he’s showering you in.

Seungcheol lets out a chuckle, and then he adjusts. You feel his breath as he moves closer, his thumb dropping away from your clit to make room for his wet tongue, which gently begins to circle your ultra sensitive nub.

Your thighs shake from the feeling of it, and a deep moan escapes you, your skin tingling with pleasure.

Seungcheol shifts his hand a little, pushing his fingers up toward your g-spot while he applies more and more pressure on your clit with his tongue. Then he begins to suck the bud into his mouth, making lewd sounds as he works you toward yet another orgasm.

“Fuck,” you groan, reaching down and tangling your fingers in his hair, keeping his mouth on your clit while you roll your hips, eager for even more stimulus.

He keeps applying pressure to your g-spot, and the sounds escaping you are pornographic as he works you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Keep going,” you whimper. “Please, don’t stop!”

You’re gasping now, muscles clenching, heart racing in your chest. Seungcheol’s fingers work even faster inside of you, and you shut your eyes, giving in to the rising pleasure as it comes to a boiling point-

“I’m cumming!” you gasp, pussy clamping down on Seungcheol’s digits as waves of ecstasy slam into you. Your orgasm takes your breath away, and you writhe against the couch as Seungcheol works you through it, his mouth and fingers unrelenting on your core as the pleasure all but engulfs you.

Your thighs are shaking over his shoulders, muscles clenching and unclenching repeatedly with the power of your high. 

But Seungcheol seems to know your limit already, and on the cusp of the ecstasy being too much to handle, he takes his mouth off your clit. His fingers slow inside of your core, gently stroking you and helping you slowly come down from one of the most intense orgasms of your life.

His lips find your inner thigh, and he’s patient as you catch your breath, slouched against the couch with post orgasmic exhaustion.

Seungcheol pulls his fingers out of your wet core, and you listen to him lick them clean, letting out a groan of appreciation for the taste of you.

“Fuck me now?” you ask softly, opening your eyes to gaze down at the beautiful film critic.

He lets out a laugh. “Not here, not on a couch.”

“Bedroom,” you insist.

Seungcheol stands up, looking down at your body. “Bedroom works.” Then he leans down, gently collecting you into his arms and lifting you bridal style. Your heart flip flops in your chest as he carries you through your home to your bedroom. You’re turned on by his strength, there’s no doubt about that, but you’re also turned on by the care in which he treats you. Who would have thought that notorious asshole Mister Unimpressed could have a soft side?

He sets you onto the bed, and you stretch, releasing a moan at the feeling of your muscles as they begin to relax.

“Take your clothes off,” you instruct.

Seungcheol chuckles. “Yeah?”

“Uh huh.” You nod lazily. 

He shakes his head at your attempt to be dominant with him, but he pulls off his hoodie all the same.

You lick your lips at the sight of his bare torso. He’s always been broad, even when his shoulders are hidden by suit jackets and hoodies, the width of this man is still obvious. But seeing him exposed like this takes your breath away. Your imagination had gone wild with thoughts of what he would look like in a moment like this, but your musings pale in comparison to the real thing.

He’s well muscled for a movie critic- for any man, and it’s clear he spends time at the gym sculpting this Grecian statue-esque body of his.

Then his hands move to the drawstrings of his sweatpants, and he toys with them for a moment, grinning up at you.

“You sure you want this?” he teases.

With a groan of frustration, you sit up, getting onto your hands and knees so you can crawl to the edge of the bed in front of him. You reach out and hook your fingers in the waistband of his sweats and briefs, and with one quick movement, you tear them down, exposing his thick cock for the very first time.

You can’t help the way you start to drool, and you immediately grab the base of his length, moving your mouth to the tip so you can begin to suck on him.

“Shit,” Seungcheol cusses. Clearly he wasn’t expecting you to give him head, and his hand flies to your shoulder, but he doesn’t push you away. 

You sink your mouth farther onto his cock, swirling your tongue and suctioning around him, wanting to give him the pleasure he’s just given you two times over.

“You’re good at this,” he tells you. “I’m impressed.”

You can’t help but giggle a little, pulling off of his cock and stroking it as you look up at him. “That’s high praise, coming from you.”

Seungcheol grins. “You deserve praise.”

“I do,” you agree, bringing your mouth back to his length and sinking as far onto his thick cock as you can. He groans when his tip hits the back of your throat, and you gag slightly around him, closing your eyes and focusing on breathing through your nose to counteract the instinct to choke.

His hand strokes your hair as you suck him off, and his small moans fill the room, making your pussy even wetter.

You know what blue balls are, but as you continue to suck him off, you start to realize your core is having what must be the female equivalent. It’s not a pain, more of a deep longing to be full- as if your pussy knows there’s a perfectly wonderful cock literally within reach- but not filling where you need it most.

You suck him off until you can’t ignore the need any longer, and then you pull off of him, struggling to catch your breath.

“Need you now,” you tell him.

“Whatever you want, princess,” he says, kicking his sweats and underwear off of where they’d been pooled at his feet while you adjust on the bed. 

No matter what kinky level a man is, you always feel like starting in missionary is a safe bet for everyone, so you lay on your back, spreading your legs invitingly for Seungcheol as he joins you on the bed.

“Just to double check,” he notes as your legs wrap around his hips, “you still don’t want me to grab a condom or anything?”

“We’re good,” you assure him. 

“You’re on birth control of some kind?” he clarifies.

“Oh, I see how this is, you’re not worried about either of us have STI’s, you’re worried about getting me pregnant,” you laugh, stroking his broad shoulders.

“A baby in this economy?” Seungcheol lets out a laugh. “I know we both have money, but still.”

“Just shut up and kiss me,” you grin, threading your fingers through his soft hair to draw his lips down to yours.

Seungcheol smiles into the kiss, and he begins to grind down against you gently as you make out. His cock rubs your sensitive core, and you moan against his lips, deepening the kiss and gently tugging on his hair.

He teases you by making you wait, but soon, even his control is fading. He shifts his hand between your bodies, grabbing the base of his cock so he can line the tip with your core. 

“Fuck me,” you whisper, and with that, he slowly begins to push into you. 

God, the stretch is perfection, and you close your eyes to release a moan, your fingers digging into his shoulders as inch after perfect inch invades your wet core.

“You’re so big,” you whimper desperately, feeling adequately cock drunk already.

Seungcheol chuckles. “Maybe you’re just tight, been a while since you got laid, huh?”

“I’m a man hating feminist, remember?” you joke, letting out a laugh.

“I think you just have high standards,” Seungcheol groans as he bottoms out inside of you. He draws his lips to your throat, his breath ghosting over your skin as he whispers, “Nothing wrong with that.” 

Your skin tingles as he begins to move, slowly fucking into you, giving your inner walls time to adjust and relax around the large intrusion. 

Each thrust has you whimpering, and his kisses on your throat only stimulate you more. It feels like he’s worshipping you, and you get lost in the sensation, enjoying every moment and every movement.

“You feel amazing,” Seungcheol groans, fucking into you even harder, his hands gripping the pillow next to your head. You can tell he’s still trying to hold back a little, trying not to ruin you and betray how feral he is for you- but you kind of want him to be feral. You want to see Mister Unimpressed lose control.

“Fuck me properly,” you command, swallowing thickly. “Don’t hold back.”

Seungcheol pulls away from your throat, looking down at you. “Are you sure?”

“Break the bed, break my back for all I care- I want to feel you, all of you.” 

The beautiful man chuckles. “If you say so, princess.”

He presses a kiss to your lips, then adjusts, pulling back. He moves your thighs so you’re folded in half, your knees resting over his shoulders as his hands grab your hips, lifting your lower half slightly off the bed. 

Then he begins to fuck into you, using the leverage of your legs to keep himself upright and perfectly positioned to rail you like no one has ever railed you before. One of his hands finds the headboard, and he grips it hard, fucking into you wildly. The position has him hitting a spot deep inside of you, and it makes you squeal, grabbing at the bedsheets as pleasure engulfs you.

No one has ever been this deep, and it feels like nirvana as you give yourself willingly to a man whom, a year ago, you would have insisted would never land an interview with you, let alone a date or a potential relationship.

Your pussy is sloppy wet, but something about that is enjoyable for you, and you can tell from Seungcheol’s sounds that he’s obsessed with it too. 

Lube has never been something you’d figured you should be ashamed of, and in this day of age, with the lack of courting and foreplay, generally in the past, lube has been something kind of necessary. But Seungcheol had put in the work, he’d made you cum twice, he’d teased and enticed you to the point of woman blue balls, and your wet core is a testament to the way he has worshipped you in order to deserve this moment.

Hell, you deserve this moment too, after singlehandedly taking on the reeducation of a patriarchically blinded film critic. These enraptured moments of passion are something you have worked toward together, and the promise of ecstasy is more than enough of a reward for both of you. 

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good,” Seungcheol groans, throwing his head back and giving you a full view of his beautiful torso. 

This man is going to be the death of you, but you could care less about that as you give yourself to him completely.

“Shit, get on your hands and knees,” Seungcheol says, abruptly pulling out of you and manhandling you into doggy position. 

He pushes back into your core and you both groan, one of his warm hands finding your back and helping you rest your chest down against the bed, arching your body. This is also a deep position, and it makes you whimper as you clutch the bedding, eyes closed as your mind focuses entirely on the pleasure coursing through you with every snap of his hips.

“Fuck, I thought maybe this position would help me slow down,” he confesses, “but you look and feel amazing no matter what I do.”

“Why slow down?” you gasp.

“Don’t want you to think I’m a ten pump chump,” Seungcheol chuckles, digging his fingers into your hips as he fucks you wildly.

You laugh, your core clamping tightly around his cock with the clenching of your stomach muscles. “Cumming fast might be a compliment.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“Just means you’re so into me,” you tease, fucking back toward him and making him groan even louder. “You think I’m so perfect.”

Seungcheol lets out a laugh but it turns into a moan again as he fucks you harder. “Enough with your mind reading psychology bullshit,” he tuts. “We both know I’m obsessed with you.”

“As you should be,” you grin.

Seungcheol shifts behind you, and then he’s pushing your thighs together. His hand finds your ass and he pushes you fully onto the bed, mounting you with his knees digging into the bed on either side of your body. He grabs a handful of your ass, fucking into you. It’s a more shallow position, but something about the rub of his cock- the angle of him against your inner walls makes you moan wildly.

He leans over your back, his breath teasing your skin. “Tell me we’re obsessed with each other,” he growls. “Tell me I’m not just some loser in a long line of losers who’s fallen for a girl I see on the movie screen.”

“You’re not just some loser,” you pant. “You didn’t love me when I was just a girl on a movie screen. You liked me in person, for my mind, for my opinions-”

Seungcheol groans, his lips finding your throat as you speak, his nose nuzzling against your skin as he continues to shallowly fuck you, his entire body laid over your back like some odd comfort blanket.

“I want to be with you,” you continue. “And not just because you fuck me like you were made for me.”

“Maybe you were made for me,” he counters. “Like Eve was made for Adam out of his own rib.”

You let out a groan of frustration. “Patriarchy!” you insist.

Seungcheol chuckles, sucking your earlobe into his mouth and making you shiver. His hands find yours and he interlaces your fingers, his palms pressed to the back of your hands. “Maybe we were made for each other,” he concedes.

“I can live with that,” you moan. 

“I want you to cum with me,” Seungcheol says suddenly, “flip back over.”

Another adjustment has you back in missionary, your hand flying to your clit while Seungcheol pushes into you again. Your lips lock in a fiery kiss, your free hand cupping his cheek as you eat each other’s moans.

Each rub of your fingers on your sensitive clit has you closer and closer to the edge, your pussy gripping him even harder. He’s groaning like a mad man against your lips, and as your gasps reach a peak, you announce, “I’m cumming!”

Your core clamps down on his cock and he breaks the kiss to bury his face against your throat, groaning in your ear as his own thrusts falter. You can feel him cumming deep inside of you, can feel your pussy milking him for all he has, your thighs locked around his waist to keep him deep inside of you.

His body is twitching with the intensity of his orgasm, and you move your hand to stroke his powerful shoulders, loving each curve and groove of muscle. 

Finally, his body comes to a stop, and he lays on top of you for a moment, gasping while he tries to catch his breath.

Neither of you say anything as you both come down from extreme highs, but in the quiet, there’s a sense of closeness that you’ve never felt with anyone else.

You bring your fingers to his hair, stroking his scalp as he nuzzles against your throat, pressing soft kisses there.

“We’ll make this work, if you want,” Seungcheol says softly after a few moments.

“I do want this,” you confirm.

“Me too.”

“But you have to promise not to be a dick when reviewing my future movies,” you tease.

Seungcheol laughs. “I’m not supposed to be biased with my work.”

“It won’t be biased, I’m so good at my job.”

Another chuckle escapes your lover as he sits up a little, looking down at your face. His thumb brushes your cheek. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Uh huh,” you grin. 

Seungcheol shakes his head, letting out a deep breath. 

This has been a tumultuous relationship to say the least, but there’s something to be said about the whole enemies to lovers angle. You and Seungcheol didn’t start by liking each other, but you suppose all the great romances had a hurdle such as this one that made the ending much more satisfying in the long run.

You could compare this to Pride and Prejudice, to Jane Eyre, to the great romantics that you read in university and fell in love with, and it feels wonderful to have your own great progression story. You’re not sure where this will take you, but you’re excited for the next chapters with Seungcheol.

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🔮 preview. The warm water sloshes around your bodies like an embrace, and you can feel all the tension and anxiety slipping out of your form. You’re breathing harder as he strokes the orgasmic fire that’s beginning to build inside of you again, and you close your eyes to focus on the embers that promise intense flames.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, sex in a bathtub, oral, pussy eating, fingering, praise, dirty talk, breast worship, body worship, overstimulation, multiple reader orgasms, mentions of sex toys, mentions of phone sex, sexual massaging, handjob, etc…   I petnames. (hers). princess.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.4k I teaser wc. 100

🌙 starring. Seungcheol x afab!Reader

bonus

As you’d imagined, scheduling has been the most difficult part of your relationship with Seungcheol. In the year you’ve been dating, you’ve only really been home for about four months, but somehow, you’ve made things work. He’s a man who is glued to his phone for work, so texting daily hasn’t been a problem.

And there’s something to be said about sex when you haven’t seen each other in a few weeks. Nothing says I miss you like a proper fuck fest, and part of your relationship compromise has been making time for Seungcheol to come visit you while you’re away in exotic locations while filming.

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Tall, gorgeous and handsome. The sight of him is absolutely mouth-watering. God bless his father for his genetics he was clearly gifted with.

You’ve been seeing Mingyu for three weeks and you are practically feral at the thought of throwing yourself at the beautiful man you are thirsting after.

As it turns out, Mingyu is a gentleman and requested you take things slow. He told you he wanted to wait until you’ve been together for a month before you finally get down and nasty together.

Your three weeks together haven’t been all sweet and innocent though. At the beginning of week two, after a late-night dinner, some heavy making out and dry humping led to him fingering you on the couch. Two nights later you found yourself with your hand in his sweatpants groping his very, very large cock. You practically begged him to let you blow him, but he said on your next date you could take the next step.

A couple of days ago was when you were finally blessed with the opportunity to suck the life out of Mingyu and his massive cock. You liked to think that you were pretty good at sucking dick, but nothing could truly prepare you for this experience. You couldn’t fit his whole length in your mouth at first without gagging. After a few tries, you could finally take him in your throat. The praise he gave you as he used his hands as a makeshift hair tie, which left you wet.

You’ve been far from innocent for a while. You lost your good old-fashioned v-card a week into your sophomore year of college and never looked back. Some people might say you’re a little loose with who you sleep with or maybe a good old fashion “slut”, but you don’t see it that way. You always just say you’re sex positive; you’re all about embracing the sexual side of yourself.

The night you met Mingyu he informed you that he’s a reformed fuck boy. The reason he wants to take things slow with you is because he wants to fully build a connection. If that’s what he wants, you’ll follow his request.

Tonight, you’re three nights shy from a month together. You aren’t sure you can make it through this date if you don’t finally get the opportunity to ride him like your life depends on it.

The thing about Mingyu is that you’re pretty sure you’re going to fall in love. It’s not just because of his perfect genetics and massive cock. He’s, unfortunately, perfect. Maybe not unfortunately—fortunately for you—he’s perfect. He’s a gentleman, he’s so kind, and he fucking cooks. He’s everything a mother dreams about their daughter finding in a partner. You knew one day if you take him home, your mother is going to beg you to marry him. She’s going to take one look at him and tell you to make her some grandchildren.

Hell, your friends are all telling you to lock it fully down. The day after your first date, you showed them a photo of Mingyu, and they literally gave you a high five that you managed to bag him.

There is something about Mingyu that just makes you feel like you’re an absolute horny mess at all times. You haven’t always been like this. Sure, you’re sex positive and love sex, but a normal man doesn’t make you feel like all your hormones are out of whack. Maybe that's because when he smiles, he instantly gives you butterflies and makes you feel like you’re falling hard.

Standing outside the expensive restaurant he just took you to, you’re waiting for a cab. His arm is over your shoulder as you lean against him. You’re desperately hoping that your matching red lingerie set with crotchless panties isn’t going to go to waste tonight.

“Mingyu?”

“Yes, darling?”

“What’s the chance I get you to take me home and see what’s under this dress?”

Biting his bottom lip, he holds back a smile. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Death by pussy doesn’t sound like a terrible death.” You absolutely love teasing him.

“Death by your pussy is how I personally prefer to die.”

“Is that a yes to finally riding you like my life depends on it?”

He can’t help but let out a chuckle at your extremely blunt statement. Before he can even respond, the cab arrives. Mingyu pulls away long enough for you to slide into the back seat. He slides in next to you. His large hand rests on your exposed thigh. He gives the cab your address.

Slowly, he leans in close, brushing your hair away from your ear. “Yes, you can do all things you have been dreaming about,” he whispers just loud enough for only you to hear. His hand stays firmly planted on your thigh, never moving.

The whole cab ride, you felt like it was taking everything in you not to crawl onto Mingyu’s lap and start kissing him like you need him to breathe. Fucking in the back of a cab probably isn’t the best idea though. The last thing you need is to get arrested for public indecency.

The moment you’re out of the cab, you grab his hand and pull him towards your apartment. The walk to your apartment feels too long. The second your apartment opens, you shove him against the door. “Someone’s extra horny tonight.” He has no clue how much he turns you on with little to no effort.

“I’ve been so patient with you. I just think I deserve a reward for being such a good girl.”

“Oh, you’re a good girl?” He cocks his head to the side.

“I’m a good girl just for you.” You trail your fingers up his chest.

“What does my good girl want me to do tonight?” He leans down so his lips are closer to yours.

“I have some fuzzy pink handcuffs you could try out.”

“Naughty girl.” He pops his tongue and gives you a wicked grin.

“You know I want you so bad. I don’t think I have ever wanted someone like you.”

“Are you just saying that because you want me to fuck you?”

“No. I’m saying that because I like everything about you. Sure, you’re hot, and you make me so horny I feel like I’m going crazy. You’re honestly perfect for me. I have fallen so hard for you.” You might as well lay all your cards out on the table.

“Oh, you’ve fallen for me?” He raises his eyebrow.

“Does that mean you haven’t fallen for me?” You’ve fallen for him so hard, there is no way he hasn’t fallen for you too.

“Baby girl, I’m head over heels for you.”

“Do you like me enough to make me Juno?”

“Like the movie?” He lets out a laugh.

“Yeah. Do you know one of me is cute? Could you imagine two?”

“Does my pretty girl have a breeding kink?” “What, you don’t want to knock me up?” You don’t want him to knock you up just yet, but there is something thrilling about playing into a breeding kink that you both clearly have.

“Does that mean no condoms tonight?”

Pressing your index finger into his chest, you look up at him and smile. “Make me fall in love tonight, big boy.”

Stepping around him, you head off towards your room, knowing he’s going to follow behind you. Opening the door, you have about ten seconds before Mingyu walks in behind you. Slipping off your high heels, you can feel his eyes burning into you. He is standing by the door, just watching as you go about slowly taking off parts of your outfit. Walking over to your dresser, you remove your jewelry. Looking into the mirror that’s on top, you find Mingyu carefully watching.

Reaching back, you slowly start unzipping your dress. The red fabric pools at your feet. Your red lace lingerie set you’re wearing is fully sheer. Your body is fully on display.

“Fuck-“ he groans.

“Like what you see, big boy?”

He instantly starts unbuttoning his dress shirt. Reaching into the nightstand, you pull out a bottle of lube and those pink fuzzy handcuffs you had mentioned before. Twirling them around your finger, you watch as he strips down to nothing but his boxers that are doing nothing to hide his very large erection.

“You know I want to blow you so badly, but I feel like I have been such a patient girl. I was hoping you could eat me out before I ride you.”

“Can your pretty lingerie stay on?” He steps closer to you.

“You don’t want to unwrap your present?”

“You look too good in it for it just to end up on the floor.”

Crawling onto the bed, you lay back, propping yourself up on your pillows. You spread your legs to show him how wet you already are. Slowly, you dip your fingers through your wet folds. “Oh.” You can’t help but moan as you circle your sensitive clit. His eyes are locked on you, watching each of your movements.

“Are you going to make me do all the work?” You sigh.

He crawls onto the bed. Laying on his stomach, he takes one of your legs resting it over your shoulder. He kisses the delicate skin on your inner thigh.

“Mingyu- please-“ If he wants you to beg for him you absolutely will.

“As you wish.”

His lips attach to your sensitive clit, sucking on it while he starts pumping one finger in you. He’s large, so you’re well aware he’s going to have to stretch you out before you can properly take him without pain.

The fact that Mingyu is eager to eat you out is just another thing about him that’s perfect. He’s said he gets off on pleasing his partner. By the ways he’s practically making out with your pussy while he pumps two fingers in and out of you, you know he’s not lying. Judging by the size of Mingyu's extra large cock, you know two fingers probably aren’t enough.

“Another one, please.” You practically beg.

He chuckles against your core. His lips stay pressed against you. Another finger is added. The stretch feels so good. He has you moaning like a bitch in heat. To be quite honest you feel like you’re in heat, with how desperately you want the man between your legs.

His fingers start doing a come hither motion, causing a pressure in your stomach you’ve never experienced.

“Gyu-“ His name is nothing more than a broken moan.

“What does my good girl want?” He pulls away from your pussy for the first time.

“Oh- go-d-“ Your entire body feels tense. You’re starting to feel dizzy and your release is getting closer and closer to the edge.

His tongue starts flicking your clit at a fast rate. His long fingers are rubbing the spongy spot inside you.

“Gyu-“ You practically scream. A pressure breaks inside you. Your walls contract as your release squirts all over Mingyu's hand and face.

His fingers slowly pump inside you, helping you ride out your high as he pulls his face away from your core.

“Baby-“ You can’t form coherent words. You’ve never squirted before in your life. You’ve never had an orgasm that feels as if it’s left you brain dead.

“Luckily you didn’t squirt on the bed. You just got my hand and face.” He lets out a laugh.

“I’ve never done that before,” you sigh.

He sits on his knees between your spread legs. “I’m honored.”

Laying down on the bed next to you he pulls off his boxers. He’s laying there naked with his large dick resting on his stomach. He taps his hip. “Climb aboard.” The cocky grin he sports gives you butterflies. He grabs the bottle of lube. Clicking the cap open he generously coats his length.

Slowly crawling onto his lips he wastes no time massaging your already wet core with lube.

Straddling his waist you grind against his large cock. Maybe one orgasm isn’t enough to make it comfortable to take him.

“Did you want to try those fuzzy handcuffs on me?” you ask, reaching out and picking them up.

“Orgasm number three I’ll handcuff you. I want you to ride me, as you said like your life depends on it.” Biting your bottom lip, you can’t help but smirk. “Do you need more lube?” His hand rubs your thigh.

“Let me try to take you, and if it hurts, we can use more.”

Lifting your hips he holds his length at your entrance. You take him slowly, inch by inch, giving yourself a chance to adjust to his massive size. It feels as if he’s splitting you open, but it’s absolutely delicious.

He fills you to the brim. There is no way he’s not bruising your cervix.

“Fuck, you’re huge.”

“Sorry, baby.” He sounds concerned. His large hand is gently rubbing your thigh.

“You’re splitting me open, but it feels so good.” By the end of your sentence, he’s smiling up at you.

There’s no way in hell you could start with a quick pace. You start with a small bouncy pace. Only moving up an inch or two before sinking back down. His hands rest on your hips, helping you move.

Leaning forward your hands are resting on his chest. You slide your hips up further and further with each thrust. Sex with Mingyu feels like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. The way he’s stretching you out makes you feel as if you’re close to the edge. The room is filled with wet sounds of you siding up and down his cock, your whiny moans, and his deep groans. It sounds like a porno, and you can’t get enough of it.

Your release comes quicker than you expected. Your body is tense and your walls contract. Throwing your head back you moan his name. You still completely, your body is completely fucked out. You can’t continue to ride him in your dazed state.

“Did I break you, baby?” He rubs your thigh gently, as if he isn’t thrusting into you while your brain is completely broken.

“Fuck- Gyu-“

“Can I flip you onto your back?”

“Yes.”

With little to no effort, he flips you. He spreads your legs wide, giving him more access to your practically abused pussy. He sits on his knees. His pace is slow but firm.

“Did you want those fuzzy handcuffs now?” He teases you.

The idea of not being able to touch him now makes you want to cry.

“No-“ You whine.

He moves down, hovering over you. His pace picks up. His release is rapidly approaching. The way he moans your name is like music to your ears.

“Can I come inside you?”

“Ple-ase.” You’re cock drunk and can barely speak.

“Did you want me to get you pregnant?”

“Yes.” You don’t actually want to get pregnant, but having children with him one day would be a dream.

Slamming his hips into you, he fills you to the brim, painting your walls white with his salty release.

Collapsing on top of you, he tries not to put all his weight on you. He places a trail of wet kisses across your collarbone. “Baby do I need to get up and get you plan b?”

You can’t help but laugh. Of course that’s his first question after fucking you so good you can’t even think straight

“No, I'm on birth control.”

Your hand runs up and down his spine almost as if you’re trying to memorize how it feels.

“Give me two years and I’ll actually make you Juno. You’re not wrong, one of you is cute. I couldn’t even start to imagine two of you.”

You're scrolling through your phone, humming to yourself as you try to find a place for dinner. Being a bit of a foodie, you love exploring new spots every now and then—but nothing's really catching your eye tonight. That is, until you stumble upon a newly opened restaurant nearby. Curious, you check the reviews and are pleasantly surprised to see people raving about it, calling it one of the best meals they've ever had. Smiling to yourself, you decide you've got to try it out.

Once you arrive, a waiter named Vernon ushers you to your table. You go for the most recommended dish on the menu and take in the aesthetic around you while waiting.

When the food finally arrives, you're practically drooling at the sight. You don't even bother with snapping a picture—you just dig right in. And the moment it hits your tongue, you're in love. The reviews weren't exaggerating—this really is the best food you've ever had. You devour the whole dish, savouring every bite.

You already know you're going to be a regular here.

Ever since that day, you've made it a point to come back every single day—haven't missed one yet. You've worked your way through most of the menu by now, and honestly? You can't even pick a favourite. Everything is just so goddamn good.

Today, you order their special, and the moment you take a bite, you hum in delight. If it were possible, you'd get on your knees and worship the chef—that's how good it is.

"Oh, Vernon!" you call out, stopping the waiter as he walks by.

"Yes? Can I get you anything?" he asks.

"I need you to help me compliment the chef," you say, eyes wide with sincerity. "I don't know what magic they're working back there, but tell them to never stop. This is incredible. Kiss them on the mouth if you can."

"Uh…not sure I can manage the kissing part, but I'll definitely let him know you enjoyed it," he says, chuckling as he disappears into the kitchen.

A few moments later, Vernon returns with someone by his side. You look up and nearly choke on your drink. Standing next to him is, presumably, the chef—and he's drop-dead gorgeous. Blonde hair, a solid, muscular build, pouty lips, sharp jawline…he looks like he walked straight out of Mount Olympus.

"Hello, Miss. I'm the chef, Seungcheol," he says with a warm smile, and your breath catches when you see the dimple that appears on his cheek. "Vernon told me you had some kind words about the food—I really appreciate it."

"O-Oh," you stammer, suddenly hyper-aware of how flustered you feel under his gaze. "It's nothing, really. You deserve it. This is honestly one of the best meals I've ever had."

Seungcheol chuckles softly at your words.

"Thank you, Miss. That means a lot—especially coming from a pretty lady like you," he says with a slight bow, and you feel your cheeks flush instantly.

He gives you a small smirk before turning back toward the kitchen, leaving you fanning your face in an attempt to cool down.

Just as you're finishing your meal, Vernon places a plate of brownies in front of you.

"Um, I didn't order dessert?" you ask, puzzled.

"It's complimentary," Vernon says with a knowing smile. "From the chef. He said—and I quote—'a sweet treat for the sweet customer.'"

"Oh." You can't help but blush as you accept the plate, laughing softly.

You take a bite of the brownie and straight up moan. It's divine. You swear you've ascended. Nothing has ever tasted this good. If this is what heaven is like, you're ready to go. But instead of inhaling it like usual, you slow down, letting yourself savour every bite.

When you finally finish, you notice something tucked beneath the plate—a small piece of paper. Curious, you pick it up and see a phone number scrawled across it.

XXX-XXXXXXXXX I'd love to get to know my sweet customer more :) - Seungcheol

You bite your bottom lip and slip the note into your pocket, heart pounding in your chest.

One text turned into five, five into ten—and now here you are, standing in front of your favourite restaurant—a date with the hot chef himself. After spending an hour at home debating whether or not to text Seungcheol, you finally gathered the courage and hit send. To your surprise, he replied almost instantly. The conversation flowed effortlessly, and you found yourself getting flustered every time he flirted. When he asked you out to dinner, you didn't hesitate to say yes, which brings you to this very moment.

You take a deep breath, smoothing out your dress one last time before stepping inside—only to find the place eerily empty.

"Uh…hello?" you call out, slightly confused.

Before your nerves can spiral, Seungcheol steps out of the kitchen, flashing that gorgeous smile. Your heart does a little flip as your eyes trail down his outfit—a sharp suit and a white dress shirt that clings just right to his broad chest.

"Y/N! You made it," he greets, walking over.

"Cheol, where is everyone? Why's the place empty?" you ask, eyes darting around the vacant restaurant.

"I closed it down for the night," he grins. "Thought we could have a private dinner—just the two of us."

Your heart skips a beat at the gesture.

"Come on, sit. I'll bring out the food," he says, pulling out a chair for you like a true gentleman.

You take your seat, and he disappears into the kitchen, returning shortly with the entrée.

"Made something new just for you. Hope you like it," he says with that signature dimpled smile.

You take a bite and instantly hum in delight.

"Cheol, seriously—what do you put in this? Why is everything you make so goddamn good?" you say with a soft moan, making him chuckle.

Dinner goes on effortlessly—he keeps surprising you with your favourite dishes, and you keep blushing at his thoughtful little touches. Every gesture feels intimate, every look makes your heart flutter.

Soon enough, he brings out dessert: a cherry-flavoured treat topped with a generous swirl of whipped cream.

"This is my signature dessert," he hums, resting his chin in his hand as he watches you.

You take a bite, closing your eyes to fully savour the way it melts on your tongue.

"How is it?" he asks.

"Divine," you reply sincerely, making him chuckle.

He takes a bite for himself, and a bit of whipped cream lands on his lips. You can't help but stare as he licks it off—and he catches you looking, smirking knowingly.

"You know," he begins with a chuckle, "Vernon did mention something about you asking him to give me a kiss."

Your face instantly heats up.

He leans in slightly, the ambient light hitting his features just right, soft and golden, making him look almost ethereal.

"I wouldn't mind getting that kiss from you," he purrs, voice low and teasing.

Your heart stumbles in your chest, breath hitching. You bite your bottom lip and slowly lean in, cheeks flushed. Seungcheol chuckles at your hesitation, then closes the gap between you, meeting you halfway.

The moment your lips touch, you melt.

The kiss is slow, tender—you can taste the cherries lingering on his tongue.

"I think you might be sweeter than the dessert," he murmurs against your lips before pulling you in again, this time with a deeper, hungrier kiss.

He dominates the kiss effortlessly, and you surrender, letting him take control. His hand slides behind you, pulling you flush against him. A soft moan escapes you as he teases your tongue, his grip possessive.

You let out a startled squeak when he lifts you without effort, settling you onto his lap.

"Better," he murmurs against your lips before claiming them again.

Your fingers twist into his blonde hair, tugging sharply—just enough to draw a low growl from him. His hands roam, leaving heat in their wake, and you can feel yourself growing wetter with every touch. Desperate, you roll your hips against him, aching for more.

"Impatient, are we?" He chuckles, dark and amused.

"Cheol, please," you whine, grinding down again.

In one swift motion, he lifts you onto an empty table nearby, your dress riding up. Plucking a cherry from the dessert, he places it between your lips with a smirk.

"Keep it there," he orders before diving back in.

The kiss is messy, hungry—cherry juice smearing between your mouths as he devours you. When he finally pulls back, his lips are stained cherry red, his hair dishevelled, and his gaze burns with satisfaction.

He shrugs off his jacket in one swift motion, rolling up his sleeves to reveal those veiny forearms you can't help but stare at.

Your breath hitches as he hikes your dress higher, fingers hooking into your panties and sliding them down, leaving you bare. The cool air kisses your exposed flesh, drawing a shiver from you.

"Fuck, you're already dripping," he growls, dragging a finger through your slick folds. The touch makes you whimper, hips twitching toward him.

"Wanna taste you," he murmurs, but instead of diving in, he reaches for the dessert with a wicked smirk.

Confusion flickers across your face—until he scoops up a spoonful of whipped cream and smears it right over your aching core. You gasp as the cold sweetness contrasts with the heat between your thighs.

Then his tongue is on you, licking a slow, deliberate stripe through the cream. You whine, back arching.

"Fuck, you taste even sweeter like this," he moans against you.

He adds more cream, lapping at you like a man starved, as if he hadn't just finished a meal. Your fingers fist in his hair, tugging him closer, and he groans in approval. When your thighs instinctively squeeze around his head, his strong hands force them apart again, relentlessly.

"Cheol—!" You cry out as your first orgasm crashes over you, thighs trembling, vision blurring. But he doesn't stop, tongue working you through it, coaxing out every last drop.

A second peak hits even harder, your entire body tensing as pleasure whites out your mind. You babble his name like a prayer, but he only drinks you in deeper, greedy.

When he finally pulls back, your juices—and whipped cream—glisten on his chin. The sight is obscenely delicious. You whimper, boneless and ruined.

"Already tired, sweetheart?" he taunts, a smirk playing on his lips. "And here I thought you could handle me."

"No—please," you whine, squirming beneath him. "Need you inside me."

A dark chuckle rumbles in his chest as he unzips his pants, freeing his cock. Your breath hitches at the sight—god, he's huge.

In one swift motion, he drags you to the edge of the table, your legs hooked over his arms.

"Ready?" he asks, though the hunger in his voice says he won't wait. You nod desperately.

The moment he pushes in, your back arches, a broken moan tearing from your throat. He fills you, stretching you so deep you swear his tip kisses your cervix.

"S-So big," you gasp, nails biting into his shoulders.

"Fuck, you're tight," he groans, grip bruising on your thighs. "Perfect fucking fit."

Then he moves—hard, relentless thrusts that have you clawing at him. Every snap of his hips drags his cock against your walls, the thick veins rubbing you just right.

"Wanna fuck you right against the glass," he growls, "so everyone can see how good you take it."

The thought sends a shudder through you, your breath coming in sharp, needy whimpers.

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" His voice is rough, fingers digging into your hips. "Being watched while I ruin you?"

All you can do is moan, your body clenching around him.

"Dirty girl," he murmurs, amused and feral.

Your cries pitch higher, thighs trembling as your climax builds. Seungcheol doesn't let up, his thumb circling your clit with ruthless precision.

"Cum for me," he commands—and you shatter, screaming his name as your ears ring from the overwhelming pleasure. He follows with a few final, deep thrusts, spilling inside you with a groan.

For a moment, there's only the sound of ragged breaths. Then he pulls out, and you whimper at the slick heat dripping from you. Gently, he helps you into your panties, fingers brushing your skin.

When he cups your face, his gaze is heavy, possessive.

"Wanna clean up at my place?"

You grin, still breathless. "Thought you'd never ask."

› author's note: i lost my mind and just wrote this. i never write drabbles but yoon jeonghan always changes my mind simply by existing LOL DRABBLE—THIS THING TURNED INTO A FULLY FLEDGED ONE SHOT HAHAKJDHKGJH THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A DRABBLE HAKJHF

› shoutout to @aeristudios for suggesting baby names, and for giving me the inspiration to do this, jskdfjh.

and to @coupsiedaisee for watching me spiral in real time for the yoon jeonghan. thanks. thank you for working out certain plot points with me and for proofing this! 🩵🥺

› disclaimer: minors DO NOT INTERACT. this post is intended for 18+ readers ONLY. please have your age stated in your blog description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂

It was only supposed to be a nap.

You and Yoon Jeonghan have been dating for a few months now. Ever since you met him, your life has turned around, and you’ve never felt luckier. Jeonghan walked into your life with the smoothness of a trainwreck—in the best way possible. One afternoon, you came out of work and started getting rained on out of nowhere. And he happened to be the only guy willing to share his umbrella.

You started talking, waiting for the storm to subside. He took your number, and you were surprised to receive a phone call the very next day. It wasn’t exactly easy to navigate the waters since you learned he was a single parent. Dating was hard enough already, and all of your friends thought you had lost your mind when you started dating a single parent in his thirties.

“I’m barely thirty,” he’d say with a laugh, the tips of his ears turning bright red whenever someone commented on it.  

Jeonghan made things feel lighter, even if his life was a complete mess sometimes. He provided you with a sense of normalcy, a sense of security. Even though you were in your mid-twenties, sometimes you worried you were on different wavelengths. But as the months went by, you found that it was easier than breathing.

Both of you fell into a rhythm. Sometimes you’d visit him, sometimes he’d come to yours with his two-year-old strapped to his hip. You’d dine together, watch some mindless TV, or play games. And whenever he could get the chance to, he’d take you out on dates, just the two of you.

Tonight, you came to his apartment straight from work. It was pasta and pizza night, and it was one of the very first nights that you would stay so late at his house. Neither Jeonghan nor you would stay at each other’s places. You weren’t quite there yet.

Typically, you’d see him wearing his clothes from work—a button-down white shirt, black pants, slacks, belt that matched his shoes. Very clean cut in his work uniform, to the exception of the pair of wacky socks he wore—like salmon pink socks with cute little potted cacti. That’s the kind of man Jeonghan was.

But when he answered the door, you were surprised by what you saw. Sometimes you would see him wearing his uniform still, but with some bits already dishevelled, like his tie would be loose around his neck and his shirt with the buttons half-undone. No. This time, Jeonghan was wearing a white oversized white tee, with bright green shorts and a white cap on his head.

And something about it made your blood stir.

But you had to remain composed. You cleared your throat as you padded through his apartment barefoot.

“What are you cooking tonight, sir?” you asked playfully, following him into the open kitchen of his apartment.

The place was small, but perfect for him and Sohee—it felt lived in, toys scattered in the living room where most of life happened. There was a creamy white rug placed in the centre of the room, a baby chair where Sohee was hyper fixating on a bag of water and peas, while Jeonghan was busy in the kitchen.

Jeonghan eyed you briefly. A smirk broke into the frown he was previously wearing. “Cooking?” he drawled slowly as he appeared to be fighting to open a bottle of wine. “Pasta and pizza. I got up at the crack of dawn to make the spaghetti from scratch with my bare hands.”

“Oh, really?” you smirked, clearly catching on to his game.

“Yeah, obviously,” he said, masking a giggle with a cough. “What, did you think I would order food and then reheat it in the oven?”

You eyed the oven, which showed you the pizza that was currently being heated up. “I would never,” you giggled softly, pushing yourself to your tiptoes to reach for a kiss.

Jeonghan tilted his head to you, aiming for you to kiss him on the lips. But coordination between you failed. In the midst of him focusing on stopping the pasta from burning, and you standing on your tiptoes, you ended up kissing his cheek.

“Stay still,” you whined, making him chuckle. Bringing a hand to cup his cheek, you fixed him in place for you to prop a quick kiss on his lips.

Jeonghan clicked his tongue. “Kiss me properly,” he complained, pouting and knitting his eyebrows in a frown.

“Pay attention to me, then,” you argued, laughing at his reaction.

“I can’t—I’m cooking,” he emphasized with half a laugh. But then he turned the stove off, quickly placing his hands on your waist to push you back against the kitchen sink. The movement was smooth, making you think that he had wanted to do this the moment he saw you walk into the kitchen.

“You are a kitchen hazard,” he huffed, his voice low, barely audible.

“Why?” you asked, laughing softly.

He tilted his head to yours, the tip of his nose bumping against your own. “Cause you’re distracting the chef,” he whispered, joining his lips to yours. The kiss was gentle, almost as if he wanted just to feel your lips with his own and nothing else. Then slowly, as he kissed you again, his tongue brushed your bottom lip ever so slightly, drawing an airy moan from you.

But then, an alarm went off, snapping him back to reality. Jeonghan tensed at the sharp sound, but leaned his forehead against yours. “Dinner’s ready.”

“I’ll get Sohee,” you whispered without opening your eyes yet.

That gained you another kiss—this one was even more brief, fleeting. But it denoted the need he had to have his lips on yours. He stepped back, though begrudgingly.

This was the only push and pull you had with Jeonghan.

In all of the months you’ve been dating, you have never gone past kissing. The only times you both have been close to doing something other than kissing were the few make-out sessions where he dared to slip his hands beneath your blouse, only to feel your back or your waist.

Yoon Jeonghan was the only man in your life who exerted control over himself.

And it was confusing at times.

Not because you questioned his affection, or his desire for you. You knew he wanted you. But for some reason, he controlled himself every time things got a little too heated. And well you… you wanted this man. More than you allowed yourself to admit.

The boyish aspect he sported as he wore his cap, the laid back look… you found it too hard to resist.

But you resisted it anyway. You skirted through the living room, through the rug cluttered with toys that told a story—a train was on the ground, surrounded by little cowboys and ponies. You smirked to yourself, knowing what story Jeonghan might’ve crafted for baby Sohee moments before he got up to get dinner ready.

You lifted Sohee from her chair, mirroring the little squeal she let out as you wrapped her in your arms. “Hi, young lady,” you cooed, smiling at her as she clapped her tiny hands together. Sohee was a perfect little girl with big bright eyes, a head full of messy black hair and the cutest smile— just like her father’s.

Jeonghan had finished setting up the small round table and was approaching you with a small towel he normally used to wipe the drool off of Sohee’s chin. “She might not be hungry, though. Apparently, she ate all of her meals at day care, not just animal crackers,” he commented with a slight but noticeably contented look on his face.

You made a shocked expression, grabbing her attention fully. “She did?” you asked, and the baby giggled at your face. “That’s awesome! Daddy must be so proud of you!”

Jeonghan blinked, his gaze shifting from his daughter’s face to yours. Now, this wasn’t the first time you called him daddy, but you were beginning to notice that it had an effect on him. His eyes widened slightly, and he seemed to stumble over his words before he even uttered them.

He ended up just smiling shyly.

“Come on, let’s put you in your chair,” you said, pretending not to have seen his reaction.

As you safely put Sohee in her highchair, she held onto your hair, making fists around the loose strands and clenching them tightly as you placed her safely.

“Sohee,” Jeonghan sighed reproachfully, catching her tiny fists around your hair before you did.

“Oh—” you muttered.

But Jeonghan was quick, grabbing Sohee’s favorite cup and placing it in front of her strategically. “Look here, Sohee!” he cooed, his tone rising in a way that made you go a little feral with cuteness aggression.

But it did the trick—Sohee instantly went for her sippy cup, silently latching her mouth to it and started drinking from it.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he muttered as you stood back. Jeonghan was standing behind you, so you bumped back against him blindly, his hand falling on your lower hip by accident.

Your whole body became alight with excitement. A little too much of it. “Yeah!” you sighed, your tone sounding too high. You cleared your throat.

If Jeonghan noticed, he did not react. “Please,” he motioned to the chair for you to sit.

You sat down beside Sohee, looking at the table as Jeonghan placed the pizza at the centre. “Hawaiian pizza?” you arched an eyebrow.

Jeonghan stopped, two empty glasses in his hands as he was just about to place them on the table. “Isn’t it your favourite?” he asked, sounding horrified.

“Yes, i-it is,” you replied, face switching into a frown. “How did you know?”

He relaxed visibly, his shoulders going slack as he resumed putting the glasses on the table, then turned to grab the bottle of wine. “Well, you told me,” he said, smirking.

“I did?” you asked.

Jeonghan joined the round table, and it was small enough that he was close to you and Sohee at the same time. “Yeah, you did. Our second date, remember?”

“Uh, yeah. Totally,” you said, not hiding the evident unseriousness in your tone.

Jeonghan huffed. “Ah, you don’t remember,” he clicked his tongue again. “Maybe you should pay more attention to me,” he emphasized jokingly.

You giggled. “You’re right, it is my favorite,” you said, leaning in to place a quick kiss on his cheek. “Thanks for remembering.”

Jeonghan smiled shyly, looking down as you pressed your lips against his cheek. He directed a long look at you as you leaned back on your chair. “Let’s hope she likes it too,” he mumbled, cutting a small piece from his slice of pizza and pinching it with a fork.

“She might not be big on it,” you mumbled softly, looking at Jeonghan as he drove the fork in front of her face. “Not everyone likes pineapple on pizza.”

He glanced at you. “You’re right about that,” he huffed playfully.

“You don’t like it?”

He shrugged, still waiting for Sohee to take the bite. “I don’t mind it,” he replied. “I just think it changes the whole meal. A snack turned into a dessert.”

“So you think pizza is a snack?” you inquired, arching an eyebrow.

“I just don’t think it’s a meal on its own, you know? It needs to have company, like pasta,” he replied with a light smile, his gaze shifting between your face to his daughter’s as she finally took the piece of pizza into her mouth.

“Oh, moment of truth,” you muttered, completely forgetting what Jeonghan just told you.

Sohee appeared to be completely intrigued by the piece of food that had just entered her mouth. She chewed, her face progressively becoming more and more interested in swallowing just to get another mouthful immediately.

“It appears she likes it,” Jeonghan mumbled happily, exchanging a look with you.

“Of course she does,” you asserted. You gave him a confident wink. “Sohee’s like me. She has good taste.”

Jeonghan smiled, content that Sohee was liking the food she was trying for the first time. But there was more in the twinkle of his eyes as he looked at you—you were able to appreciate it.

He was happy.

After dinner, you offered to tidy the kitchen as he bathed Sohee and got her ready for bed. Usually Fridays were more relaxed for you both, since none of you had to work the next day—but something about that day had left you feeling tired, and sleepy. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was work, you didn’t know.

But you were feeling too tired to drive back home, and in all honesty, you didn’t want to leave yet.

You sat on the couch, waiting for Jeonghan as he put Sohee to bed, and then you could have a moment between you two—which was probably going to end up with you watching something on TV, occasionally stopping to kiss until it got too steamy for either of you. It was usually like this. And this rhythm had you slowly falling into a steady step—familiarity.

You realized you liked it. You could get used to it.

However, tonight, your body had other plans for you.

One moment you were waiting for Jeonghan on the sofa, shutting your eyes, and the next you opened them to find yourself in his queen-sized bed, covered with a weighted blanket. 

You instantly tensed, scrambling to sit up.

Jeonghan was lying beside you, not completely asleep but not quite awake either.

The lights were off, but the curtains weren’t exactly fully closed, so you could see his face thanks to the sliver of light that slipped through the parted curtains. He lifted his eyebrows, blinking slowly at you. “Hey,” he croaked.

“Oh my god,” you mumbled. “I’m sorry, I fell asleep.”

In the darkness, you saw him frown. “Why are you sorry for that?” he asked, his voice soft, laced with tiredness.

You realized that he was still wearing the same clothes, sans the cap. Now, you could see his black hair, which he kept trimmed short. You gulped. “I—” you sighed, finding no excuses to give him. “I should go home.”

Jeonghan lifted his head from the pillows, still frowning. “It’s late,” he mumbled. “And you don’t have to go. You could stay.”

The air in your lungs seemed to vanish in an instant. You knew the implications of staying the night at his place—sharing a bed with him meant you taking things to the next level. A whole more intimate level.

“Jeonghan…” you muttered, but there was no reason for you to say no. You wanted to stay. And you were aching to lie down next to him.

He noticed something in your tone, the hesitation perhaps. Because he smiled softly, stretching an arm towards you. “Come,” he whispered, motioning over to his side of the bed.

You turned over, lying down in front of him. Jeonghan received you in his arms instantly, wrapping one arm over your waist and slipping the other under you, effortlessly pulling your chest closer to his.

Your breath hitched when you felt his warmth, instinctively finding his chest with your palm and pushing some invisible inches of distance between you. It was futile.  

Jeonghan started giggling, crushing his lips on your face. “You’re nervous,” he finally realized, pressing his lips repeatedly against yours. “It’s not like we’ve never slept together before.”

“No, we’ve slept naps together,” you interjected. “And on a couch. Never on a bed.”

“Imagine this as taking a longer nap,” he said, shrugging slightly.

“In a bed,” you added shakily, skirting the pads of your fingers down his chest nervously.

Jeonghan laughed, aiming for another kiss. “Mm-mmph,” he hummed against your lips.

Your pulse quickened. The kisses Jeonghan was giving you were mere pecks, lips pressing against yours repeatedly, gently. It wasn’t until a grunt escaped him, the arm perched on your waist switching so his hand could park on your lower back. He tilted his head, pushing yours so you could part your lips, giving him access.

Jeonghan had a killer factor. And it wasn’t his good looks, or that he was a great kisser, no. Yoon Jeonghan had a duality that only you knew. He could appear composed to some people, fun to others. A good father. A good co-worker. But the thing that never failed to make you want to die a little was just how sexy he could be.

And given the fact that he’d never gone past kisses made you a little crazy.

He kissed you again, now locking his lips with yours, humming into your mouth as you dared to swipe the tip of your tongue on his bottom lip. His hand slipped from your lower back, circling your waist and sliding to meet your hip. Inches closer to your bottom.

“Jeonghan,” you whispered, bringing a hand to cup the side of his neck.

“Want me to stop?” he mumbled, his tone gentle and sweet.

You moved your hand from his neck, shaking your head in tiny motions as you cupped his chin. “No—just a bit longer,” you whispered, diving for another kiss.

Jeonghan returned the kiss just as heatedly, his hand on your hip pressing slightly so his fingertips dipped into the fabric of your skirt. You didn’t even realize that he’d pushed the blanket down, or had you done it?

The sweet pecks had turned into a make-out session. It became harder to breathe, your body felt heavier and hotter. His lips were losing their gentleness, his chest closer to yours to the point it was noticeable in the shift in his breathing.

He pulled away, just slightly, so he could speak. “Tell me when to stop,” he said, his tone rising a bit in desperation. As though he was getting closer to a line he wouldn’t be able to come back from.

“Just as long as you are comfortable, I’m okay,” you whispered, still unable to get a grip on your nervousness.

Now, you weren’t completely inexperienced in sex. You’ve had your fair share of experiences, multiple partners in the past. But there was something about Jeonghan, something about his kiss that melted you away completely—it made you feel like a beginner all over again.

“Me?” he whispered, chuckling softly.

“Yeah, dummy, you,” you said, frowning slightly. “I thought you didn’t want to…”

He pulled away, getting a better look at your face. “Didn’t want to what?” he asked, matching the frown on your face with his own.

“You know,” you mumbled, shrugging with reluctance. “You always pull away when the kissing gets too much, or when your hands go too far.”

He blinked. “I never realized you saw it like that,” he said, softer now.

“Well, explain to me how you think I saw it,” you mumbled, showing him a coy smile.

He seemed to slow down. “I thought you wanted to take things slowly,” he emphasized, still speaking gently.

The statement made your mind race. All the occasions that Jeonghan left you feeling a little too hot, panting, and wet have been because he thought you were the one pulling the brakes?  “Jeonghan, what?” you asked, genuinely confused. “I thought you didn’t want to take things there yet,” you replied, hating yourself for speaking figuratively. Your face heated up.

He smiled fondly at you. “Really?” he mumbled, raising his eyebrows briefly as he leaned his forehead against yours. “You have no idea.”

Jeonghan kissed you again, your breath catching as his lips locked with yours. The arm that was under your body wrapped over your back, as the hand on your hip held you tightly. You never would’ve guessed what he was attempting to do, because when he turned over on his back, he brought your body with him too. Now, you were lying on top of him, your full body weight pressing down on his body.

You had no time to protest—not that you actually had something to protest. But this was the very first time you both dared to do something like this. And it wasn’t because of any kind of convictions you had, it was just because you both failed to interpret the assumed distance.

And now that he knew you also wanted him, it was as though he was released from a self-imposed prison.

Jeonghan let his hands roam free on your back, leaving your hips to press his palms on the line of your back, feeling you over your clothes. He hummed into your mouth as you continued to kiss him fervently, as though his lips were magnetic, calling you to him.

Suddenly, your clothes became too much. You wanted to get rid of his oversized t-shirt, the shorts. Everything. 

And Jeonghan was thinking the same, apparently. Because his hands moved further down on your body, his fingers pinched the stiff fabric of your dress shirt from your work uniform, hiking it up so he could hide his hands beneath it.

Despite his touch being cold, you welcomed it. Your body was hot, feverish as his lips continued to explore yours, his tongue meeting your own in a seamless dance. Your heartbeat was going a mile per second, so fast and so hard you could hear it thumping in your temples. It was almost embarrassing how a simple make-out session could make you feel like you were running a marathon.

It was his effect.

“Hannie,” you called, your tone honeyed and airy.

“Should I stop now?” he asked again, and you realized from his tone that he was aroused as well. It sounded low, raspy.

“No, no,” you mumbled dumbly. “Please, just give it to me. Give me everything,” you pleaded, past caring how pathetic you sounded.

But again, you wanted this man.

Jeonghan didn’t need further confirmation.

His hands slipped from under your dress shirt down and over your skirt, fully cupping your ass over your clothes. “Sit on me,” he mumbled gruffly, swallowing hard.

You let out a strangled and tiny noise from your mouth. But you followed his instruction, moving your knees to each side of his hips—not caring that the movement was hiking your skirt up your thighs, to the point that it barely covered your butt anymore.

Jeonghan didn’t skip a beat, his hand circling your neck to motion you back on his lips. You were straddling now, so it was easier to lean over him to kiss him fully. You grabbed his face with one hand, while the other slipped on the side of his head, fingernails grazing his scalp, feeling his short hair in between your fingertips.

He moaned, the sound muffled by your mouth, reverberating in your chest. It made your blood dance, arousal sizzling under your skin, your heart race even quicker. Instinctively, you pressed your hips down, accidentally grinding your crotch against his. You could feel him through your panties, the hardening bulge beneath his shorts—its warmth.

His hands gripped you harder, motioning you to repeat that same movement by pressing your hips down on him, making you feel his growing boner. You broke the kiss, but only to feel his breath on your lips. “God, Jeonghan,” you whispered shakily.

Jeonghan knew you were nervous by your tone alone. “Tell me what you need, baby,” he told you, his voice still sounding raspy.

After hearing the word baby come out of his mouth, you could not speak past this point. All you knew was his hands on you, the very evident hard-on pressing against your crotch. And Jeonghan’s warmth, the need he had for you, all of that just robbed you of words.

But you could only utter one word. “More,” you said, already knowing that without your consent, he wouldn’t do anything.

You were sure that Jeonghan could feel your rapid pulse beneath his fingertips, his hand still parked around your neck. He motioned you to his lips again, a tiny gasp spilling from his mouth when you shifted on top of him, pressing your ass on his hardened cock. It made you moan too, the sound muffled by his mouth.

His hand slipped from your neck, fingers fumbling over the buttons of your dress shirt. The second his thumb went over the first button, your core started pulsing with need and heavy arousal.

You kissed his mouth, your hand feeling his short hair while the other one felt him up his chest. His heart was beating rapidly too. You could feel it vibrating beneath your palm. His fingers continued their descent down the buttons of your shirt, undoing each one of them with great care. Like giving you ample time to stop him if you changed your mind.

But you, on the other hand, were aching for him to get it done. To get your clothes off so you could start taking his. However, Jeonghan seemed to be taking his sweet time to the point that you began to think that he was doing it to fluster you more.

As soon as the last button of your shirt came off, you pulled back from his lips, leaning back on top of him so you could get a better view of his face. His eyes roamed all over your face and body as you let the dress shirt slip off your shoulders, taking it off your arms to then discard it somewhere on the floor.

Jeonghan’s eyes widened slightly when he saw your chest, covered only by the white lace bra that you were debating to take off at that moment. But Jeonghan sat up with you still straddling him, his hands switched from your hips to your back, palms feeling you up as he reached for the line of your bra.

He looked at your face directly, his eyes reading yours as his fingers unclasped your bra. Your skin immediately prickled, a shudder running down from your nape to your tailbone. You felt his hands move, fingers reaching the straps of your pretty bra to slide them down your shoulders, then your arms.

He paused, his eyes outlining the features of your face one more time before his gaze dove into your chest. Then he leaned over, pressing a sweet kiss on your collarbone, his wet lips brushing your skin made your eyelids flutter close.

Your mouth parted, his mouth continuing to kiss down your chest, was slowly driving you insane. “Oh, Hannie,” you moaned, the sound sweet and almost pathetic.

He responded with a moan of his own, but his sounded raspy, almost animalistic. It made your blood surge, pushing you to press down on him harder. Jeonghan grunted again, this time in protest, as though you were fighting for control, and he would not allow that.

In one motion, he flipped your body over, pressing your back against the mattress. You gasped, your eyes finding him. He never handled you with such force, let alone put you down like this, because he wanted to cage your body with his.

He made no comment about your alarmed expression, but a cheeky smile drew on his beautiful lips before he dipped his head to kiss you again. You were now lying on your back, Jeonghan was slotting his body between your thighs, which you were parting for him, careless that your skirt was already up your belly.

Jeonghan slipped his hands between the mattress and your butt, finding the zipper with his fingers all too effortlessly. It made you think that he had already located the zipper way before this, which meant he’d been looking at your ass as well. The zipper came down, and his hands quickly moved the skirt down.

“I love when you wear this,” he said gruffly, pulling away to remove the skirt from your legs. “But right now, it needs to go.”

He discarded your skirt somewhere in the bedroom, and you heard the metallic sound of the zipper hitting the floor, snapping you to reality. Your hands acted on their own, finding his oversized t-shirt and pulling it over his head, which he let you do all too willingly, even helped you with tossing the shirt to the floor as well.

You giggled softly, stretching your arms to him so he could come back to slotting his hips between your thighs. Once he pressed his bare chest with yours, you wrapped your arms around him, skirting the pads of your fingers along the line of his back, feeling his skin prickle as well.

You loved that he showed no hesitation. He wanted this as much as you did, and he wasn’t afraid to show it. He initially bristled when your fingers started dancing on his bare skin, but as he let out a brief giggle, you realized that he was just ticklish and responding to your touch.

The sound alone made you go entirely feral, if you weren’t feeling like that already. You let your hands roam on his back, searching for the waistband of his green shorts, beginning to pull them down.

But Jeonghan seized your hands, grabbing them by the wrists and pinning them up your head. “Hold them right there,” he said, his tone raspy and laced with a hint of playfulness.

You did what he said, though not by obedience alone, but because Jeonghan had caged you with his body. He lowered his hips on yours, making you feel the size of his hard cock, then the warmth of his chest against yours.

He made a trail of kisses, starting from your cheekbone to your lips, then trailing down to meet the line of your jaw, the crook of your neck and your collarbones. Then, with a fleeting glance at your face, he dipped his head to kiss your chest, kissing your boobs with such deliberation that it made you think he wanted to do this for a long time. He hummed against your skin, tasting your skin as he wrapped his mouth around your left nipple.

You winced slightly under him, but then relaxed instantly when the tip of his tongue swirled around your areola, to then suckle at it and kiss it. Then he did the same with your other nipple, now the feeling was so sweet that you closed your eyes, moaning salaciously.

Jeonghan lifted his head, shushing you softly. But then he giggled bashfully. “We don’t want to wake the baby up,” he warned you, the same spark of playfulness making a return.

“Right,” you whispered, shame tingling beneath your cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

Jeonghan shook his head. “No, you’re alright,” he whispered back, pushing his forehead against yours before propping a light kiss on your lips. “You’re perfect.”

Your heart shuddered. You cupped his face with your hands, meeting his lips with your own with soft pecks. “Want to keep going?” you whispered, your tone rising a little, making you sound shy.

“Yes,” he replied with determination. He swallowed hard, but then you felt him raise his eyebrows slightly. “And you?”

“Yeah,” you replied, giggling at yourself. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” you admitted.

“Mmn,” he hummed, giving you another light kiss. “If only you knew how badly I wanted you,” he replied, matching your giggle.

“You can show me now,” you told him, your tone sweet and melted in arousal for him. “I’ll be quiet.”

“But not too quiet,” he said. “I like the way you sound.”

Something came over you, like a bright light bulb going on and off inside your brain. You smiled cheekily, even though he was still leaning his forehead on yours and couldn’t see you. “Yes, daddy,” you replied.

Jeonghan let out a sigh, and you knew that he was smiling just by the sound alone. He hummed, closing the space between his mouth and yours to kiss it. “You will be the end of me,” he told you, giggling softly.

But then he wasted no time, continuing to explore your bare skin with his lips. He returned to kissing your chest, teasing your nipples with the tip of his tongue, and he did this slowly, as though getting to know how your skin tasted, how it felt on his lips. You were sure now—Yoon Jeonghan had been wanting to do this for a long time.

You remained silent, feeling too aroused and too needy to get things done to even speak. You felt as though your tongue had grown heavy in your mouth, and you were submitted to only watch and feel what Jeonghan did to you. He saw back on his knees, his fingers hooking around the waistband of your panties.

You exchanged a glance with him, and you knew that he was asking for permission just with a look. You nodded, and he started to pull your panties in his direction, taking them off your legs. You retracted your legs, lifting your knees up for him to take your panties off completely, and left them aside on the bed.

Now, you were utterly naked on his bed. For a split second, you wondered how this situation would look from afar—pitch black in the dead of night, only a sliver of streetlight seeping through a crack in the curtains. Jeonghan, half-naked and crawling on top of your body, as you welcomed him in your arms, parting your legs for him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he drawled, pushing his lips against your own. “You don’t know how many times I imagined you here with me,” he whispered coyly.

“Yeah?” you replied in kind.

“Mm-mmph,” he hummed. “So many times. And even then, all those things I thought about don’t even come close to the beauty you are in real life.”

“Hannie,” you giggled sheepishly.

He laughed against your mouth. “My pretty girl,” he said tenderly, kissing you one more time. “So perfect. And sweet.”

Your eyelids fluttered close, as he kissed the underside of your jaw, then your neck. You sighed. “All yours, daddy.”

Now, you were sure that word had an effect on him. He let out a hum against your skin, moving to kiss your collarbones, your chest, your belly. “All fucking mine,” he said aloofly, leaving wet kisses around your belly button.

The room fell silent again, all to the exception of your quiet moans and sighs, and the smacking of Jeonghan’s wet lips as he kissed your lower tummy, inching closer to where you needed him the most.

Now, part of you was finding it hard to believe what he was doing. Even if you had experiences with other people, they were never close to the man Yoon Jeonghan was. All of your past partners seemed to shrink in comparison just by the confidence he exuded—every move was deliberate despite his initial nervousness.

And you attributed that nervousness to how much he cared about this—about taking this step with you. Because you were also nervous. You had never liked someone this much. And had never even waited to have sex with someone for so long while dating.

“Hannie,” you mumbled shakily when he kissed your mound, sending you furtive glances to check in on you.

He lifted his head, and you saw his face. His lips were swollen and wet from kissing you, his eyes darkened and half-lidded with lust. “Want daddy to eat you out, baby?”

“Oh god—” you gasped. “Yes, yes, please.”

Jeonghan only smiled in response. It was a small smile, drawing on his face slowly. He said nothing, keeping his darkened gaze on you as he moved his mouth to kiss the top of your pussy.

You blinked repeatedly, mouth parting to let out a tiny moan. Your body twitched, and you laughed at your own involuntary response as his lips pressed a kiss just an inch lower. “God, Jeonghan, please just do it already,” you pleaded.

Jeonghan grabbed your thighs, holding them open as he bowed his head between them, pulling out his tongue and running it against your outer lips. The feeling was exquisite, making your back stir on his bed, and your head sink on his pillow. Your mouth fell open, and you had to clamp your palm against it to muffle a moan.

He blinked, raising his gaze to look at you briefly before he continued licking your outer lips. You noticed he was doing this to tease you only, right before he did the real thing. He licked your outer lips, kissed them and nipped them with his lips until you were a squirming mess.

“Please, please, please,” you begged over and over, sounding even more pathetic than before.

And he obliged, even if you weren’t voicing what you actually needed. Which was his mouth on your clit. But he did this slowly, working up to it. He gave you a broad stroke with his tongue in between your folds, drinking your arousal straight from your core with a pleased moan on his part.

He licked you over and over until his mouth found your swollen clit, wrapping his lips around it once, as though kissing it only. He flicked it with the tip of his tongue, only to get you to moan and thrash under him.

But he did not comment on it, even if you couldn’t see his face, you knew he was enjoying this. He brought a hand to your tummy, placing it flat against the top of your mound and then he latched his mouth around your clit again, beginning to suckle at it.

“Oh—” you gasped, leaving your mouth open wide as he teased your clit with his lips around it, sucking and pressing his wet tongue against it, moving it slightly from side to side. “God,” you cried out, squeezing your eyes shut.

He did this for a couple of minutes, only switching the pace and motion of his tongue when your moans became raunchier.

The room was soon flooded with the sounds you made and the sounds of Jeonghan’s mouth against your dripping wet pussy. Other than that, it was dead silent in the house, and you were becoming addicted to this game of sorts, of trying and failing to keep quiet. And part of you began to think that this was why Jeonghan kept edging you with his mouth.

“Daddy, I want to cum,” you told him. Running your fingertips on his scalp, feeling his short hair underneath your fingernails. “Please, help me cum,” you pleaded, your tone raw and sweet.

Your thighs were shaking. The rest of your body was so tense with arousal, you were sure you would break. But Jeonghan gave you what you so desperately wanted—sucking and licking your clit until you reached your climax. Tension broke in your body, filling you up with sweet, sweet pleasure.

Your fingers coiled around his hair, back arching as you let your orgasm consume you. “Fuck! Yes, yes, yes, Jeonghan,” you whined quietly, pleasure robbing you of sanity as you started sobbing and shaking on his bed.

He didn’t stop, not until you began panting and heaving. He left a sweet kiss on your top mound again, lifting his head from your ruined pussy. “Felt good?” he asked.

You pushed yourself to sit on the bed, hands quickly finding the waistband of his shorts and started tugging them down with shaky fingers. “Yeah. Amazing,” you sighed, not caring how pathetic you sounded.

Jeonghan was on his knees, looking at you fumble with the remainder of his clothes. He brought a hand to cup your cheek once you got rid of both his green shorts and his grey boxers. You raised your head to meet his gaze, and you knew that he just wanted to have an image of you like this.

You bent down, grabbing his hard cock with one hand and propping a prim kiss on his cockhead. You sent him a glance, moving your lips to press them on his shaft. Jeonghan was well-groomed and had a pretty cock. It was long, and the tip matched the color of his lips. And it was warm, hard and leaking precum from his slit.

His eyelids fluttered slightly. “Lay back, baby,” he whispered.

You obeyed, moving to lie back again on the pillows as he moved on his knees slowly. His gaze roved all over your naked body as he placed his hands on each side of your head, and then lowered himself to his elbows.

You ran your palms down his chest, feeling the muscle of his abdomen clenching slightly when your fingernails grazed against his skin. But he was kissing you again, as though he couldn’t go for too long without joining his lips with your own. His breathing shifted, and your fingers wrapping around his hard cock again made him groan into the kiss.

You rolled your hand on his cock, stroking him languidly as he positioned his knees on the bed, making you open your thighs wide for him. And then you guided the tip of his cock to your pussy, rubbing his cockhead up and down your wet folds just to get a reaction from him.

Jeonghan groaned, but didn’t stop you. And when his cockhead finally notched against your entrance, he pushed his hips against yours, slipping his bare cock inside you all in one go.

The kiss was broken. Your head sank on the pillows, and Jeonghan pulled back to see your face as he stuffed you full of his cock. Your eyebrows knitted, mouth parting as you let out a silent cry.

“You’re good?” he asked you softly, but his breath was ragged already.

You wanted to say yes. You felt better than you ever had in your entire life. An exhale came from your nose; you were already fucked out.

Jeonghan nudged the tip of his nose against yours. “Mn?” he hummed gently. “Baby?” 

“I’m good, Jeonghan,” you mumbled, wrapping your arms over his shoulders. “Perfect,” you mouthed.

Jeonghan giggled, starting to move. “Yes, you are, baby,” he said sweetly. “So perfect.”

You wished you could say something just as endearing. But you were quickly robbed of speech completely. Your mind had gone blank, going from the shocking orgasm Jeonghan gave you with his mouth to stuffing you full of his cock.

Jeonghan let his head fall on the crook of your neck, using your hair to muffle a raw moan as he moved his hips against yours, thrusting his cock inside you at an insanely good and steady pace.

You had closed your eyes, letting him take you however he pleased. You were too gone, melted in a puddle of arousal—it was then you realized just how wet you were. Your skin was covered in a sheen layer of sweat, your face smeared with tears of pleasure, and you could feel your pussy dripping with a mixture of your arousal and his spit. So wet in fact that every time Jeonghan moved, you could hear it.

You had started to match Jeonghan’s moans, except that he could muffle them on the curve of your neck. You were trying not to be loud, but it was proving to be a harder task than it initially was.

Jeonghan moved his head, probably thinking the same thing you were, because he crushed his mouth against yours—kissing you so passionately that all you could think was that he was trying to get you to shut up.

But he leaned his forehead against yours, breathing raggedly as his thrusts picked the pace up. “You feel so good,” he whispered shakily. “I’m not going to last long.”

“It’s okay. I want you to cum,” you replied, letting your fingers feel his skin. His back, his lats, his hips as he rolled them on top of yours.

The moan he let out this time was raspy, but he was able to drown it out in your mouth. “Where do you want me?”

Your mind spun with the question. And you knew then—you were crazy. Because you had to be. “Cum inside me,” you said, hating the sound that came from your lips. Raw, honeyed, like a whine.

Jeonghan grunted in a near-animalistic way, his thrusts stuttering in their pace, but he kept ramming his cock in and out of your pussy. “Fuck,” he whispered. And he rarely cussed when he was with you, and that was how you knew he was growing more and more desperate. Closer to his orgasm.

“Jeonghan,” you whined, knowing now that he was just as insane as you were. You cupped the back of his head with your hands, feeling his trimmed hair in between your fingers. “I want you to fill me up, daddy. Please, please.”

He let out a long, raspy moan, his breath caressing your lips as he started gasping more, pushing his hips against yours in a languid manner. You knew he was cumming inside you, and the thought of it made you moan with him, tilting your hips for him to fuck his cum deeper into you.

Jeonghan opened his hand, finding your head to caress your hair. He was panting, his chest touching your own every time he drew in air through his mouth. His thumb started moving side to side, caressing your temple.

You were shaking, hands slipping from his head, but stopped at his neck, feeling his pulse.

Then you felt his lips over yours, making you part your lips for him to have access to your mouth. His tongue rolled inside your mouth, drawing an airy moan from you. You could taste yourself on his tongue, on his lips. The act alone made your walls clench around him.

And he felt it.

Jeonghan grunted. And for a split second, you thought you were beginning to go insane because you felt him move, pushing his hips ever so slightly against yours. But no, Jeonghan was thrusting inside you again, moving his hips languidly, so slowly.

But before you could utter a question, something, he pulled back. Now sitting on his knees, Jeonghan grabbed your hips, starting to fuck you down his cock, which was beginning to harden again.

“Fuck,” Jeonghan sighed, tilting his head back but only briefly. His gaze roved all over you, from your face to your body and down your pussy, where his cum was spilling out of your swollen and tight entrance.

You could only look at him. He had a fucked out look on his face, and you realized that his skin was also covered in a sheen film of sweat. Your gaze trailed down to his abdomen and the way it contracted slightly with each thrust of his hips against yours, to then his happy trail leading down his pubic hair, which was smeared with a creamy white string of your arousal. And he was also looking at you, where your bodies joined, where his cum was dripping out.

His cock slipped out of you, making you both emit a sound at the same time. You smiled softly at him, and he mirrored your smile back. He grabbed his cock, coated with his cum and your juices, only to drive it back in your pussy, pushing his cum deep inside your walls.

Your entire body was overtaken with an intense shudder. Jeonghan kept fucking you like this, moving your hips to meet his rapid thrusts. He was beginning to look tired, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing one of your thighs with one hand and hiking it up his shoulder.

You whined at the change in position, now you could feel his cock reaching deeper inside you at each thrust.

“Fuck,” he whispered tiredly, letting his head tilt back. “You feel so good, baby,” he repeated. “You’re squeezing me so good.”

You could only moan in response, which made Jeonghan smile, turning his face to press a kiss on the inner side of your knee. The feeling of his lips on your skin only intensified the pleasure building inside you.

“Jeonghan,” you called.

“Yes, baby?”

“Fuck me harder,” you pleaded.

It was at that moment you knew—you could never let go of this man. Because Yoon Jeonghan smiled at your request and gave in anyway. He grabbed your other leg and hiked it on his shoulder, now fucking you harder, driving his cock inside you deeper.

You let out a whine. The deeper he went inside you, the closer you felt to your second orgasm. And this time it was quicker, being so stimulated that pleasure built easily in your body. But it was the whole situation that drove you insane—trying to keep quiet while Jeonghan rammed his cock inside you, his cum spilling out of you, headboard slamming softly against the wall, everything.

“Jeonghan!” you gasped, a strangled noise coming out of you as your second orgasm barreled down your spine, so hard you had to squeeze your eyes shut and clench the blanket with your hands.

He let out a sound through gritted teeth, and you knew by the way his thrusts slowed down that he was cumming with you, too. “Fuck,” he whispered, thrusting tiredly now, sloppily. He eased your legs back to the bed, crawling back on top of your body to kiss you again.

The kiss was languid, heavy with the need to rest and go back to sleep. But you were both latched to each other, kissing passionately despite the urge to breathe properly again. You were tired, yes, but were also happy beyond belief.

You cupped his cheek as he broke the kiss with a gasp. “You okay?” he asked.

You giggled. “You have to stop asking me that,” you replied, caressing his cheek with your thumb. “Yes, Hannie. I’m okay.”

He blinked slowly, bumping the tip of your nose with his own. “Do you want to sleep now?”

You nodded. “Definitely,” you said.

Jeonghan smiled fondly at you. “Okay. But before that, let me take care of you. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you replied, your tone tiny and so sweet.

It made Jeonghan smile. “Alright,” he said, kissing you one more time before he peeled his body off of yours.

He climbed off the bed and walked to the bathroom. Moments later, you heard the water from the shower running. As he came back to the bedroom, you got a better view of your boyfriend. He was glorious—wholly naked, fucked out look on his face. And all yours.

“Don’t give me that look,” he said as soon as he noticed you, smiling knowingly.

“What? What look?” you asked, playing coy.

He leaned over the bed, placing his hands at each side of your face. “The kind of look that makes me want to climb up here and keep making love to you all night long.” 

You giggled amusedly. “Jeonghan, you’re threatening me with a good time.”

He smirked. “Oh, darling. And I haven’t even started with you,” he said, pressing a kiss on the corner of your mouth.

A tingling sensation shot down, straight to your core.

Jeonghan must’ve caught a reaction on your face, because he only giggled. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

Once back in the bedroom, your tummy twisted anxiously when you saw the aftermath of what you had done—clothes scattered on the floor, the blanket tousled on one side of the bed and the messy covers and pillows.

You began to pick the clothes from the floor, gathering them in a neat pile while Jeonghan checked in on Sohee quickly. When he came back, your tummy fluttered again. He looked different, recently showered and ready to sleep, a different side to his confident face.

He had given you a t-shirt to wear and also offered to lend you sweatpants, which you declined, given that his t-shirt was already oversized and almost reached your knees.

A part of you felt different now. Not bad, exactly. Like you had reached the end of a chapter and were now beginning another. You and Jeonghan had had this routine of sorts for months before you started a sexual relationship, but it just felt so different now. It made you nervous.

Would he look at you differently now?

“Is something wrong?” Jeonghan asked, the sound of his voice snapping you out of your thoughts.

Jeonghan was opening the bedcovers and sheets for you both, motioning you over with his head.

“No. Nothing’s wrong,” you replied, trying your best to mask your self-doubt. You crossed the bedroom and slipped into the bed.

When Jeonghan clicked his tongue, you realized that you had taken a space that was far from his usual spot on his bed. “Come here,” he giggled softly, noticing your shyness now.

“Sorry,” you whispered, cuddling up to him. “Force of habit.”

“Mmn, yeah,” he muttered, looking at you as you leaned your head on his shoulder. He emitted a soft laugh, wrapping an arm around you. “Not anymore. Mkay?”

“Okay,” you replied, letting your worries go.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

You moved your head on his chest to look at him briefly. “Of course.”

“Why did you think I wanted to take things slow?” he asked. His tone was soft, quiet.

You blinked. “Because I thought you didn’t want to risk things changing between us…” You trailed off. “You know? You have a lot on your plate with Sohee and your ex.”

The last word spilled from you like a curse.

You and Jeonghan always skirted around that topic of conversation. All you knew was that Jeonghan had a very fleeting relationship with Sohee’s mother, and it ended up with her getting pregnant. Jeonghan had full custody of Sohee, and you had also come to learn that his ex only liked to appear in both Jeonghan’s and Sohee’s lives sporadically. But on those occasions, she always seemed to make it a living hell for him.

Jeonghan blinked, and you knew your words had left a heavy impact on him.

Your heart squeezed. “I shouldn’t have,” you added nervously, looking away. “I’m so sorry.”

A pause.

Jeonghan slipped his fingers beneath your chin, tilting your head up to meet your eye again. “No,” he mumbled. “We can talk about it.”

“Okay,” you whispered shakily.

“I don’t want you to think that there are things we can’t talk about, you know?” he said, worry beginning to set into the features of his face. “And maybe I’m to blame here, because I didn’t want to bombard you with my stuff.”

“What do you mean?” you said.

Jeonghan sighed, and it wasn’t out of tiredness or exasperation. He was looking for the words to say. “When I met you, I was terrified of some things. I debated whether to tell you about Sohee on the first date. I just didn’t want to say something that would scare you away,” he lowered his gaze briefly. “And I debated even more on telling you about my ex.”

“But you did tell me about Sohee on our first date,” you reminded him, frowning a little. “And about your ex on our second date.”

Jeonghan smirked slowly. “So you do remember our second date.”

“Of course I do, dummy,” you said. And then it clicked. You didn’t remember telling Jeonghan about your favorite kind of pizza because he had just told you about his evil ex. And that was his way of changing the topic. “I must’ve been digesting a lot of information while we talked about Hawaiian pizza, you know?”

He offered you a solemn look. “And you still stuck around. You could’ve walked away, but you didn’t,” he whispered, looking at you longingly. “You still haven’t.”  

You parted your mouth. “I don’t think I want to, Jeonghan,” you replied in kind.

His gaze softened. “If something happens, will you talk about it with me?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” you mouthed. “Can I ask you now?”

Jeonghan nodded, blinking at you sleepily.

“Why did you think I wanted to take things slow?”

“Same thing,” he responded reluctantly at first. He let out a sigh. “I thought you didn’t want things to get messy, you know? I have a kid and I’m alone in this. I didn’t want to hold it against you if you didn’t want to get sexually involved with me.”

A smile broke into the features of your face. You pushed yourself up to kiss him tenderly. “You’re such a dummy,” you whispered.

“Me?” he giggled, holding you closer so he could press another kiss on your lips. “What did I do?”

“I’ve wanted you from the moment we met,” you told him, and it was the truth.

“How was I supposed to know?” he said, clearly clueless.

“I thought you always noticed,” you said, still in disbelief.

“But you never said anything.”

“Jeonghan,” you deadpanned. “I really like you. Like really, really like you.”

He smiled sheepishly, blinking slowly. “Well, I know that. I really like you too. I just wanted to wait until you felt ready to take things to the next level.”

“Babe, I literally called you daddy and let you cum inside me not only once, but twice,” you told him with a flat tone.

Jeonghan almost choked on his laughter. “Sweetheart! You can’t just say those things,” he said, sounding both scandalized and amused.

“Why not?” you said, clicking your tongue. “You’re always saying weird stuff as well.”

“Really?” he said, and you nodded at him. “Am I weird?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, I’m weird then,” he said with a faux defeated tone.

“You’re weird like pineapple on pizza,” you said. “Sweet and salty at the same time.”

He emitted a low chuckle. “That’s really corny, babe. I’m impressed.”

“Thank you. I work hard on my metaphors,” you replied primly.

“I’ll give this metaphor a seven out of ten,” he smirked.

You gasped. “Admit it, you love my metaphors.”

“Yeah, like I love pineapple on pizza,” he said, letting the sarcasm coat his words. He brushed his fingers down the line of your jaw, looking at you fondly. “You’re weird too.”

“The kind of weird that matches yours,” you said confidently.

Jeonghan smirked, closing the space between his lips and yours. “Absolutely.” 

› author's note pt. 2: i need to give him a kid. or kids, plural. like asap, please. i'm begging 😭

i literally wrote this in between calls from work. like it literally took me 24 hours to write this, no joke. jeonghan just drives me insane. i have no explanation for this 🧍🏻‍♀️ i might just be ovulating but let's be real — i'm always thinking about jeonghan, and right now the baby fever is going wild. you'll see in future fics lololol

i want to thank you all for being here and for reading so far!! i recently gave away 25 free spots on my patreon!! i'm so excited hehe, i might giveaway more spots in the future! thank you guys for joining! 🥺🩵

i love you all! thank you for reading!

toodles!

READ PART TWO HERE | READ MY OTHER FICS

Wonwoo’s suit jacket and waistcoat are gone with the wind, hair tousled and spiking every which way—near inverse of the gelled, waxed and styled they sat earlier in the day; the first time you laid eyes on him standing at the altar with the sun in his eyes. The crisp of his shirt is now wrinkled from the dancing and the hugging and every other excessive movement he had to subject himself to today.  The final stragglers are your family, your sister already moving over to push you out of your chair. 

“I just sat down!” you whine, not caring for decorum with the absolute day you’ve had. 

“Go on with him, you have a flight to catch!” she stresses. “We’ll handle everything here.”

Wonwoo catches the last bit as he returns, hands in his pockets, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Blatantly, you stare. “Handle what?”

“You guys should go ahead first,” she says. 

“We have some time till we need to start rushing,” he responds, twisting his arm to look at the watch on his wrist. The lights are back on, so you can see him significantly clearer without the disco lights and low spotlights. His forearm is practically in your face, and if you weren’t so exhausted you would’ve taken a dive at the divot, teeth first. 

But you don’t, because what stares you both in the face right now is a month long getaway of blue sky, green waters and lots and lots and lots of completely alone time. Since your sister is already so keen to get rid of you both, Wonwoo decides for you as he excuses himself to grab his strewn clothes. 

She turns to you in his absence, and you immediately know there’s a grenade smoking behind her goading grin. “Well…?”

Brows raised, you’re defiant in your decision to remain nonchalant. “Well what?”

“Are you excited?”

“Of course I am, I just got married.”

“I mean the honeymoon.”

“Who isn’t dying to go Seychelles?” 

She huffs and rolls her eyes. “You’re no fun.”

You shoot her an equally infuriating smile, “You can’t be mean to me today.”

“I already have,” she responds. 

You don’t have a chance to be annoyed because Wonwoo is back, clothes draped over his arm as you are suddenly ushered into saying your last goodbyes. Flats on and heels in hand, ready to peacefully stroll out of the building you got married in. 

You hook your arm around his as you cross the threshold out, the wind pleasant in the pitch black night. Walking to the car, the one you bought together, you feel like the threat of your dangerously full heart might finally erupt. 

All day has been a rushing incline of adrenaline, from the moment you woke up, sticky eyed with bridesmaids over your head, to getting into your dress, to standing behind the giant oak doors that led you to the altar of your future. To the moment you heard the love of your life say I do for everyone who mattered to hear. 

It’s late, and your flats crunch under gravel, pressuring every sore point in your foot. But you don’t care. One of Wonwoo’s arms is draped by his coat, and the other by you, a pressing silence falling over your pair. At peace. 

“I’m glad we didn’t have a grand exit,” Wonwoo speaks your thoughts. 

“Mhm,” you reply. “I like this better.” You look up at him as he halts his steps for a minute, and he leans down to kiss you for the nth time that night. All smiles. 

The finality of an Exit felt like a staggering halt to your special day. You already knew you’d never want it to end, opting to let the night trickle out, ending it with just you left on the floor. 

Something told you this would be more memorable anyway. 

Everything’s packed and ready when you get home, a service to present you from past you. You turn to Wonwoo, who’s toeing his shoes off, who also was a horrendous sport when it came to packing early. 

“Aren’t you glad we did this beforehand?” you taunt, waving your hands at the packed bags near the door. He only smirks, leaning in to grab your face and kiss you again. 

“Of course, wife’s always right,” he mumbles against your lips, and the giddy feeling that’s been simmering all day gushes once again. 

Wife. 

“Welcome to the rest of your life.”

The dim bathroom light seeps into the bedroom, where you scratch your skin with makeup wipes to get the first layer off your tired face. It’s easy to slouch, wanting nothing more than to lay back against the pillows and fall asleep, fully dressed. You’re aware of all the outside germs you’re transferring onto your pristine sheets, but also cannot find the strength to care.

The water shuts off, and you take it as your cue to slug off the bed and take off your dress. Reaching over, your fingers grapple for the hook with no avail, arms already showing the first inklings of a very sore weekend. The zipper isn’t even within your vicinity, fingers aiming for nothing but skin and fabric. 

You smell Wonwoo before you can register he’s out of the shower, the humidity carrying the scent of his body wash to where you stood on the other side of the room. It takes no time for you to feel both his hands on your waist, pulling you towards him before you can open your mouth to ask. 

Cold fingers brush the skin above the hook of your dress, and it takes an effort to not melt into the carpet entirely. The dress is unhooked, the zipper pulled down as you feel the fabric release you into the bedroom air. He helps you push it over your hips, letting it pool onto the floor. 

The sigh you release lingers in the air, prompting him to put his hands on your shoulders, squeezing your shoulders, thumbs digging into the back of your neck to release all the pent up tension. Then your upper arms, where he pulls you even closer, bare back hitting his damp chest. 

“Tired?” he mumbles, arms circling around you and squeezing you tight. 

Leaning back is the easiest thing you’ve ever done, only humming in response as you close your eyes, head against his shoulder. Droplets hit your skin in a cold cascade, his hair still wet. His hands roam around any expanse of skin he can find without releasing his pressure on your form, squeezing and massaging. The weight is welcomed, nearly falling asleep by the time he’s mouthing at your shoulder, breathing in the sweat of your skin.  

“Are you gonna need help in the shower?” he asks. You know he’s not being cheeky, and you consider saying yes seeing as you’re five seconds from falling asleep standing up. 

“I think I’ll be fine,” you mumble. “I’ll keep the door open in case I crack my skull on the tile.”

“Can’t have you dying on our wedding night,” he says.

“Enjoy the life insurance payout,” you crack one eye open, staring up at him.

“How many hours have we been married?” he muses. 

You want to kiss him, suddenly slammed with a tsunami’s force of affection for the man that holds your leaning body against him like an ever-present pillar. Married. 

He lets you go, but not before helping you pick out every last bobby pin in your hair, during which he remains in nothing but the damp towel around his waist. At one point you face him, forehead on his chest as he unravels your hair from the crown. 

“Your towel’s inside, I’ll grab your clothes,” he says when he releases you, letting you walk into the bathroom to wash off the day. 

Simply raising your arms to shampoo your hair is turning out to be a conquest despite the fumes of the scorching water invading your vision. The door is half open, and you can hear Wonwoo shuffling about in the bedroom, no doubt fixing the last bits before you have to leave for the airport. 

Immediately, you sigh, the thought of loading and unloading the uber, going through security, checking your bags and then the god-knows-how-many hours of flight time settling in your bones like an additional phantom ache. By the time you’re done, towel wrapped around your chest and droplets of water still cooling your skin after a half hearted attempt at drying yourself, you’re spent. 

Wonwoo is zipping up a bag when you emerge, unfortunately wearing clothes now. 

“You wanna sit in the towel while I dry your hair,” he asks, already pulling out the hair dryer from the drawer. 

“Are you done packing?” you ask, frowning. 

“Just your toothbrush left.” He plugs it into the outlet. “I’ll grab it while you change.” 

Forehead leaning on his tummy, he tousles the wet mop of your hair as the dryer fills the room with its white noise. That, paired with the bed where you sit, once again, is turning out to be a seductor of a lifetime. 

When he’s done, and brushing out the tangles in your hair, you find the strength to ask him. “Why aren’t you as tired as I am?” 

He chuckles, eyes focused on a knot that’s giving him a hard time. “For starters I slept for five extra hours. You know, considering my side of the party didn’t need to cake their faces.” 

“You didn’t like my makeup?” you jab in jest. 

“I loved it,” he responds, leaning down to kiss you on the forehead. “We’ll talk about it on the plane, considering you don’t fall asleep before we can even take off.”

“Or in the car. Or in the lounge.” You yawn openly. “Or right now.” 

When you stand up, you wrap your arms around his neck, wanting to touch him for a little bit before attempting to put on clothes. His lips find the crook of your neck immediately, hands gripping you through your towel. 

“I love you,” you mumble against his skin. 

“I love you more,” he responds. “I know I already said it a thousand times, but this is still the happiest I’ve ever been.” 

You have to bite back a snarky reply, but you feel the pool in your eyes anyway. Inexplicably, you hold on to him tighter. Worried if you opened your mouth you’d begin to sob—again. 

He does let go of you, but only when his eyes land on the time. You’re dressed by the time he’s called the Uber and grabbed your toothbrush, shoving it into the front pocket of one of the bags. You’re quite useless the entire time, but Wonwoo doesn’t mind as he loads your limited bags into the trunk. 

You manage to keep your eyes open on the ride to the airport, manage to not be a nuisance as you check in, and make it to the lounge with limited hassle. 

“We only need to wait like twenty minutes, we were pretty on time,” he mentions, handing you a to-go cup of coffee the approximate size of your face. “We get to board first anyway.”

Months ago, while you were thick in the trenches of wedding planning, you went back and forth for a very long time about flight tickets. Not your destination, but the decision between business and economy was a conversation that stretched over weeks. 

Today, with your jelly arms and mushy mind, you thank your heavenly stars through bites of fancy lounge sushi for making the collective decision to splurge. Wonwoo is taking it upon himself to let your friends and family know you’d checked in, while you lean wholly against his arm, dreaming about the flat, comforter clad surface of your plane seat, and the joy you’re going to have for the hours to come. 

Inhaling the amount of coffee that you did in the lounge meant the prior sleep in your eyes had decided to evacuate for the time being, getting tucked into your seat soon after take off. 

To be clear, you were more than happy with your decision on the seat, but you realise quickly that you and Wonwoo are blocked out by a divider between you, closing you off. You assume you were pouting at the realization, because you hear him ask. 

“Don’t like the seat?” 

“No, I do,” you say. “But you’re so far away.”

He smiles, close mouthed, the one where it looks like he might be smirking. An arm snakes over the console, elbow towards you as his forearm rests against it. Immediately, like this was nothing but a usual drive in your car, you lean your head against his arm, your own two arms wrapping around his. 

There’s nothing in the air except the whirring of the plane's engine, the quiet chatter of the cabin as the crew prepares for turndown service. 

A realisation befalls you, that this is the first time you’ve been able to sit down with Wonwoo today, without the constant buzzing in your brain about everything that has gone wrong and what could go wrong. It might be your defeated conscious talking, but it may have even been months. 

Shifting your head so you can look up at him, you speak, “We have to stay married. ‘Cause I don’t think I can plan an entire wedding again.”

“So no vow renewals?”

You raise your brows, surprised this was something he’d be interested in. “Maybe when we’re sixty.”

“Oh,” he frowns. “I was thinking more like every five years.”

“God.”

“I’m glad we decided to do this,” he says. 

“The seats?” you ask. 

He looks at you, and you raise your head from his arm. 

“Getting married.”

“That sounds like an afterthought.” 

“I was nervy,” he says. “It’s like coming out the other side of a roller coaster. Took guts but you’re glad you did it.”

“Glad our special day was a vomit inducing experience for you.”

“Didn’t you cry five times while getting ready?” he jabs. 

Scowling, you turn away. “Who told you that?”

“So you can throttle them in their sleep?”

It was no use, since you were both crying at the altar, but you have a bone to pick with your sister once you’re back home. 

“Go to sleep,” you grumble, removing yourself from his arm. He only laughs, grabbing your arm with a force that pulls you back in. 

He leans into your ear, familiar press of his lips against the skin. “You looked beautiful today.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Similar to this, with his lips pressed against your ear, hours ago on the dancefloor, he said the same thing. Over and over and over. 

“I’m gonna confess something,” he whispers. For a wild moment, your heart is in your throat. 

“What?” you ask sharply. 

“When I went home after our first date—”

“You noted my drink order?”

He nods against your head, “That. And I dreamt of you.”

“Was I pretty?” 

“Prettiest. Big smile like it was the happiest day of your life. In a white dress.”

It’s silent for a moment as neither of you move. The lump in your throat is ever present, breath quickening as you brace for the waterworks. 

“Dang,” is all you say in a watery voice, one that earns you a laugh from him. The absurdity is not lost on you. “What other secrets do you possess?”

“Just that,” he responds. “Didn’t wanna tell you before. Thought you’d freak out and run away.”

“Idiot,” you mumble against his hoodie, tears wetting your lashes. 

You don’t get to continue, because a flight attendant hovers over your joint seats, asking if you’d like to turn down for the night. 

Wonwoo answers for both you and your aching bones. Fatigue would make you gloss over many things about the aftermath of your wedding night for years to come, but you’ll always remember the first night asleep next to your husband over rocky terrain in the sky, with so much changed, yet nothing at all. 

Your first night in Seychelles was a blur, mostly because you both ate room service in expensive robes and watched The Pitt before falling asleep again. 

Eyes closed, you know it’s sunny with the exceeding warmth in the room and the light against your eyelids. Opening them takes a minute, no desire to move in the morning light. At least you think it’s morning. 

Shifting around, you realise you fell asleep in your robe, the tie unravelled, turning it into a loose shrug over your naked form. Through bleary eyes, your eyes meet the linen curtains and how they blow in the wind that pours through the open sliding doors. Blue skies and hanging branches of deep green trees are all you see, and your husband, standing over the railing overlooking your private pool. 

Maybe it was the haze of being half asleep, but for a second it feels like a dream. He’s in a white T-shirt, messy hair indicating he didn’t wake too long before you did, basking in the sunlit glow of the morning. His back is to you, but it’s enough. 

He hardly notices you get up and walk to the bathroom, the rustling of the trees masking most of your movements. When you’re done washing up, robe tightened around your waist, you emerge onto the makeshift porch of your hotel suite. 

Arms immediately make their way around his waist, alerting him of your presence. “Morning,” you mumble into his shirt. 

“Morning, baby,” he shifts so he can hold you too, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead. “Sleep well.”

“As well as I could.” It was a frivolous question, considering he was well aware you could sleep well on pavement if he was next to you, presence inches away. 

“It’s so pretty in the day,” you comment. The private pool was one thing, but the way the trees and plants hovered over the open area, swaying in the breeze left the impression they’d situated the room in the middle of a jungle. 

“Mhm,” he responds, having had his fill of the view of the hotel, currently more interested in the bare expanse of your neck. His lips trail over the skin, leaving kisses and gentle nips, now caging you between him and the railing. “Pretty.”

Of course, the obvious connotations of a honeymoon hadn’t escaped you—in the weeks leading up to your wedding, there wasn’t a loved one who would let you. But it feels like a delayed reaction after the hectic 48 hours you’ve had, finally at peace in what feels like the most beautiful place in the world. 

You let him grope you over the fabric, let his mouth run over every sliver of skin he can find. Facing him, your hands find the back of his neck to pull him down towards you, mouth to mouth properly. 

You melt, sighing into his mouth as he moves impossibly closer, pressing you against the railing as your head moves further back. Mouthing at your jaw, he lets you push him back in through the open door. 

He understands when you’re being pushed right back into your unmade bed. Pulling at the mountain of comforters, he lets them drop to the floor. “God it’s been torture,” he groans, hands moving up your thighs, through the irregular folds of your robe, cool palms against your hot skin. 

“You wanted to leave right after the reception,” you tease. The robe remains tied, and you make no move to undo it yourself. 

“Didn’t realise I’d have to hold back for this long,” he says, hands reaching the knot. His mouth is back on yours as he undoes it, pulling agonizingly slow. 

Tucking his hands into the undone robe, he runs them over your naked body underneath, pulling the fabric away from your body. Migrating down your neck, his hot breath mixes with the wind coming through the outside, casting shivers down your spine. 

Mouth over your breast, his teeth graze over your skin as he sucks. His free hand gropes your other breast, fingers pinching and flicking over the erect nipple. Head thrown back, you can’t stop the way your hips gyrate on nothing, moving to feel friction of any sort. 

He only lets go when your hands grapple at his shirt, noises of frustration for every passing moment you couldn’t feel his skin on yours. Shirt thrown somewhere behind him, his shorts follow, before ripping the robe off you entirely, leaving you completely bare. 

Moving higher up against the bed, Wonwoo situates himself like he’s about to live there, hands pushing your thighs apart as wide as they could go. In the morning light, he stares his fill of the glistening swells of your core. Fingers grazing over the back of your thighs, he massages the skin closer and closer to where you need him most. 

“You’re gorgeous,” he mumbles, moving back up to kiss you one more time, deep and long. 

Distracted, his thumb pressing a stripe down your clit catches you by surprise, gasping into his mouth at the feeling. His thumb reaches your hole, catching the wetness at the entrance, dipping shallowly. Travelling back up, he presses into the centre of your clit beginning with tight circles around the area. 

Whining into his mouth, your hands travel to his shoulder, down his arms to grip the muscle. Your other hand grips the sheet as he presses harder into your clit, localising his torture to one tiny area, occasionally rubbing all over. 

“Wonwoo,” you moan into his mouth, hardly kissing anymore as you pant into his mouth. 

Two fingers push into your hole, the pads pushing up against your walls as his knuckles graze over them. He begins to pump in and out, scissoring his fingers to open you wider. The feeling has you throwing your head back, breathless. 

When he removes his fingers you nearly scream, but his hand is at the waistband of his boxers, just as desperate as you feel. The tent is obvious even as he pulls the fabric down, watching his painfully erect member slap against his stomach. Your hands wrap around his own that lay at the base, caressing past to pump him as he positions himself between you. 

It’s hypnotising, the redness of his tip, the way it leaks onto your fingers after just a few strokes. Wonwoo’s face is pained, and you realise he may have been serious about feeling tortured. 

Not that you were any less desperate, but the agony of needing to remain celibate for the weeks leading up to your wedding weren’t planned—you could hardly find time to eat and sleep. It flew over you, that it might've been a little tougher on him than it was on you, but when you pull him in closer, you make sure that changes. 

Knees bent, he pushes your thighs apart as he settles in. He sinks in slowly, “Oh this is gonna be quick.”

You don’t mind, because you’ve remained untouched long enough to not last very long either. “Right there with you,” you groan out, engulfed by the stretch. 

He’s slack jawed, hair falling over his eyes as he struggles to keep his eyes open. His fingers dig into the plump your thighs, gripping them like they were the only things keeping him tied down to earth. 

It’s bliss, even as he remains stationary for a moment, buried into you till the hilt. Slowly, he pulls out, rocking back in. He picks up the pace, folding your legs over as he watches the way he disappears into your wet pussy, milky white beginning to rim at the base of his cock, a mix of your slick wetness and his precum. He nearly cums at the sight. 

Your fingers play with your stiff nipples, head thrown back as you moan without a care of your volume or coherence, Wonwoo’s name on your lips like a mantra. His fingers find your clit, rubbing it in circles as you whine loudly at the feeling. 

“You feel so good,” he moans, hips snapping up to slap against the back of your thighs. “So good, you’re so good.”

Eyes blown open as he slams a hard one into you, his groaning and moaning ensuing another warm gush out of you. 

Wonwoo pauses for a moment, ducking closer to lay his forehead on yours, his spread legs keeping yours apart, hands coming up to cup the top of your head to protect you from the hard headboard. 

“I love you,” he whispers into your ear with effort. “I love you so much.”

“Fuck, I love you too,” half sobbing. 

“You’re amazing,” he blabs, words hardly coherent. “All mine. Mine forever. All of you.”

His words, paired with the hand that grazes over your tits, down to your swollen clit to rub it harsher than before, is enough to send you careening over the edge. 

“Won—oh my god, Wonwoo I’m cumming,” you moan so loud you’re sure it’s carrying over. But you don’t care, because you wonder how you went so long without clenching around his dick like this, gushing over him as he pounded into you like it was his last day on earth. 

He holds you steady as he rides you through it, the contracting of your walls pushing him into his own orgasm, shuddering in your hold as his thrusts become increasingly sloppy yet running with force. 

It’s euphoric, hot spurts of his cum painting your walls, leaving his traces where no one else could ever touch you. The thought sends him into overdrive, thrusting into you long past his release dripping out of you, pooling onto the pristine sheets, glazed over your gorgeous skin. 

Resting his head against your collarbone, he breathes in the salt of your sweat, mixed with the scent he calls home. 

It feels like an eternity, both of you silent as the wind blows into the room over your sweaty forms, laying there in each other’s arms. Wonwoo continues to keep his mouth on you, your shoulders, tummy, waist, worshipping every last inch of your being as you catch your breath intertwined in his heat. He’s at your knees where your legs fold, hand wrapped around your ankle as he caresses it with his thumb, leaving kisses above your knee. 

For a moment, he rests his head against your thigh, and the world becomes clearer. His silhouette against the light, the nature beyond your crystal windows. The weight of him now, the traces of his touch that persist, to lay here bare for your lover for life—a glimpse into the rest of time. 

The moment is ruined when you feel your stomach growl, and Wonwoo is close enough to hear the rumble. He shifts so he can look at you, “Shower time? I think I saw a restaurant downstairs.”

The shower went from quick to an extra thirty minutes, considering you’d hardly washed the shampoo off before he pushes you against the tiled wall to kiss you breathless, water going cold over you as he works you with his fingers again, the thudding of water hitting the shower floor paired with the squelching of his fingers dipping in and out of your already spent hole, and the pants and moans that fill your ears. 

He needs to help you into your clothes after that, which he chuckles through before pulling you to the hotel restaurant. Housing down everything in sight, Wonwoo remembers to keep your glass full in an attempt to keep you from choking on croissants of all things. 

“Do you wanna hit the beach after this?” you ask.

“I was thinking about a nap before that,” he says, belting out a burp that earns him a kick under the table. It shakes, earning you looks from the rest of the vacationers. He only laughs, “But I could nap on the beach.”

Wonwoo does not, in fact, nap on the beach and instead follows your example as you pack a book in your beach bag, realising very quickly he brought none of his own, choosing to snipe one of the many you brought for yourself. 

It’s you needing to turn your brain on this time, because the random book he’s grabbed has him so enraptured at the synopsis you have to pull him away from slamming directly into people and poles alike. There’s posters and notices as you walk through the connection that leads to the beach; cocktail classes, trivia nights, and tutorials on Seychellois cuisine. 

“Isn’t this that movie you watched on the plane?” he asks, reading the Crazy Rich Asians on the front cover. 

“Mhm, didn’t mean to pack that, I’m reading the sequel right now,” you hum as you look for the path that leads to the beach, hand in his. 

It’s a gamble as the view of the white sands and water come into view, visibly smiling as you see the near empty sands. It was the off season, which you expected to mean less of a crowd. 

Finding a double beach chair is easy, dumping your things as you make yourself comfortable. “Water’s nice.” Wonwoo comments, and you wonder if you did wrong with keeping your bathing suit away for today. 

Squeezing a generous amount of sunscreen onto your hands, you agree with him as you dot his face with sunblock. He lets you rub it in as he looks over the water, perfectly aware that he’d never willingly put sunscreen on his face if it were up to him. He’s done, and he settles in while you protect yourself. 

Leaning against Wonwoo’s arm, you’ve both grabbed your books under the giant parasol. The sun is out and warm just right, deep sounds of crashing waves, and the smell of salt—-you feel giddy. 

The beachside bar is seconds away from bringing you your cocktails when his hand finds your thigh, tracing his fingers over the skin, while his other holds open the book he’s reading, twisting the cover back like a heathen. 

It’s perfect. 

“These are good,” Wonwoo pauses to comment, brows furrowing at the flavour of your espresso martini and his cosmopolitan. 

“I think I saw something about a cocktail class at the hotel. We could try it later.”

“Oh yeah,” he agrees, sipping his drink again. 

You don’t know how long it’s been, but both your glasses are now empty and Wonwoo seems to be growing distracted after a few hours. It’s still late afternoon upon you as he announces he’s going to dip his feet in the water.

You think about it, and walk to the shallow end behind him, leaving your flip flops near the chairs. The sand is plush beneath your feet, cool between your toes despite the warm afternoon. Walking closer, the water is almost blinding with the way the sun dances on its crystal surface, waves breaking and sending pleasant sprays as you walk closer. 

You gasp audibly as the water touches you, turning to look at Wonwoo wide eyed and giddy. Colder than you’d expected, washing over your ankles and shins as you walk further into the water, pulling up the hems of your skirt to keep it from getting wet. 

Wonwoo leans down to touch the water, fingers dipping into the clear, coming up to splash you with a handful. It earns him a yelp from you as he laughs, but you soon recover and send another one right back. You don’t panic till you see both of his hands cup enough water to practically drown you. 

“Wonwoo, I didn’t bring extra clothes!” you yell, already running away. 

The irony doesn’t escape you, considering sprinting through the water has wet your clothes more than his splashes. But you're laughing harder than your breath can catch, and even more so when his wet hands grab you by the torso and pull you back in a lurch, suspended in the air for a moment. 

“Wonwoo!” 

It’s funny for a few minutes, still encased in a fit of giggles as you kick at the water. Until it isn’t.

Wonwoo separates from you for a moment, venturing a little deeper into the water, swearing he saw a ring of colourful fish swim past the shallow end. You’re in the middle of convincing yourself to follow him when you hear him suddenly splash at the water with shocking force. 

Stunned, you hardly register what’s just happened, thinking you’ve just heard him yell. He’s out of the water before you, hunched over and grabbing at his calf. By the time you reach him, you can see it. 

An ugly red slash across his calf, long and thin. It looks like a chemical burn. 

“What—”

“Shit,” he curses. An anomaly, considering you’ve only heard Wonwoo curse about five times in the years you’ve known him. 

“What is that?” you ask, immediately on your knees to get a closer look. It’s growing redder by the second, the swelling clear. 

Wonwoo stretches over to try to see, “That might’ve been a jellyfish.”

“You weren’t even in that deep!” 

“Deep enough I guess,” he winces. 

Bringing him to the shallow end, you try to pour more seawater on his reddened skin, hoping your memory is serving you right and you aren’t just making it worse. 

A few minutes later, a life guard is applying a topical cream on the area and giving you instructions to let the wound soak in warm water, assuring him he can get back in the pool in a couple days. 

Once the shock wears off, it’s almost a little funny. “That’s a story we’re gonna be telling forever,” you mumble as he gets up from the table in the tiny lifeguard tent. 

The man turns to you, “It happens sometimes, people usually just sleep on it and have a great rest of their vacation. Don’t worry about it too much.”

You thank him as you mutually decide to call it a day, moving back towards the hotel. Wonwoo seems alright, walking fine as he holds your hand talking about dinner plans. You suggest room service by the pool so he can keep off his leg, but insists he wants to try the traditional spot just outside the hotel. 

Heeding, you let him pull you back into the hotel room to clean up and rest. Except this time he’s serious about the nap. 

Wonwoo doesn’t fight you when you suggest staying off the beach today, choosing to occupy yourselves with the cocktail class instead. 

It’s in the hotel so you don’t have to leave the premises, the venue moderately full when you enter the room. The instructor introduces himself as Marcus, taking the time to make small talk with you both as you wait for everyone else to file in. His face lights up when Wonwoo tells him this was your honeymoon, very outwardly enthusiastic about having a couple in the class. 

So much so, that when the class eventually does begin, you hear a loud call for congratulations from the room for the only newlyweds (you). Mortified a little, you both fluster in your thank yous, attempting to move the attention back to the front where Marcus remains jovial as ever. 

“I think that’s too much ice,” you comment, attempting to compare the pile in your glass to Marcus’ up front. 

“No, it’s one scoop. It’s what he said,” Wonwoo says, but he’s beginning to look a little lost. 

“Doesn’t that look like a lot?” you ask, not convinced. But there isn’t much you can do about it, because you’re suddenly being asked to find one of the syrups on the counter, still rummaging while Marcus is already two steps ahead of you. 

It’s hard not to giggle, the energy from your station overwrought. But as you finally make your first drink after 20 whole minutes, you stand with straight shoulders. 

It’s another two hours of this, spilling precious spirits on the counter, floor and yourself, hands stained with syrups and fingers numb from picking up the giant spill of ice courtesy of your husband. You have to duck under the table for a moment, knowing your chortles would disrupt the class even more than you’ve done unintentionally already. 

Making cocktails meant drinking cocktails as you made even more cocktails. Marcus only seems to encourage the class to get day drunk, but that only resulted in added chaos. 

But even when you’re back in your hotel room, tipsy and giggly, you’re glad you did it. 

Wonwoo is spread eagle on the bed, still laughing about tripping over air in the hotel lobby. You join him, tucking yourself into his arm. Head lolling over to look at you, he dips his head down to kiss you, lips over your own in a close mouth peck. He doesn’t stop, lingering with every press to your mouth, still slightly smiling against your lips. 

“It’s been a day and this is already the best trip of my life,” he mutters against your lips. You’re very aware of it this time, a habit he’s had forever. 

You flashback for a moment, and suddenly you’re both a lot younger, alot less wise with constantly flushed cheeks in each other’s presence. It’s at the door of your old apartment, the same one where he would take you in more ways than one in the following months and years. 

But for now, it was your third date, and you were shifting your weight between your feet, trying not to feel disappointed as he bid you a goodnight with nothing but a smile and a wave. Mustering a smile of your own, you unlock the door and begin to walk in. 

Except instead of descending steps, there’s a pause. And Wonwoo was back before you could even cross the threshold. He didn’t ask when he cupped your face and planted one on you, mouth to mouth for the very first time, one hand over your door handle and the other on his wrist. 

“Sorry that took so long,” he mumbled against your mouth, the first time of many, sheepish smile on his face. 

But your heart felt like it was about to burst, so you went in for another one, opening your mouth to kiss him properly. And then the door had shut behind you both, and you’d dragged him inside. 

Tipsy haze and a little love drunk in your hotel room, on your honeymoon, you laugh against his mouth. “What,” he asks, laughing with you over nothing. 

“I’m glad you didn’t chicken out that night. After the drive in.” 

Wonwoo doesn’t need any more information, because the events of the day were ingrained into his mind like a brand. Not your first date, but your third, where he almost didn’t kiss you, where he almost never took the steps back up the stairs, where you almost slammed the door in his face. 

“I don’t think I would’ve wanted a fourth if you didn’t do it,” you say, eyes locked in on him. 

The thought scares him, that tiny mistake that never happened, how it would have altered the trajectory of his life. It’s terrifying, dread settling into his stomach. To this day he’s unsure why he’d hesitated as much as he did, especially considering he dreamt of your wedding the first night after he’d laid eyes on you. 

“You looked sad,” he says. “Disappointed. Just, not happy. I thought that meant you didn’t enjoy yourself, but…I was on the staircase when I realised I felt sad too.” 

He leans into you, lips planting kisses on the apples of your cheeks, to your fluttering eyelids, “Didn’t think much after that. Glad I didn’t, because I probably would have chickened out in the end.”

“We’re married,” you whisper like it’s a secret. “Can you believe that?”

“I can’t. Sometimes I still wake up and think I dreamt you up.”

“Are you calling me unreal?”

“Because you are,” he says. “I’m not sure how you exist.” 

That sticky feeling engulfs you again, and you know it’s because you’re a little drunk, but you’ve been teary enough to last you a lifetime just these past few days. Before you turn into a blubbering mess, you push yourself up. 

“Well,” you clear your throat. “I’m gonna go ahead and be unreal and not exist in the pool we are yet to use.”

He stares as you get up, walking to your open suitcase to rummage around for your stack of bathing suits. He remains on the bed, head propped up with his arm as he watches, content. 

You don’t bother with going to the bathroom, stripping off your shirt and shorts in the room. You fish out a green piece, only to hear a refute. 

“Where’s the yellow?” he asks, and you fish around to come out with the butter yellow two piece you didn’t realise he even knew you had. 

“Actually,” he slips off the bed, walking over to open the sliding doors that lead to the outside, glancing around. “Do you really need it?”

You only give him a look, proceeding to go to the bathroom to change out of your underwear anyway. He makes a noise of disapproval, but you respond with the loud sound of the door locking shut. 

When you emerge Wonwoo has soothed himself by taking a dip into the pool himself. You have to laugh, watching him paddle through the water with his swim goggles on. 

“Does it hurt? The sting?” you call out as you sit by the edge of the pool, dipping your feet in the water to start yourself off. 

He breaks the surface, hair flat over his head like a bowl. He spits out a mouthful of water before calling out, “No! I put the topical on this morning, I think it’s working.” 

If that were you, you’d probably be out of commission for the rest of the holiday, but as he dives back in to check how long he can hold his breath for, you want to applaud him. You jump in after a few minutes, finally getting yourself wet. 

Wonwoo comes over to you, letting you wrap your legs around him as you float as one. You do, however, rip the goggles right off his face. He doesn’t refute, letting them sink to the bottom of the pool. 

“Don’t you think I’m so strong?” he asks. 

“I’d say the water’s doing most of the work,” you note. 

“I meant my fatal injury.”

“Hardly fatal if you’re making jokes about it,” you snort. “Do you feel like a man?”

“Yeah.” He’s smiling a dumb smile, and you know he can hardly see a thing without his glasses. “Are you impressed?”

“So impressed,” you sigh, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. 

You let him go for a little bit, wanting to float by yourself for a while. As the sky breaks through branches of low hanging trees and giant green flats of leaves, you realise your not-soberness is probably contributing to how psychedelic the view looks. 

But you aren’t complaining, content with the weightless feeling. 

Wonwoo can’t help himself from meddling for too long, because suddenly you're being lifted off the surface just to be dunked under the water, flailing for a moment before breaking the surface. 

“Wonwoo!” you screech, but he’s already on the opposite end of the pool, laughing maniacally. You’re rethinking your stance on drunk Wonwoo, because you aren’t liking him too much. 

He’s unfortunately a faster swimmer, but you have him cornered in the pool. He makes to go below, escaping your wrath of you and your dripping wet hair, but instead you hear him yell. 

Through the water, you watch him grab his calf, face contorted like he banged the sting wound on the wall of the pool. Immediately, you move forward to check on him.

“Does it hurt?” you ask sharply, mind already racing to where the topical was inside the room.  

But you should’ve known, because as soon as you’re close enough for him to grab, you’re being snatched off guard and caged between him and the pool wall. 

You want to stay mad at him, but it’s difficult when you note how his shoulders are blocking the entire sun from view, casting you in a shadow shaped like your husband. 

“What was that for?”

He only shrugs, hands roaming the expanse of your skin in the water. “I missed you.” 

Rolling your eyes, you attempt to break free. He blocks you, whining as he buries his face into your neck. “I said I missed you.” 

Another thing about drunk Wonwoo—his sex drive shoots for the clouds. 

Even now as he’s mouthing the side of your neck, you can feel him through his swim trunks, pressing you against the pool wall, water spilling over the edge. His input on your choice of swimwear should’ve been your sign, but as he fiddles with the straps of your bottoms, you decide to resign into him. 

Water is Wonwoo’s biggest enemy as he finds out how difficult it is to create friction like this, the tent in his bottoms pressing against your stomach. You decide you’re going to be nice, palming him through his trunks. Your other hand is around his middle, roaming to his front as you let them wander over his skin. 

He groans contently into your neck, coming up to take your mouth. His tongue pushes in, and you let him lick and suck on your tongue, pulling away only to go right back in. It seems your hands aren’t enough, because he’s suddenly gripping you by the sides and pulling you out of the water, finding yourself sitting by the poolside. 

There’s water everywhere as you get a headstart, but he’s enthusiastic even while tipsy, lifting you off the ground at the steps. To your surprise, he doesn’t head for the bedroom, and instead places you on one of the beach chairs on the porch. 

“Wonwoo,” you begin, slightly scandalised. 

“It’s just us,” he says, nipping at the shell of your ear. 

It was sheltered enough, canopied but exposed enough to have you giggling through it. Wonwoo is an efficient man, not a second wasted as he rids you of your bottoms, his own swimming trunks coming off, landing somewhere on the floor with a wet thwack. 

He’s sinking into you within seconds, hovering over you as he mouths your cleavage spilling out of your bikini top, licking and dragging his tongue over your skin. You move to take it off, but he stops you. 

“No,” he says sharply, pinning your hands in front of you. “Stays on.”

So maybe you underestimated how much he liked it, but you can’t bother to think about it when he picks up his pace, slamming into you so hard the chair rattles and shakes beneath you. Your wrists remained tied with his hand, reaching out as far as you can to touch his stomach, needing to feel him somehow. 

The noises you're making are only fueling him, hand coming up to squeeze your breast through the wet fabric, slipping his fingers underneath to play with your nipple, erect from the cold. His knees are in place steadfast on either side of the beach chair, and you have to ask.

“Isn’t that–humph–burning?” you ask through pants. 

“Don’t,” he thrusts up hard, “care.”

Taking a moment, you look up at him, and he’s enamoured with the sight of your wet body in front of him, but all you can see is how he manages to encase you with his body alone, the flop his hair over his beautiful eyes, How pretty he looks in the partial shade. How in love he looks with you. 

His thrusts are getting sloppier, and you’re moaning so loud it’s beginning to hurt your throat. “Wonwoo, I think—”

“Me too, me too, me too,” he babbles as he feels the familiar clamp of your walls around him, the mesmerizing arch of your back, the way you rip your hands from his hold, only to seize his arms to ground yourself as you ride out your high. He doesn’t fail to abuse your clit, fingers pressing and rubbing just hard enough to send you to a place so far away from here. 

“Oh…Wonwoo, fuck, that’s so–so good.” It sounds like a sob, and maybe you are crying a little bit. 

He follows you on your descent, hips harried and face contorted like he’s forgotten how to hold himself back. He cums inside you, and you can’t help moaning at the feeling. 

He’s hardly brought himself down to Earth when you’re being yanked towards the side of the beach chair, legs over the edge. There’s a loud groan from the chair as it's yanked to the side so Wonwoo can sit on the floor in front of you. 

Legs thrown over his shoulder, he watches as the white of his cum leaks out of your raw hole, the sight nearly giving him another erection before he can even dry off. His mouth meets your cunt, lapping at the mix of his cum and your release off your thighs, your hole, spilled over your clit. 

You’re overstimulated, but you only prop yourself on your forearms to watch him suck on your clit like he was starved, tongue flat on the muscle as he rubs against your folds. His finger pushes through your entrance, the sound downright sinful as he pumps his cum in and out of your hole. The second orgasm hits you like a truck, shaking like you’d lost yourself on the chair as you finish hard. Seeing stars in daylight, painting the blue sky. 

When Wonwoo emerges, eyes dazed and a slight smirk on his face, he’s panting, leaning against your thighs. He places one last open mouthed kiss against your thigh before dealing with your jellied form, slumping against the chair as you attempt to relearn how to breathe. 

“You–” you pant. “We need to get drunk more often.”

He only grins at your suggestion to turn into alcoholics for the sake of mind blowing sex.

“I love you,” he says as he scoops you up into his arms, and you want to ask what ounce of superhuman strength he even had left to pull you into a sitting position, seeing as your own muscles are of no help whatsoever. 

Your legs are swung across his thighs as you sit on his lap till you can recover. His mouth is covered in your bodily fluids, but you’re reminded what love feels like when you let him kiss you all over regardless. 

“I love you too,” you say. “And I’ll keep loving you if you keep eating me out like that.”

“What happened to unconditional love?” he laughs. 

You push back the wet mop of his hair, letting his face come into full view. 

“Still unconditional,” you respond. “Always unconditional.”

He leans in to kiss you, and you immediately taste the salt on his tongue, but all you want is to move deeper. 

“Unconditional,” he mumbles into your mouth, and you're immediately smiling. 

He pulls away for a moment, staring at you for a moment. “I think you’ve recovered.”

“Hm?” you question. 

You know the answer when you’re suddenly being yanked by the hand back inside. “Wonwoo,” you scream as he gives you no room to prepare, pulling you indoors while the sliding door slams shut behind you. 

Yeah. You like how forever is turning out. 

The track winds around the Hard Rock Stadium; you literally couldn’t miss it. You filmed a few shots with Wonwoo around the track, the aqua blue surrounding it fitting the whole Miami vibe: palm trees and sunny skies, a clear contrast from where you and Joshua grew up.

“Did we get everything here?” Wonwoo asks, lowering his camera.

“Yeah,” you nod slowly, glancing around the track. “Mr. Hong should be heading to the media room like his assistant said.”

“Why do you keep calling Joshua ‘Mr. Hong?” Wonwoo chuckles with a teasing glint in his eyes. “It’s so formal and stuffy. Relax a little.”

“Pfft, I am relaxed,” you roll your eyes, crossing your arms defensively. “We aren’t exactly friends, you know.”

If only Wonwoo knew why you were keeping it professional, why you’ve been trying your hardest to keep your distance.

“Sure,” he raises an eyebrow, a skeptical smile on his lips. “One day, you’ll tell me why you’re acting all cagey.”

Wonwoo has this uncanny ability to read people well, and you wish, at this very moment, you could turn it off. He’s been your right-hand man since you’ve been with this company. You work well together and consider him a close friend.

“I am not acting cagey!” you huff. “We’re done here. Let’s go get some film in the garage and then meet Mr. Hong after .” You leave no room for debate, and Wonwoo doesn’t press it further.

You offer to help Wonwoo with the equipment, but he shakes his head, motioning for you to go ahead without him. As you scan your surroundings, your eyes wander aimlessly until they settle on the row of garages, each numbered from 1 to 36. Small beads of sweat form on your forehead as Florida's humid weather makes you instantly regret wearing anything but white. The air is thick and heavy, adding to your discomfort as you navigate through the scene.

“Garage number 17… where are you—”

Your breath falters, forcing you to a complete stop. There he was, your former high school sweetheart, no longer the scrawny kid you were madly in love with. He’s taller, more handsome, with broader shoulders, and sports a black undercut that suits this new man he’s become. You stand there for a moment, studying him in awe as he talks to his teammates, Lee Jihoon and Lee Chan, two equally attractive men who lean against the table as they engage in a deep conversation.

You involuntarily shift your leg, making your presence known earlier than you would’ve liked. Fuck.

“S-sorry,” you sputter, your nerves getting the best of you. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation.”

“No, no, it’s fine. We were finishing up anyway,” Jihoon says, dusting the back of his pants. “You’re—”

“Birdie.”

Hearing your childhood nickname from Joshua’s lips brings chills throughout your body. You remember when he gave you that nickname in elementary school when you claimed during recess that you could fly and jumped off a tree. Needless to say, you did not fly; instead, you ended up with a fractured wrist and a bruised ego. But Joshua was impressed anyway, saying you were trying to leave your nest and soar like the pretty bird you were. You were his pretty bird.

“Hi, Joshua,” you say slowly. “It’s been a while.”

“Yes, it has.”

You can hear it in his voice and see it in his eyes. It doesn’t matter how many years have passed, how well you have progressed in your respective careers, or how well he masks it; the hurt and pain are still there.

“Birdie?” Wonwoo’s voice creeps up behind you.

“Yeah,” Joshua smiles. “It was a nickname I gave her when we were kids. She loved to spread her wings and fly, be damned who she left behind.”

You still, detecting the venom wrapped in his seemingly nice statement. Maybe you deserve that.

“Okay, then,” Jihoon speaks up, dissipating the thickening tension that was starting to take over. “I will leave you to it.”

He claps his hands together and leaves with Chan, nodding to you and Wonwoo before exiting the garage. You turn to Wonwoo, who returns your gaze with raised eyebrows, your face heating with embarrassment. You didn’t expect Joshua to welcome you with open arms, but you have never experienced him being… mean, especially to you.

“I was told that I could meet you at the media room,” You gesture towards the garage. “We were just going to get some quick films before we met with you.”

Being near him again made you anxious; your already sweaty hands getting clammier by the minute. The way his eyes peered into your soul made you uncomfortable, like he was reading the deepest parts of your mind and trying to uncover your secrets.

“I’ll meet you there,” Joshua announces, walking off before you can respond with a simple “okay.”

You glance over at Wonwoo, who gives you a subtle, sympathetic smile. “You good?” he mouths.

You nod stiffly, rubbing your temples. He didn’t check to see if you were coming; despite it being a record-high day in temperature, the iciness in his interaction made it clear: Joshua Hong absolutely hates your guts.

Joshua is rattled. He knew a documentary was being filmed and that he would have to answer a few questions about his life and his passion for driving for the team. But he didn’t know that it would be you, of all people, taking charge of this. When you arrived at the garage, you caught him off guard, and a flood of emotions washed over him. He was happy to see you at first, your sunny disposition brighter than anything the sun could put out.

But then he remembered you left him.

That happiness turned into indifference and then hurt. Anger even. You were supposed to be the one he was supposed to spend his life with. The person he was supposed to grow old with, marry, and have kids with. He wanted a future with you, and you disappeared without even telling him goodbye. He hasn’t had a serious relationship since, and he has come close, but he decided in the end that they would all spread their wings and fly away like you did. You did the one thing that he was afraid of the most: being left behind.

Shaking his head, he entered the press room, where he found controlled air and silence as he waited for your arrival. He was glad no one was there, as it allowed him to recollect his thoughts and rein in his emotions for the interview. Sitting on the sectional sofa, he cocks his head back, replaying the interaction in his head over and over again. He knows he was a dick, it’s unlike him, and he should apologize, but it felt good, so good, to give you an inkling of what he felt when you ghosted him.

After a moment of silence, the door opened, and you stepped through, followed by Wonwoo and his equipment. Your eyes met briefly before he looked away, your makeup concealing the slight redness and puffiness around your eyes. Shit, he cursed to himself. Did he make you cry?

“Hey—”

“I’ll be asking you about your journey into racing,” you talked over him, keeping your tone bright and professional like nothing happened. “Your career with Mercedes, your thoughts on this season.”

“Ah, so the easy stuff,” Joshua remarked.

You gave him a kind smile that didn’t meet your eyes and nodded, returning your attention to Wonwoo as he finished setting up his camera. He felt a dull ache in his stomach, slowly regretting the way he had treated you earlier.

Joshua couldn’t help but watch you as you paced back and forth, reading your notes. You weren’t the baby bird he knew you to be all of these years ago. No, you were more beautiful than ever— your navy blue button-up and white jeans filled you out in all the right places. And despite everything that had happened, he found himself wanting you more than he could have imagined.

“Okay, we’re going to get started,” you announced, taking a seat on the sofa that positions you off-camera. “Are you ready?”

“Ready as I have ever been.”

Joshua noticed you bit your lip, and a slight smirk curved on his mouth. You still have the same mechanisms when you’re nervous.

“What drew you to racing in the first place? Was there a specific moment or person that sparked the dream?”

He should have seen that coming. He lay back slightly, thinking over his answer carefully. “My parents took me to a birthday party at a place that had go-karts. My mom didn’t want me to drive one, but my dad insisted, and something sparked in me when I got behind the wheel and drove around the track. I felt alive.”

You nodded, jotting down some notes on your scrub pad, your gold bracelets clinging against each other. “So it’s pretty safe to say that racing is something that you have always wanted to do, right?”

“Yeah, it’s the one consistent thing that has made me happy. My mom didn’t want me to race. She thought it was too dangerous, and my car would blow up or something like that. But I had someone in my corner who believed in me. She said I had a fire in me that deserved to be shown to the world. I believed her, and it got me where I am.”

He watched you shift uncomfortably in your seat, your foot tapping lightly against the floor as you purposely avoided his gaze, keeping your eyes on your clipboard.

“People talk about how easy it is to get caught up in the noise of the sport and how isolating it can be. How do you overcome that?”

Joshua shifted in his seat, fingers drumming on the table. He took a deep breath, furrowing his brow as he gathered his thoughts. “I learned how to tune out the noise and, eventually, the silence too. It’s easy to do when you see people and things for who they are.”

You paused, finally meeting his gaze. “Has something happened that gave you that mindset?”

“Yeah, there’s something that comes to mind.”

Joshua caught a flicker in your gaze, the way your eyelids dulled slightly as your breath hitched, and Joshua knew in that moment that you knew exactly what he meant.

“You’ve become a fan favorite on and off the track, the face of the Mercedes team. Do you think your public image matches who you are privately?”

Joshua lets out a throaty laugh. “I only let people see what I want them to see. They can come to their conclusions, but ultimately, I know who I am.”

You nodded, scribbling on your pad again. “Is it hard, keeping the two separate?”

“Nope,” he shook his head. “I am conscientious about my life and who I let in. Past experiences have made it that way.”

His mouth twitched at the edges— half amusement, half sadness. Ever since you left, he has made it a point not to let anyone get close like you did. At that level of heartbreak and pain, he vowed never to experience it again.

“This is one of the biggest races in your career. This track is the very track where you won for the first time. How does it feel, coming back here again?”

“This may sound off, but it feels like home. I keep thinking about that moment when I raced to the finish line and held my trophy. I have had many since then, but this one is undoubtedly my favorite.”

“I can imagine how this one would be your favorite,” you agreed, tapping your pen on your knee.

“How would you know?”

He regretted those words the second they came out of his mouth. He didn’t mean to let his thoughts and feelings exude through this interview. But how would you know what that felt like for him? You weren’t here to witness his rise to glory and see where he is now.

“Joshua…”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” he raked his fingers through his hair. “Do you have any more questions?”

You stared at your pad, drawing a hard line on the paper. “Yes, one more.”

Joshua nodded as a gesture for you to continue. You took a deep breath, slowly gazing at you as you prepared the last question.

“If you could go back to your younger self, the little boy who grew up in a small town and dreamed of racing around the world and taking care of his family, what advice would you give to yourself?”

This question hurt the most. He doesn’t speak at first, staring at the carpet a second too long. It feels like the air suddenly got thin, slowly suffocating him on the inside. There are so many things he would tell his younger self— about love, losing a parent, and what his life would become. But one thing sticks out the most:

“I would say, ‘Don’t count on forever. Forever isn’t promised to anyone, and people can change their minds and fly away, like birds when the seasons change.’ ”

When he finally looked at you, he saw it— the tiny shift in your posture, the flicker of guilt in your eyes. This was supposed to make him feel good, taking silent jabs that only you would understand. But instead, he sits there, feeling worse than before.

“That’s a wrap,” Wonwoo said softly from behind the camera, turning it off.

Joshua stands abruptly, his throat tight and dry from thirst. Making his way to the door, he looks back at you again, whose eyes meet your eyes as she gives you a curt nod.

“Thank you, Joshua, for your time.”

He nodded and exited the press room, wanting to get as far away from here as possible. He needs a distraction.

Do you still love Joshua? Honestly, you don’t know.

But being around him is stirring up feelings that you thought you had buried and gotten over a long time ago. One look in his eyes reminds you of the time he finally worked up the nerve to ask you to be his girlfriend in the sixth grade. Or when he kissed you for the first time while you were eating ice cream at the local beach. Or when you both graduated from high school and he drove you up to the mountain late at night, overlooking the view of the city, where you promised each other forever. You had it good, so good, but you chose to leave to discover who you were as a person and reach new heights. To soar.

And you did that. You’re one of the most sought-after filmmakers in the world. You don’t regret it, and you have definitely lived, but sometimes, in the back of your mind, you wonder what it could’ve been if you had stayed? Could you have been a WAG?

The thought makes you shudder.

“You good, boss?”

Looking up from your phone, you gaze at Wonwoo, who is slowly putting away his equipment.

“Yeah,” you clear your throat. “I’m good. It’s just been a long day.”

“An eventful one, I would say.”

You raise your brows at him, who smirks and shakes his head. “When were you going to tell me you used to date the face of the Mercedes F1 team?”

“Never,” you mutter, exhaling deeply. “I just thought I could get through this project and move on, like everything else.”

Wonwoo lets out a low whistle, slinging his camera bag over his shoulder. “Well, the thing about the past catching up with you is that it doesn’t care about production time.”

“What did I do to deserve this?” You let out a weak laugh, followed by an exasperated sigh. You both step out of the press room, the Miami heat clinging to your skin even though the sun has already started to set. You are thoroughly exhausted, and your thoughts are balled together in a clusterfuck.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Wonwoo says softly, placing a supportive hand on your shoulder. “It’s obvious there is some history there, and you don’t have to tell me anything, but maybe try talking to him? See if you can clear the air?”

“I’ll have better luck parting the Red Sea,” you quip, shaking your head. “I’ll just have to push through. It can’t get worse than this, right?”

Wonwoo shrugs and walks with you to the parking lot, the sky shifting into the blue hour. The wind slightly blows, and the smell of the ocean and palm trees surrounds you as you walk to your car. In the distance, you hear an engine roar, and instinctively, you look up, seeing Joshua on the other side, accompanied by a woman in a dress a little too tight, hanging over his shoulder. You know you shouldn’t care; it’s been years. But your heart still constricts, and the dull ache in your stomach becomes stronger.

“Are you okay?”

You gaze at Wonwoo, who gives you a sympathetic smile.

“Let’s just get out of here.”

The hotel room was heavy with humidity and the echo of last night’s choices. Joshua stirred in his sleep, dreaming of one of the best nights of his life. 

It’s the night of your graduation, and he took you to the spot you claimed for many years as your own: the lookout. It was the edge of the mountain that overlooked the small town you were from. You could see your high school, the beach, and if you squinted hard enough, your houses. It was your favorite place to be. You were barefoot on the hood of his beat-up car, chin tilted toward the stars, a locket glinting softly at your throat. Joshua sat beside you, one knee up, his hand warm where it brushed yours—careless, then intentional, then still.

“I love you,” Joshua murmured, looking at you like you were the constellations themselves.

“I know, silly.” You rolled and faced him, your index finger caressing the right side of his cheek. “I love you, too.” 

Joshua leaned in and kissed you, the feeling of your lips against yours setting his soul on fire. The ring he planned to propose to you with burned in his pocket, and it took all the restraint in the world to not pull it out and put it on your finger. But deep down, he knew that night was not the time, and he would savor the idea of marrying you just a little bit longer. 

“I’m going to love you for the rest of my life.” 

You didn’t say a word back; you just kissed and kissed until you both felt content, cuddling underneath the stars. Joshua felt like he could fly with you that night, and he would have never imagined that shortly after, you would be the one to clip his wings. 

Bzzt Bzzt!

The constant vibration of his phone on the nightstand woke him from his slumber, relentless in its rhythm, until he groggily reached for it and pressed the side button. Joshua lay flat on his back, one arm thrown over his face, blocking the sliver of sunlight that seeped through the blinds. The brunette beside him, Trixie, was still asleep; her perfume clinging to the sheets like a reminder he hadn’t asked for.

He stared at the ceiling, nursing a slight headache and an aching heart. He was supposed to have moved on by now, evolved, and left you behind. Content. But now you are back in his orbit, disturbing his peace, consuming his every thought. Not even his dreams are safe—you, laughing in the passenger seat with your shoes off, legs on the dash. You, tearing up as you watched the town sparkle like it was yours for the taking. You leaving a couple of months later without a goodbye. His mother’s voice is in his head, telling him she will find someone better for him and that you were never good enough. She never did, and he wasn’t surprised; no one could measure up to you, and he gave up on even trying.

His phone buzzed again on the nightstand. Tiredly, he reached for it, swiping open the text message from Jihoon. 

Jihoon: Press day. Meet by the paddock entrance at 12.

Joshua reacted with a thumbs-up to the message, watching as the bubbles of an incoming message from Jihoon followed. 

Jihoon: What’s the situation with 'Birdie’?

Joshua stared at the screen, unsure how to answer that. He can barely wrap his head around it himself, let alone have the extra brain power to explain it. 

Ignoring the message, he exhaled and sat up slowly. Trixie stirred beside him but didn’t wake. He padded into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He turns on the shower, stepping in and letting the hot water hit his head and the rest of his body. It didn’t do shit to clear his head as he stood there, thinking of you and the way you looked yesterday in those white jeans. 

He noticed you kept your distance, as if you were doing him a favor, as if professionalism could mask the history you shared with each other. As if you hadn’t been told that they were going to be together forever and that he was the one for you. Like you didn’t vanish without even having the decency to call, text, hell, even send a letter. 

Joshua dragged a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched as he remembered the slight hitch in your breath when he said your name yesterday. Birdie. He wasn’t trying to be cruel. Not really. But the way you froze? The way guilt flickered across your face before you smoothed it away with a fake smile?

It felt good… And then it felt awful.

“G’morning, handsome,” a voice lifted behind him, light as sugar.

Trixie stepped into the shower without invitation, wrapping her arms around Joshua with her bare chest pressed against his back. She smelled of roses and vodka, something that he was pretty used to. Trixie was a friend he could see whenever he wanted to have some fun and release some stress. Trixie didn’t expect anything but a good time and occasionally a conversation. She was familiar and easy to get along with, which he appreciated.

Trixie placed kisses on his neck, her hand moving with purpose along his cock and stroking him slowly. He didn’t stop her.

His breath stuttered, and he relaxed, allowing her to please him in the way she knows how, whispering dirty things in his ear.

“Were you thinking about me?”

He didn’t answer; he didn’t need to. Trixie worked her hands like magic, kissing his neck the right way and bringing him temporary bliss. When he came, he let out a low groan, spilling himself all over her hand, dripping onto the shower floor. He was supposed to feel lighter and better, and yet he feels more hollow than before.

“You’re normally not this serious after blowing a load,” Trixie giggled, already grabbing the body wash.

Joshua forced a smile. “I guess I am still waking up.”

“Uh-huh,” she nodded, lathering the sponge and washing his back. “When are you gonna stop playing and lock me down?”

Joshua turned his head toward her, offering a smirk he didn’t mean.

“Now, baby…”

Trixie rolled her eyes and laughed. “I know, I know. Can’t blame a girl for tryin’.”

She kissed his jaw and finished washing up, leaving him in the steam of the shower and his own thoughts. He exhaled, glancing at the fogged-up mirror across from him. His reflection was a blur, but even through the dissipating steam, he did not recognize himself. 

The golden hour light shines through your hotel bedroom as you sit on the bed, reviewing footage from the documentary. You’ve been at it for hours, combing through every shot and finding yourself stuck at the interview portion, where you were face-to-face with Joshua. 

Joshua is very handsome on camera and even better looking in person. It’s almost too easy to fall for his charms, his smile, and his soft, spoken voice, but you know him. Watching the scene, he seemed polite, but you couldn’t help but jump at the subtle jabs he took at you. “I am conscientious about my life and who I let in. Past experiences have made it that way,” and “Don’t count on forever. Forever isn’t promised to anyone, and people can change their minds and fly away, like birds when the seasons change.” Those sentences haven’t left your mind since. It didn’t help that he practically stormed out of there after the interview was done, leaving nothing but a trail of ice in his wake. 

You would be a liar if you didn’t admit to yourself that you hadn’t thought about him over the years, wondered how he was doing. Missed him even. Of course, you see him in the news, and your family still lives in your hometown, so you hear tidbits about him here and there. But it’s not the same as talking to him, getting into his mind, and seeing how he is doing firsthand. You know, ultimately, you made the right choice by not staying in that small town and pursuing your dreams, but you never wanted to hurt Joshua. You loved him, and all these years later, as much as he hates you, you still care about him. 

He was your best friend, the one person you had on this Earth that you could tell anything to, and he would never judge you. He never told you a lie, loved you like no other, and made you feel safe. Yes, you were teenagers then, but it didn’t feel like teenage love; it felt like destiny. That’s why it was hard to tell you wanted to leave and pursue your dreams of filmmaking. You knew if you told him, he would drop everything for you, and you would not be the reason why he didn’t soar on his own to be who he is now. 

Your phone rings loudly across the room, breaking your focus but providing a much-needed distraction. Scrambling to grab it, Vernon’s contact flashes on the screen, making you pause before you answer. 

“What’s up, Vern?”

“Nothing much, Birdie,” Vernon says in a teasing tone. 

“Ugh, you heard about that, huh?" You groan, plopping on the bed. The last thing you wanted was for everyone else to know about your history with Joshua and the messiness that came with it. “I’m going to beat Wonwoo with his camera.”

“Actually, Wonwoo isn’t the one who needs the beating,” Vernon discloses. “It was Chan. I heard him talking about it in passing with Jihoon.”

“Oh god,” You let out a frustrated sigh.

“Yeah. So what’s the story there?” Vernon presses further.

You roll your eyes, blowing a raspberry in the air. “There is no story. He is my ex-boyfriend from high school. We broke up, and now, years later, I am here interviewing him for this documentary. Your documentary, by the way.”

“Geez, why are you getting all snippy with me?” Vernon chuckles through the speaker. “Obviously, there is more to the story, but you can keep that to yourself.”

There is a slight pause, with shuffling noises heard on the phone, which makes you sit up. “Vernon, I’m sure you didn’t call to ask me about my sordid love affair with my ex-boyfriend.”

“You’re right, I didn’t,” Vernon discloses, hearing the door shut behind him. “I need you to stay and film some of the races.” 

“How many?”

“Uh, enough to cover all three days?” 

You drop the phone on your face, making you wince in pain. You planned to leave Miami tomorrow night and put all of this behind you. Maybe this is you flying away, but this is warranted. Staying here is suffocating you slowly.

“What happened to ‘sticking to the schedule,’ Vernon?

“Pfft, I make the schedule,” Vernon chuckles. “Listen, I got a call from the powers that be, and they want it included in the documentary. What can I do?”

You want to argue back, but you bite your tongue instead. You signed onto this project as a favor to him, who looked out for you when you were just starting in the business and needed some guidance. You could technically say screw it and leave, but you don’t want to do that to your friend. 

“Fine,” you let out a sigh. “I assume Wonwoo will be around to help?”

“Well, of course. I sent him down there to film some of the press day earlier. He should be sending that to us both shortly.”

“Alright,” you clear your throat. “I’ll coordinate some things with Wonwoo and send them to you.” 

“Sounds good,” Vernon replies. “And listen, I appreciate you being cool about this. I will owe you one.” 

“Oh, you bet your ass you will,” you chortle, disconnecting the call. 

Your stomach rumbles loudly, followed by an ache that says if you don’t eat something, your body will take you out. You could have ordered room service, but if you stay in this room any longer, you will go crazy. The sun has completely disappeared over the horizon, wiping out the last bit of natural light you had.  With a sigh, you slip on your shoes and quietly leave your room, opting to take the elevator to the restaurant in the hotel. As the elevator descends, you can almost taste the warmth of a freshly cooked bread and soup, something you crave to satisfy your soul. 

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, and you instinctively pull it out, reading the email from Wonwoo containing the files from the event. Your head is down when you bump into someone’s back, almost losing your balance and falling over them. You shove your phone in your pocket, feeling mortified and embarrassed for not paying attention. 

“I’m so sor—”

You find yourself face to face with the one person you hoped to avoid at least for the day—Joshua, whose eyes briefly widened with shock before changing his expression to indifference. The transition brought a sharp ping to your stomach that made you almost want to keel over. 

“Oh,“ Joshua remarks, straightening his shirt. “I didn’t think you would still be here.”

“Me neither,” you reply. “It just got extended through the weekend.”

“Hm,” he nods. “Sounds like you aren’t flying away by your choice.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, irritation slowly creeping in at that jab. If only I could fly away right now, you thought to yourself. You know you’re the villain in this story, breaking this golden boy’s heart and changing the trajectory of his life, but your patience is wearing thin. How many times is he going to keep poking the bear? Is this fun for him?

You glance behind Joshua, meeting the gaze of Jihoon, who was talking to the waiter ahead. As if he sensed tension, he turned around and saw you and Joshua coming over to you shortly after. 

“Hey, didn’t think I’d see you here,” Jihoon greets you. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” you smile at him. “I am hoping to get a quick bite to eat before I go back to work.” 

“Ah,” he bobs. “Well, I talked to the hostess, and they have one table left, and the wait time after that is about 30 minutes to an hour.”

Your stomach aches again, prompting you to place your hands on your abdomen to alleviate the hunger pain. Joshua looks at you curiously, and you quickly turn away. You should have stayed in bed and ordered room service. 

“Well, there goes dinner,” you say. “I guess I’ll head back to the room. You guys have a good night.” 

“No, wait,” Jihoon says suddenly. “Why don’t you share the table with us? No sense of having to wait an hour for food.”

“Oh, that’s not—” you and Joshua both say in unison. 

“It’s fine,” Jihoon insists. “Think of it like car pooling, but it’s with a table.”

“Excuse me,” the hostess calls out to your group. “The table is ready.”

Jihoon thanks the waiter and turns back to you and Joshua, arching an eyebrow with a feign of impatience. “Don’t you guys want to eat?”

You bite your lip nervously, your eyes shifting to Joshua. “I can go somewhere else and eat, honestly. I don’t want to rain on your parade.” 

“You’re fine,” Joshua says, shaking his head. “I’m not gonna be the bad guy who didn’t let you eat.” 

He walks off before you can respond, your mind buzzing with noise and three little words: what the fuck.

You follow them into the dining hall, choosing a seat at the very back to avoid the curious eyes that were watching the three of you as you walked by. The room was filled with lively conversation and the sounds of clinking glasses, plates, and cutlery in a dimly lit setting. A waiter quickly approaches and places fresh bread and oil in front of you, filling the air with the delicious aroma of freshly baked goods. Your mouth waters at the enticing smell.

You break off a piece of the bread, hands trembling slightly, and dunk it into the oil—olive and herbaceous, with a subtle heat that kicks at the back of your throat. It’s delicious, and for a few seconds, it distracts you from the awkwardness settling at your table like a third guest.

Jihoon, always the natural buffer, flips open his menu with casual ease. “I heard the mushroom risotto is decent,” he murmurs, eyes scanning the page. “And the steak’s apparently overrated. Just saying.”

You hum in acknowledgment, focusing on chewing your bread rather than the awkwardness of sharing dinner with your ex. Speaking of Joshua, he is quiet— not brooding, just unreadable. He’s barely touched his many, just skimming through the first page and setting it down like there wasn’t more to see. You avoid eye contact like the plague, insisting on looking at the interior of the restaurant and everyone around you. 

“Did you get all the footage you needed today?” Jihoon asks. 

“Yeah, we did,” you reply, brushing breadcrumbs from your hands. “I am still sifting through the footage, and I am staying to film some of the races. I am reviewing the interview now.”

“Oh, that,” Joshua finally spoke, catching you off guard. “How did that come out?”

“Uh, it came out fine,” you say carefully. “I think your answers were concise and to the point.”

“Good,” he nods. “I would hate for any of my words to be misconstrued as anything other than the truth.”

“Why would it be misconstrued?” You fold your arms. 

“No reason, really,” Joshua shrugs nonchalantly. “I just want to be up front about everything, since it wasn’t always afforded to me.” 

You glance down, chuckling softly to mask your irritation. You’re not naive; you can feel the bitterness hidden in those words. 

Jihoon frowns between the two of you, a hint of confusion flickering across his face. “Okay, what am I missing?”

“Nothing,” you and Joshua say at the same time.

Jihoon raises an eyebrow and shrugs while you pop another piece of warm, crusty bread in your mouth. This is not an ideal situation to say the least, but you’re starving, and this piece of bread is your saving grace until this is over. Tiny bubbles of anxiety churn in your chest, urging you to focus on the menu in front of you. You scan the options, heart racing a little, and impulsively select the first dish that catches your eye. 

The waiter comes back, and you place an order for tomato soup, while Woozi settles for the salmon risotto, and Joshua orders chicken linguine. With a nod, the waiter quietly takes your menus, leaving you three alone until the food arrives. 

“So how do you two know each other?”

You look up slowly and glance at Joshua, wondering if he will throw you a bone and say anything. He makes no effort to speak, and annoyance stirs in your chest once again.

“We grew up together,” you disclose, sitting back in your chair. “He was my neighbor and we went to the same schools.” 

“Ah, so you guys are old friends?” Jihoon asks curiously. 

"Well, you could say that," you respond nervously.

“Come on, Birdie. We were more than just friends,” Joshua says casually. “We dated from sixth grade through senior year. Does that time mean nothing to you?”

Jihoon’s eyes widen, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as he looks everywhere but you two. Your mouth is agape, and your face heats up in embarrassment, your throat tightening as your words seem to fail you.

“N-no, that’s not it,” you falter. “It did mean something to me. It does, I mean. I just don’t see the point of bringing it up now. It’s been years.” 

“Wow.” Joshua scoffs, folding his arms. “So what was I? Just a fleeting moment to you until you flew away from the nest?”

“W-what? That’s not true.” You feel the anger rising throughout your throat. “Really, Joshua? Do you really want to do this here?”

“We might as well,” Joshua challenges.

“Actually, guys—” Jihoon interjects. “Maybe do this later? People are staring.”

You glance around the dining hall, meeting the concerned eyes of fellow guests. You didn’t mean to raise your voice, but you’re tired of being picked on. Not once did he bother to ask for your side of the story or speak to you as a human being. You know you have no right to be mad; you’re the bad guy. But the relentless series of jabs, each one stinging you like a bee. You’ve had enough.

“Jihoon, I appreciate your hospitality and inviting me to eat with you both,” you say, wiping your mouth on a napkin. “But I’m going to leave. See you tomorrow at the races.”

You get out of your seat, pushing your chair in and refusing to meet Joshua’s eyes. You pull out cash from your wallet, setting it down for your portion of the meal. You know that if you stay longer, you will say something you will regret. As much as you feel bad for leaving the way you did, you refuse to be disrespected. 

“There you go, running away again,” you heard him mutter under his breath. 

You let out a low chuckle, turning slowly towards him. “Yes, I am running away. I won't be where I am not wanted. Do I need to ask you for permission to use the toilet next?”

You leave before he could respond, the heat of anger consuming your heart and mind like a wildfire. The adrenaline rushes throughout your body as you storm out of the hotel and into the night, needing to let the steam blow out of your ears. You instantly regret your parting words to him, guilt eating at you like a parasite. The crazy thing is that you aren’t entirely mad at Joshua. Annoyed? Yes. But most importantly, you’re angry at yourself for letting it get this far, for having to face what you have been suppressing: you still think about him.

“Joshua, what the hell was that?”

Jihoon came back to the table after telling the waiter to cancel your order of tomato soup. Joshua sat at the table, stewing over your parting words before you walked away. You were angry? He was the one left behind, from the future that they could have had. You were his best friend, the closest thing he could hold dear to his heart, and you just cut him out of his life like he was nothing. Then you skip over the essential parts of your history like it was nothing, while your very presence makes him want to go up a wall.

“She drives me crazy,” Joshua said bitterly. “So many other documentaries she could have done, and yet she had to do the one about MY team. It’s like she likes rubbing it in my face.”

“Rubbing it in your face?” Jihoon said, confused. “Did it not end well?”

Joshua looked at him solemnly and let out a deep breath. “She wasn’t just any ex; she was the one. I wanted to marry her; I had a ring for her and everything. We had been together since we were kids, and we promised that after graduation, we would stay together forever. She was my best friend.”

He paused, fiddling with the napkin on the table. “One day, we were supposed to go out on a date by the beach, and I planned to propose to her right then and there. But she never showed up. I went to her parents and found out she had moved across the country the day before, without telling me where she was going or what her plans were. She had even told me she loved me the night before.”

Reliving that day felt like a stab to the heart. The look in your mother’s eyes when she had to break the news, watching him fall apart at their doorsteps. Joshua was torn up for weeks, barely getting out of bed unless it was to work on his car or run errands for his mom. He always knew at a young age that he wanted to be a racer and see the world, and he hoped that he would be able to do that with you by his side. Was he not enough? Why didn’t you talk to him? Why did you leave?

“Love aside, man,” he sniffed dryly. “She was my best friend, and she ghosted me. That’s not how you treat someone you care about or love. I know it sounds silly, still being mad about it years later, but hearing her willing to skip over our relationship, our bond, like it was nothing. I don’t know, it sets me off, man.”

Joshua exhaled deeply, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he raked his fingers through his hair. This surge of feelings felt foreign to him; he’s the poster boy of being cool, calm, and collected. He thinks rationally, with a clear head, and always keeps his emotions at bay. But you stir something in him like a tazmanian devil, leaving his heart and every string attached ruined in your wake.

“I’m going to go,” Joshua announced, getting up from the table. “Just tell the waiter to put the food in a to-go box and bring it to me later?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jihoon said with concern in his eyes. “Are you going to be alright for tomorrow? The team is depending on us.”

“I’ll be fine,” Joshua reassured him. “I just need to get some air. This week has been fucked.”

Jihoon nodded firmly as Joshua walked away, leaving the dining hall with a whirlwind of thoughts. Rather than heading to his hotel, he decisively chose to take a walk to clear his mind under the night sky. He turned toward the park, sitting on a weathered wooden bench directly in front of the shimmering lake. White ducks and their young swam by peacefully, the complete oxymoron of the unrest Joshua was feeling inside.

Jihoon was right—he needed to get his head together, erase you from his mind, and wipe away the seeping connection that is pouring into his heart. He was supposed to be over you, moved on, and evolved. But instead, he is here, in turmoil over the girl he thought he would never have to see again, making him address the repressed feelings he had hidden for so long—you still hold most of the space in his heart.

Fuck, he muttered to himself. Why did it have to be you of all people?

He remembered the day you both graduated from high school and how proud you looked when you held your diplomas. You had the look of love in your eyes that seemed sincere. Did you know you were leaving him then? Was it all a joke to you when you thrived in college while he was in his hometown, in mourning? Did you care when his mom died? A torrent of thoughts flooded his mind, each one intensifying the slow-burning ember of anger that smoldered within him.

Joshua exhaled deeply, feeling the craving for a cigarette intensify with each breath he took. He had quit smoking a few months ago and had been managing well, but the current situation was pushing him to his limits, making him want to relieve the pressure. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found Trixie's number, his thumb hovering over the call button. However, something held him back—his better judgment urging him not to make the call.

I’ll just sleep it off… I have a long day ahead.

He made his way back to the hotel, pushing the images of happy faces and hand-holding out of his view like a blur, the humid air slowly suffocating him. A moment later, he found himself at the front of the hotel, slipping into one of the elevators and pressing the close button rapidly, wanting to be alone. The elevator hummed as he pressed floor 12, the centralized cool air and music distracting him as he went up, his chest feeling lighter when he thought about his soft bed and the quietness it would bring.

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened slowly at his stop, peace finally finding him as he stepped out, and he laid eyes on his room. That peace, however, was short-lived when the elevators next to him opened, and you walked out, your shocked eyes meeting his, full of the same fire that he felt inside.

“Joshua.”

“Birdie.”

You walked in the opposite direction from him, making your way slowly toward the last room on the right. Questions still burned in the back of his mind, and he needed closure to understand why you did it. It was now or never; otherwise, he would be left searching for answers for the next ten years.

“Birdie,” Joshua called out. “We need to talk.”

You stare at him, debating if you want to have another round of him calling you every coward in the book. Your peace is shattered, your nerves are frayed, and all you want is to lie in bed and pretend this never happened. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? You just push things away, don’t deal with things… You just fly away.

Letting out a deep breath, you straighten your shoulders, deciding to face the elephant in the room. “Your room or mine?”

He gestures for you to follow him to his room, turning and walking to room number 1231. A month ago, if someone had told you that you would be interviewing your first love again and entering his hotel room, you would have wondered what they were smoking. Life truly is ironic.

You walk into his hotel room, which is identical to yours, but it features a breathtaking view of the city, overlooking the park that shines under the bright lights. His belongings are neatly put away in the closet and drawers. The room is adorned with a sense of order, and it smells of clean, fresh linen. It evokes nostalgia, recalling the many times you spent in his childhood bedroom, always smelling clean without a speck of dust. Some things never change.

You take a seat on the chair by the window, studying him as he takes off his jacket and hangs it in the closet. Your hands rest in your lap, your thumbs twiddling idly as he gets settled, unsure of how to start this conversation or what to say. Do you tell him you're sorry and you missed him all these years? That you never meant to hurt him? Does it even matter now?

“Joshua, I—”

“Why did you leave?”

He sits on the bed, legs open with his hands slightly behind his back, studying your every move. You feel vulnerable and exposed, like someone who has to answer for their crimes in front of a judge, but instead, it’s to a former love you still care for. You hate it.

“Were you unhappy with me?” Joshua presses further. “Did you not love me anymore?

“No, Joshua, it wasn’t that—”

“We used to be able to talk about anything.”

“I know, but it’s more complicated than that.”

“You were my dream—”

“THAT WAS THE PROBLEM!”

Your chest rises and falls like a wrecking ball, breaking every wall you had that held back your emotions. “That was the problem. You would have given everything up for me. If I told you that I was accepted into one of the most critically acclaimed schools in the country, and I was moving across the country, you would drop everything for me. “

“But why—”

“I’m not done,” you raise your hand, interrupting him. “I knew about the ring, okay? I went into your room one time when you were at practice to get the hoodie you asked for, and I saw it. I know that ring was passed down through generations in your family, and it just felt too real. I even tried it on. I felt like I was suffocating, and I needed to breathe. Find myself. Fly away, as you call it.”

The hurt in his eyes is evident, a soft reminder of the seventeen-year-old kid you promised to give your life to. For the first time in years, you feel your heart break.

“I could have handled it better instead of ghosting you, and I am sorry. I will be sorry for the rest of my life. But I don’t regret leaving, going to my dream school, I dreamed of going to, and being who I am now.”

Your breathing slows, and your body feels lighter after releasing what has weighed on your heart all this time. A quiet exhale escapes your lips, leaving your mind clearer than ever before. You observe Joshua processing your words, a mixture of hurt and understanding on his face, his eyes reflecting a storm of emotions that you can’t describe other than pain.

“Birdie, I,” he stumbles over his words. “Why didn’t you talk to me? Tell me how you felt? I would have done anything you wanted. I knew you liked films, but I didn’t think you were that passionate about them. It makes sense why you made me watch all three Godfather movies.”

Your mouth curves into a slight grin, reminiscing about that day. It was on Sundays during junior year summer break, and he would just come home from an early church service, suited in a nice shirt, dress pants, and shoes. His mother didn’t like you much, said you were corrupting his good boy, but Joshua always stood up for you, and she begrudgingly allowed you two to be, with open doors, of course. You brought three DVDs for the trilogy and you begged him to watch them with her, promising to do whatever he wanted for a week. He didn’t need that; he just wanted to make you happy. To be yours.

He sat through all three movies with no complaints, listening to you ramble about each scene and asking questions when needed. It was the first time you realized that you LOVE film, and you wanted to be the one creating them. You wanted to make people feel the way you did when you watched it for the first time. It spurred you to join the film club in high school, helped you get the necessary recommendations for colleges, and led you to apply off a whim to the top school in California. When the acceptance letter arrived, you thought it was a prank and called the admissions office three times to make sure. You were excited, happier than ever, and you did plan to tell him your plans and figure out where to go from there.

But then you saw the ring. Everything changed after that.

“I was afraid of disappointing you,” you confess. “You had our future mapped out, and I knew that racing was your thing and you were going to pursue that while I went to the community college. Get an apartment, make it big in the racing world, and be something great. But getting that letter, it was the one thing that was mine, something that wasn’t tied to anyone else. It showed that I could have a future in doing something that I wanted. And I had to take that chance, Joshua. It didn’t mean I didn’t love you or didn’t care about you.”

You watch him run his fingers through his hair, watching him try to make sense of how you felt and understand the decision that you made, his brows furrowing deeper.

“I loved you so much,” Joshua says softly. “You were my best friend underneath it all, and you just left. You didn’t write me a letter, call, text, or anything. I had to find out from your mom that you left. Do you know how much you hurt me? How FUCKED I was?”

A moment of silence fell between you two, the tension thick and swallowing you both alive.

“Did you know about my mom? Hmm?” Joshua probes, inching towards you. “Did you even care that she passed? Did you ever care about me?”

His words feel like a dagger to the chest, cruelly piercing your heart and leaving an indelible ache. It doesn’t matter what your answer would be to that; he is determined to hate you anyway.

You can’t take it anymore; you need to leave.

“I-I’m sorry, Joshua,” you say quietly, the weight of your words hanging in the air. “I’m going to go.”

You rise from the chair and make it halfway to the door before you feel your hand being pulled back towards Joshua, a wild look in his eyes. “You don’t get to run away this time. Face this.”

“What do you want me to stay?” You’re frustrated; every raw emotion simmering just beneath the surface. “Do you want me to say I’m sorry? That I have regretted leaving you the way I did ever since I left, and I have NEVER stopped thinking about you over the years? Wondered how you were doing and if you were happy? Well congratul-fucking-lations, Joshua, you got it—”

You are cut off by Joshua abruptly, pulling you into a fervent kiss that is all-consuming and heartfelt. It leaves you breathless and weak in the knees.

“Joshua—”

“Stop,” he pleads, his eyes soft. “Just stay with me… please.”

Your mind is screaming at you to leave, to pretend this never happened, and go on like the professional you are. You got your closure, and he understands why you left. But your heart is beating a different tune, begging you to stay, to give in, and to quit fighting.

“Kiss me again.”

His lips crash against yours, igniting a rush of electricity that sends shivers down your spine. You let him take control, following his lead until the backs of your legs are touching the soft covers of his bed. His hands caress your face, leaving your skin tingling, and you haven’t felt more alive.

Your thoughts are none; the cravings of your heart and body take over your movements as you help Joshua out of his shirt, revealing a bare chest that was made for marking. He continues to kiss you ravenously, his tongue sliding into your mouth and playing with yours. Suddenly, your shirt feels too hot and restrictive against your skin. You break the kiss quickly to take it off, revealing a black lace bra that you randomly wore, which also happens to be his favorite color.

“Get on the bed, baby.” Joshua’s voice is barely above a whisper.

You nod quietly, scooting on the bed backwards, lying back as he climbs on top of you. He kisses you again, leaving you with a fervor that you have never felt before. You weren’t a virgin by any means, but you haven’t had a lot of experience either. You focused on work throughout the years, allowing yourself to have fun every once in a while if you felt like you deserved it. But this, the way he is touching you, moaning in your mouth as he positions himself in between your legs, has your blood pumping hot.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mutters, trailing his index finger across your face. “So angelic.”

“Am I?”

His eyes shift for a moment, soft and pure, as if he is looking at the most precious thing. “Let me show you.”

He kisses you again, moving down towards your neck, sucking on your skin that is bound to leave you with purple hues that you will have to answer for later. Joshua is enamored with you, reaching behind you and unhooking your bra in one go like a pro, almost like he has had plenty of practice doing this. You quickly remind yourself that this is not the same Joshua you knew years ago. This one is more evolved and experienced— but one thing remains the same: he is still eager to please.

“You’re perfect.”

You bite your lip, unable to form a coherent thought as you fall deeper into a pool of bliss with his tongue swirling around your nipples. He groans against your breast, like he is savoring the taste of your sweet-smelling skin. You have never been worshipped or wanted in this way, and it leaves you feeling crazed and wanting more.

“This feels good,” you coo, stroking his hair. “I want you.”

“I want you too,” Joshua confesses. “I always have.”

He kisses down your stomach, each one searing and igniting something in you, animalistic, wanting to consume everything he has to offer. Your breath hitches when his fingers play with the hem of your pants, lowering them and sliding them off your legs, and throwing them on the floor. You feel raw, exposed, and when he pulls you towards the edge of the bed, your hands grasp the cover, bracing for his next move. 

“Joshua?” You find your voice, barely.

“Yeah?”

You smile softly, a striking contrast to the words sitting on the tip of your tongue. “Do your worst.”

A low chuckle leaves his lips, your panties being pulled to the side, revealing your slick arousal. Joshua’s eyes darken at the sight of you, his thumb brushing gently against your inner thigh.

“You’re wet for me, already? I’ve barely touched you, baby.”

He glances up at you through his lashes, a faint smirk playing at his lips as your panties are being removed and thrown where your pants are. You bite your lip, watching him, the tension in your stomach coiling tighter.

“Joshua…” you whisper. “Don’t hold back.”

"I wasn’t planning on it,” he says, pressing an open-mouth kiss to your thigh. “We have years to make up for.”

The wet heat of his mouth is pressed against your clit, sucking on before lowering his tongue down to your center. The sensation is overwhelming; his tongue moves in slow, deliberate strokes, savoring the sweet taste that no one else has come close to doing right. He moans between your legs like he is satisfying his craving. Your hands fly to his hair instinctively when he goes faster, and a lewd moan slips from your lips, sending you further into a deep bliss.

He’s filthy, lapping up your juices and tongue fucking you in ways you didn’t know existed. Your fingers grip his hair tighter, your hips figuring out the rhythm of his tongue and riding it, more moans from him sending vibrations throughout your body.

“Yeah, just that,” he grunts. “Give it to me.”

He eats you with an insatiable hunger, leaving you delirious, making it harder to think, harder to breathe. The pleasure builds, spreading like fire through your veins, until you can’t hold back the sounds escaping you.

“JOSHUA!” you cry out. 

You fall apart, every nerve snapping like a live wire. You spill over in a way that you can’t stop, making a mess of the blanket and Joshua’s face as he continues to drink in everything you have to offer. Heat floods your face in shame, pleasure hitting you like a euphoric high that you don’t want to come down from. You have never done that before.

His grip tightens at your hips, holding you still as he leaves a lasting kiss on your center. Your breathing slows, and you look at the ceiling, too embarrassed to look at him in the eye.

“What’s on your mind?” He murmurs against your skin.

“Nothing,” you sigh softly.

“Birdie…”

“Okay, fine,” you sit up, meeting his gaze. “I am just trying to grapple with the fact that I got eaten out by my ex, who I thought up until now hated me, and I ended up doing that.”

You point at the blanket, a wet spot as big as Texas, thanks to you.

“Have you ever done that before?” Joshua asks, his index finger trailing down your leg.

You shift uncomfortably, refusing to look into his eyes again. “No.”

“Oh? So I’m your first… again.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Joshua climbs over you, pushing you back towards the bed as he kisses you again. “You have a smart mouth.”

“Yeah? What about it?”

Feeling bold, you reach down to his pants, undoing his belt and the button hiding beneath it. He studies you carefully, a cocky grin on his face that begrudgingly sets your insides on fire. “We have to do something about that.”

He shoves his pants and boxers down and kicks them off his leg, his cock already hard, glistening, and dripping with precum. He lies next to you on the bed, stroking himself while beckoning you to come closer, and you can’t help but think this is a man.

You know what he wants; it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out. You lean over him, leaving a kiss on his soft tip. His breath hitches, and you smile, swirling your tongue around the base and slowly swallowing him inch by inch. He curses softly, thrusting in your mouth as if this were the last time this would ever happen.

“Shit,” he inhales sharply, groaning as you hum around him.

His fingers tighten over the back of your neck, grasping it lightly as he fucks your face. Your eyes water with tears as his cock hits the back of your throat, meeting his pace with a carnal for him, to make him feel good. Saliva slicks down your lips, spilling down your chin as your jaw aches under the relentless rhythm.

“Where…” Joshua grits his teeth. “Did you learn how to do this so well?”

Your tongue curls around a vein, one last decadent swirl before you pull off with a wet pop!

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

In a swift maneuver, he turns you over, laying you on your stomach. He smacks your derriere teasingly, watching it jiggle with a wicked look in his eyes that should scare you, but instead, you are more aroused. This Joshua may still have those kind eyes and soft voice that you fell in love with, but he has different, more grown-up up. Thrilling.

“Are you going to stare at my ass all night, or are you going to fuck me?” You taunt him.

“Lift,” he commands, smacking it again.

You do as you’re told, lifting up slightly as he lines himself against your entrance, his tip teasing your lower lips. He enters slowly, stretching you out deliciously as he lets you adjust to his size, your hands instinctively gripping the blanket.

“God, Joshua…”

“There’s nothing godly about how I am going to fuck you.”

His hips snap against you, hands pressing against the blanket as he fucks from behind. Your ass meets his hip with each stroke, desperate to feel every inch of him. He’s ravenous, kissing your back as he whispers dirty things to you, igniting a spark in you that makes your pussy wetter.

Loud moans and the slapping of skin filled the room, the headboard of the mattress banging against the wall as his thrusts became harder and more fervent. You try to hold back, but in the end, you give up, whimpering and screaming his name. You have never been fucked like this in your life, your walls squeezing his cock that leaves you feeling intoxicated and breathless.

“Don’t stop,” you cry out. “Keep fucking me just like that.”

He leans down closer to you, cupping your face towards his and giving you a salacious kiss that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. You’re both sweaty, in the zone with each other, and in that moment, you realize you forgot to ask him about a condom. A giggle slips through your lips, breaking the kiss as you cover your face with a pillow.

“What’s so funny?” He grunts, slowing down his movements.

“I forgot to ask you about a condom,” you reply, biting your bottom lip. “It’s a little too late for that.”

“Mmhmm,” is all you hear before he presses your head further into the pillow, proceeding to fuck you like before. You feel pleasure everywhere, your skin tingling and shocks spreading throughout your body. You are incoherent, screaming into the fabric as your orgasm takes over you, shaking you through your core. Joshua doesn’t let up, the gushiness of your cunt loud and clear as he continues to pound into you, slapping your ass again for his pleasure.

“I-I’m close, baby,” Joshua sputters, kissing your shoulder. “Where do you want me?”

You are shaking, too overstimulated and fucked out to answer, lazily waving your hand to say anything, not caring if he understood what you meant. With a shattered breath, he moans your name, your real name, and pulls out of you shortly before he releases, sending spurts of his hot load on your back and lower. You close your eyes, catching your breath as you finally come down from cloud nine.

“Stay there,” he says softly.

You hear him go into the bathroom, and you slowly open your eyes, looking at your reflection in the picture windows. Your mind is racing with all kinds of thoughts—reality kicks in when he returns, lifting your chin and kissing you with a softness that almost turns you into puddy.

Maybe you still love him, or there are definitely some feelings there… but now isn’t the time to figure it out.

“I have the shower running,” Joshua says, wiping off his mess with a warm towel. “Join me.”

You nod silently, not saying much as you let him lead you into the bathroom by hand. Everything is a blur as he washes you from top to bottom, speaking when you were supposed to and smiling at the correct times. This was not supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to have this contention with Joshua just to end up in his bed days later. You were supposed to film this documentary, scotch-free, and move on with your life. You are a professional, barely a lover. What the fuck are you doing?

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Joshua’s voice cuts through your thoughts, the fogginess in your head clearing up, and your focus is back on him.

“Honestly, no,” you confess, stepping out of the stall and grabbing a towel. “What are we doing, Joshua?”

“I don’t know,” he comes out shortly after, wrapping a towel around his waist. “Do we need to figure it out now?”

Beads of water cascade from his hair, glistening as they fall on his chest. You look away quickly, the flashbacks of being thoroughly fucked on the bed flooding your mind. Your body betrays you; your core pulsates at the thought of him inside of you again. God, he’s irresistible.

“No, we don’t, ” you shake those images away. “I’m… going to get dressed and go back to my room.”

He lets out an exasperated huff, frustration flickering across his face as he crosses his arms. “You want to leave again? After all that?”

“Joshua. Come on,” you raise an eyebrow in disbelief. “You know me being here, naked at that, is no good for you and me.”

“Why?”

“Use your head. You know why.”

“No, I won’t. I can’t read your mind, Birdie.”

“I wish you did,” you mutter.

“Why?”

“Because you would know I want to do this.”

You pull him into a heated kiss, surprise etched on his face as he realizes what is happening, his arms wrapping around your body like a warm hug. It was needy, desperate, the kind that satisfied your soul deep down. He picks you up and places you on the bathroom counter, deepening your kiss as his hands cup your face. Your hands fiddle with his towel, untying it and letting it fall on the floor. The loose knot you had placed on the front of your towel is pulled away by him with ease, exposing your wet, naked body to him once more.

“Is this what you want?” He whispers, his thumb brushing against your clit softly.

You nod softly, a gasp leaving your lips in response. “Y-yeah.”

He continues to rub it softly, watching your face contort with pleasure as your sweet moans echo through the bathroom. His other hand fists his cock, the tip already at your wet entrance as he pushes himself in slowly, groaning to your tight walls around him.

“Joshua…” you warn him. “Quit teasing me.”

You witness his eyes going dark before he drives into you, holding onto your hip as he gives you what you asked for. Your mouth slips open into a breathless “O’, your eyes snap shut as he fucks you, intending to make you cum.

“Look at me,” he pleads, kissing you deeply. “Baby, look at me.”

Your eyes flutter open, tears streaming down your face from being overstimulated. He kisses them away, quickening his pace while you whimper in his ear, begging him not to stop.

“Harder, Joshua,” you gasp, digging your nails into his back. “Give me more.”

Every fuck you had has left your body, meeting his thrusts as he continues his onslaught, not showing any signs of slowing down. You're sweaty again, breathless, your throat hoarse from the amount of moans and screams you have done tonight. You keep chasing that feeling, the one that makes you feel like you’re going to burst every time he hits your spot, leaving sweet kisses on your neck and chest. As if he read your mind, his fingers snake to your clit, pinching it unexpectedly, which sends you over the edge.

“JOSHUA!” You let out a choked sob, convulsing over his cock as you meet your orgasm again.

He watches you in amazement, his own movements becoming rigid and sloppy, his wet hair plastered to his forehead. He kisses you with feeling and depth that didn’t need words to comprehend how he was feeling this very moment. There was a look in his eyes that made you feel warm— the look of someone who is still madly in love.

“Go ahead,” you soothe, unable to form a complete sentence. “Inside me.”

He nods desperately, breathing hard in the crook of your neck as he pours himself into you. You instinctively rub his back as he shudders, coming down from your high, hazy, and energy-depleted. His movements are still, and he stays in place, holding you close like you’re going to fly away.

“Are you okay?” He pulls himself off of you slightly, looking into your eyes softly.

“I’m fine,” you reply, leaning your head back against the mirror. “I just… I don’t know what to say.”

He studies you carefully, entirely pulling out of you, leaking cum dripping from his cock. The weight of your actions settles in deeper than it did earlier, as you realize you may have made things more complicated. You don’t know if you could call yourself in love with him, but you can’t deny the attraction and affection that you feel. As much as you tried to push it in the back of your mind all these years, you did miss him. But how do you tell him that?

Joshua helps you off the counter, making sure you can stand on your own carefully. There is no longer a look of indifference, hatred, or sadness in his eyes. They radiate love, something soft and nostalgic, like you had the first time. Your heart beats for him, yearning to hold him close and never let him go. Figure it out somewhere along the lines. But do you deserve that?

The constant ping pong of logic vs. emotion in your head gives you a headache, and you want nothing more than to lay your head on a pillow and sleep. You feel his eyes burn in the back of your head as you both step back into the stall, washing your bodies clean of the latest round of sin.

“We don’t have to figure it out now, Birdie,” Joshua assures you as he washes your back. “Let’s just talk about it in the morning.”

“Tomorrow is Day 1, did you forget?” you sigh, remembering tomorrow’s schedule. “I don’t want to cause any distractions for you or interrupt your routine. Plus, I have to film and interview you and Jihoon, remember?”

“I know,” he replies, rinsing the soap off your back. “Look, I don’t want to go another ten years without us talking or figuring this out. I still love you, Birdie.”

His confession hits you like a bolt from the blue, leaving you in shock and your head spinning. There’s no way he still loves you after all this time, right? After what you did? 

“Joshua, I—”

“You don’t have to reply to that yet,” he interrupts softly, turning you towards him. “Can you just stay the night? Please?”

The alarms are going off in your head, telling you that this is a terrible idea and you should run. Your instinct screams at you, drowning out your rational thoughts. You look at him, and you see hope shining in his eyes, and it feels like knives in your gut. Do you want to give him false hope about what you are feeling, and you don’t even know yourself? How can you face yourself in the morning?

But once again, your body betrays you as fatigue hits you like a bag of sand, and deep inside, your heart has an overwhelming desire to be wanted, and you can’t deny that anymore.

After a moment of contemplating, you take a deep breath. “Fine. I’ll stay.” 

The roar from the crowd of fans was deafening, the wallops and cheers barely registering as Joshua climbed out of the pit. He barely made it, reaching 10th place, which is unlike him. Joshua almost always places first. He pulled off his helmet, sweat dripping from the side of his face and his neck. His Principle, Seungcheol, was hot on his tail, the sound of his boots thundering behind him.

“Hong, we need to talk.”

A journalist from CaratSports beelined towards him, determined to get a statement about the disastrous result out there. Seungcheol cursed under his breath, giving him a mean side eye before walking into the garage.

“Joshua, I have to say, you haven’t placed lower than 3rd place since your rookie year. Do you care to explain what happened out there?”

“No excuse, Rich,” Joshua responded, giving his best face of the franchise smile. “I wasn’t at my best out there. My head wasn’t in the race. I’ll do better tomorrow.”

Joshua wasn’t lying; He was distracted— because of you. You haven’t left his mind since that night a couple of days ago, and the next day, instead of finding you in bed sleeping next to him, you left him a note: “I’m not flying away. We will talk soon.” He had hoped you would find him yesterday and discuss everything, but it seemed you were only interested in filming the test rounds and left shortly after. Was that note supposed to comfort him and make him feel sane while he waited on you, again?

It seemed like nothing had changed all these years.

He gave Rich a polite nod before going into the garage, meeting the stares of Jihoon, Chan, and Seungcheol, who looked like he was going to blow a gasket.

“What the hell was that out there, Hong?” Seungcheol fired at him.

“Nothing, Cheol,” he replied, irritated as he removed his fire jacket. “I wasn’t in it today; I have a lot on my mind.”

"Well, no shit,” Seungcheol retorted, stepping closer to him. “You need to get your head in the game, Hong. You drove like you were in la-la land during the test run yesterday and today’s race. Keep this up, and Chan will be racing in your place sooner than you think.”

“Loud and clear,” Joshua bristled. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Seungcheol shot back. “Figure out whatever the hell is eating you before it costs us more points.”

He stormed out of the garage, leaving Joshua with Chan and Jihoon. Chan looked at him nervously as the younger racer with a promising future approached him slowly.

“Just so you know, I didn’t petition for your spot or anything,” Chan raised his hands. “I didn’t expect him to say that.”

Joshua glanced at him, his irritation fading away. He knows it’s not Chan’s fault, or anyone else's. He drove out there with his hand in the storm clouds, and it almost cost him the race.

“I know, bro,” Joshua reassured him. “I’m the one who messed up today. I’ll get us back to where we need to be tomorrow.”

Chan nodded, his face much relaxed. “Okay, good. Im going to find Cheol and make sure he is good.”

He watches him leave and leans back against the desk, his mind swirling with the day’s events. This was a race he should have easily won, yet thoughts of you clouded his focus. Ever since you popped up in his life again, everything felt chaotic and familiar all at once, throwing off his rhythm and igniting a tension he couldn't shake.

He narrowly escaped the press looking to ask questions about your performance, no doubt. He didn’t have the heart for it today. Plus, Jihoon was talking to the crowd, and he seemed to manage everything with ease. Climbing into his sleek black G-Wagon, he fired up the engine, leaving behind the frenzy of the lot. The tires gripped the pavement as he sped towards the hotel, the city whizzing by in a blur, with a determination to shower, clear his head, and seek you out. 

Pulling into the parking lot, he took the back entrance to the elevators, going straight to his room before he could be seen. He passed your door on the way, and he wondered if you were in your room, and if you thought of him at all. He wondered if you felt the same pull that you did, that wanted to be close and never let go. The truth is, Joshua never stopped loving you. He tried to deny and push it to the side, but you being here, living and breathing, makes it impossible to ignore what he has been feeling inside. And he needs you to know that.

Everything happens quickly. He showers quickly, washing away the sweat and shame of barely making the qualifying position. He hurriedly puts on a shirt and grey sweatpants, his tunnel vision never being so clear. His pulse was high, adrenaline from the track and eagerness to speak with you taking over him.

He stepped out of his room, squarely bumping into Trixie, who was dressed in a tight black dress that hugged her curves and heels that were screaming to be taken off. The familiar smell of her rose perfume wafted from her.

“Joshua,” she greeted him, holding a bottle of wine. “Just the man I wanted to see. Are we hanging out tonight?”

Joshua slowed, his steps faltering. If that night with you had never happened, he would have gladly taken up on her offer. But now, the thought of spending a night with someone who isn’t you feels empty. Not worth it.

“Not tonight, Trixie,” Joshua answered, shutting the door behind him. “I was just heading out, and I have a race tomorrow. So I need to focus, you know.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Trixie nodded with understanding. “Maybe tomorrow night, before you leave?”

A pang of guilt resonated with him. In his mind, there was not going to be another night filled with booze and sex. Trixie was fun and was always available for a good time, but it was never serious. Unfortunately, he knows what he needs to do.

“Trixie…” He cleared his throat, fingers tightening in his pockets. “I think we should take a break.”

Her smile wavered, her eyes flickering with confusion. “Is it something I did?”

The guilt tightened his chest. He never wanted to hurt her or be an asshole, but he had to be honest about what had changed.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he reassured her. “On top of me being busy, I’m kind of involved with my ex again, and it’s complicated. You don’t deserve to be tied up in that.”

She pondered his words, and he was unsure of her reaction. But then she exhaled, her shoulders relaxing, and her expression softened. “I understand, Joshua,” she said quietly. “Life is complicated, you know? It’s not like we were serious anyway.”

She gave a small shug, a gesture that was more kind than careless. “It’s fine, Joshua. I’m a big girl, I knew what I was getting into.”

She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, the smell of her rose perfume palpable within the bridge of his nose. He watched her walk away, his mind already somewhere else— looking at your room door. His plan still tingled with the phantom memory of your skin, and every part of him was drawn back to that moment with you, in the bedroom and the bathroom.

He strided to your door, placing three knocks before you opened it carefully. You had on a plain t-shirt and shorts, with a pair of reading glasses sitting on top of your head. Your eyes widened with shock before they softened, leaning against the frame of he door.

“Joshua,” you said softly.

He swallowed, throat dry. “Can I come in?”

You blinked, clearly weighing the risk, before stepping aside. He slipped in, shutting the door behind him with care, as though even the sound of it mattered. Your room glowed in a shade of amber, notes and folders stacked over your desk, and your bed was unmade and messy. The air smelled of black jasmine tea and citrus, a hot cup steaming on the dresser. He followed your lead, sitting on the bed, your fingers barely touching.

“You left me again,” he said, turning towards you. “We shared something, and the next day I woke up and you were gone, again. It felt like last time.”

Your shoulders slumped. Your gaze dropped to the carpet. “I left a note, Joshua.”

“Come on, Birdie,” Joshua scoffed, almost offended. “It’s not the same as you being there, and you know it.”

Silence fell between you after that, heavy and suffocating. He watched you twiddle with your thumbs, and he desperately wanted to hold you, to look into your brain and heart, to understand your thoughts and how you felt. Do you think the same way he does? Can something be made from this?

“Well, contrary to popular belief, I did have to get up early and film,” you disclosed. “But also, that night… it scared me.”

Joshua’s eyebrows knitted together, processing your words as it took away chunks of his heart. His hands clenched at his sides, doubt gnawing at him violently. Was he too aggressive? Did he hurt you?

“W-was I too rough—”

“What? No,” you shook your head vehemently. “I wasn’t scared of you. Remember, I asked for it. I wanted it, and I don’t regret that.”

Relief took over him, slowly replaced by confusion as he tried to understand what you meant. You took a deep breath, facing towards him and biting your lip with nervousness in your eyes.

“I was scared of… me. What I am feeling and still feel. This isn’t easy for me, Joshua.”

Joshua’s breath caught, his mind racing with so many thoughts. “So you do feel something? For me?”

Your eyes lifted, wide and vulnerable as you looked into his. “I’ve always felt something for you, after all these years. I don’t know if I would call it love now, but I missed you terribly. I regretted the way I left you as soon as I got on the plane. But I was a kid then, and I thought what I was doing was the right thing for you. Since there was no good way to explain what I did, I worked really hard to move on, focus on my career, and make it worth it. It worked for a while, but now being here, with you in my orbit again, it’s strumming up a lot of things.”

Your pinky touches his, sending chills throughout Joshua’s body. You touched him again, willingly, and he wanted to do nothing more but lie you back on the bed and show what he feels for you.

“Joshua, you asked me if I cared if your mom died, and that hurt me. Deep in my core.” You’re voice was trembling, your eyes watery and red with tears. “I know your mom didn’t care for me much, but I did respect her. She came through for my family in many ways that my parents couldn’t, despite her thinking I was ‘corrupting her son.’”

“Well, why didn’t you call?” Joshua’s voice was wracked with emotion. “I would have given anything to hear from you, to be in your presence again.”

“Joshua, I…” Your voice trailed off as anticipation filled the air. “I was there.”

Joshua looked at you incredulously, your confession rattling him to his core. “What do you mean you were there?”

A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you look up at the ceiling, your eyes blinking rapidly as you fight back tears.

“I came to the funeral,” you explained. “I heard that she passed from my mom, and I hopped on the first plane that I could to the church where the funeral was. I stayed in the back so I wouldn’t be seen, but I was there, Joshua.”

“You—” His voice cracked, a boy’s voice again, the sound of loss layered under disbelief. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

“Because it wasn’t about me,” you clapped your hands in your lap. “What could I have said? It was about your mom. About your family. You had everyone around you, and I didn’t want to make it harder.”

“God, Birdie,” Joshua let’s out a frustrated sigh. “I would have given ANYTHING to hear from you then. Yes, I had family around me, but I was so fucking alone. No one there understood me like you did. God, I would have given anything to fly away with you.”

He dragged a trembling hand through his hair, swallowing hard. “All these years, I thought you didn’t care. That you just walked away and never looked back.”

“I did look back,” you said, voice breaking. “Too many times. But I thought I was doing what was best for both of us. You had dreams, Joshua. And so did I. Staying would’ve meant holding each other back.”

Something inside him fractured. Not in anger, but in grief for all the years wasted in silence, for every moment that could’ve been different if either of you had dared to be selfish.

“So what do you want to do?” Joshua dared to ask, intertwining his fingers with yours. “I love you.”

He watched you shift on the bed, your eyes glistening at his confession. Your hand covered his,  anticipation drilled inside his chest as he waited for your response. He does love you; you were the only one for him. All these years, he tried to move on and have meaningful relationships with other people. He might come close, but he just couldn’t move on. The others just couldn’t connect like you and he did. 

“Come on, Birdie, it was always supposed to be you, no one else,” Joshua pleaded, laying his heart on the line. “You spent late nights with me, watching me practice racing at an abandoned track with a kart you managed to get online. You tracked my time and encouraged me when I wanted to do better. It was you who stood up to my mom when she wanted me to stop racing and go to medical school to become a doctor. It was YOU who came with me to the gym or met with potential benefactors when you could have been doing anything else.”

Your lips quivered, tears spilling out of your eyes that you desperately tried to hold back. Even now, being in your presence, you filled him up with a hazy nostalgia and hope that can’t be replicated with anyone else. You were, are, and always will be his dream. 

“I don’t know,” you said with a shaky breath. “I feel like I don’t deserve your kindness right now. I don’t have any right to be in your presence and listen to you confess your love for me and how much you still want me after all these years. Someone else deserves that.” 

“I don’t want anyone else,” his words came out rough, dragged from a place he kept locked up for a decade. “I want you.”

You looked down and bit your lip as you processed his confession, undoubtedly trying to think of what to say. Joshua instinctively moved closer to you, the tension thick and pulling him down like quicksand, but he couldn’t seem to stay away. 

“Say, something please,” he murmured.

“God, I missed you,” you whispered.

You kissed him. It wasn’t frantic or desperate, like a couple of nights ago. It was heartfelt, slower, and more tender. This kiss unraveled him from the inside out. Your soft lips tasted faintly of jasmine tea, and he desperately wanted to taste everything that you had to offer.

His hand slid under your waist, feeling the rise and fall of your breath beneath the thin cotton of your t-shirt. You sighed against his lips, relief flooding through him at your reciprocating feelings.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, pulling back and searching your face. “Tell me this isn’t what you want—”

“I want this, Joshua.” Your voice is pleading but firm. “I want you.”

Joshua groaned, kissing you again as he lowered you back against the sheets. His body hovered over yours, not trapping but sheltering, one hand braced by your head, the other still tangled with yours against the mattress. You arched up to him, your chest brushing his, and he swore under his breath.

Clothes became an afterthought. You tore each other’s clothes off until you were both bare; his hardening cock pressed your abdomen as his lips trailed from your throat to your collarbone to your breasts. He sucked on each nipple with care, his tongue carefully swirling around your mounds like it was the last time. Joshua was enamored with you and would never let you go.

“Joshua,” you whispered, voice trembling.

“I’ve got you,” he promised, sinking lower until he settled between your thighs. His fingers teased along your slick folds, and you gasped, hips jerking.

He slid two fingers into you, and your walls clenched around him. You moaned his name — broken, needy, and desperate. Joshua groaned, lowering his mouth to you, his tongue finding your clit. You bucked against him, your hands fisting the sheets as he tasted and licked like you were the best thing he had ever tasted. Your hands fisted his hair, your sweet moans and trembling thighs driving him mad.

“Joshua, fuck, I’m gonna—”

You came suddenly and violently, filling his mouth full with your juices as your orgasm washed over you. Joshua held you through it, licking you gently until your thighs quivered and your chest heaved. He kissed his way back up to you, and when he looked into your eyes, he knew he couldn’t wait any longer. His cock felt the wetness of your folds, and it burned something inside of him—sheer need.

“I want it,” you cupped his face in both hands, pulling him into another kiss. “I need it, please.”

That was all that he needed. He lined himself up, the heat of you slick against his tip, and pushed slowly inside. Your gasp, your nails clutching at his shoulders — it nearly undid him. You clung to him, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper.

“Don’t stop,” you begged.

Joshua moved with care at first, slow thrusts that let you adjust, that allow him to savor the impossible reality of being inside you again. But soon the pace quickened, driven by the way you gasped his name, the way you clenched around him, the way every inch of you seemed to beg for him. He was pussy drunk, in love, and it felt like he finally had the girl of his dreams back.

He had dreamed of this moment for many years, hoping you would return to him and that he would have his best friend back. Joshua would never admit this, but he checked on her throughout the years, watched your films, studied you, and wondered how you were and if you were happier without him. And now you’re here, and he’s deep inside of you, ready to give you his all, if you let him.

“Give it to me,” he coached you, placing a kiss on your temple. “Give me all of it.”

Your release hit you again, harder this time, your whole body trembling beneath him. Joshua followed soon after, spilling into you with a shuddering groan, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged. For a long time, neither of you moved. Just breathing, clinging, hearts racing in sync.

Joshua brushed your damp hair from your face, his thumb tracing down your cheek. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

You looked at him tenderly, smiling so softly before kissing him. You didn’t have to say anything; he knows what that kiss meant.

And for the first time in years, Joshua believed he could breathe again.

The Miami sun is unrelentless, searing down on asphalt that shimmered in waves of heat, engines roaring so loud the vibrations rattled through your ribcage. The atmosphere buzzes with cheers from excited fans, and from where you stand along the pit wall, the blurs of cars cutting impossible lines across the track. It should hold your attention after all, it is the Grand Prix.

But you keep thinking about last night and the past few days that you have shared with Joshua. The thought of Joshua’s hands on your face, being inside of you, and whispering sweet things in your ear makes you feel flustered in this sticky Florida heat. Everything is happening so fast like a whirlwind, and you aren’t sure what is left or right anymore. You missed him, and you aren’t afraid to admit it now. But where do you go from here?

“Hey.” Wonwoo’s voice cuts through your haze of thoughts. He lowers his camera, squinting at you from behind his glasses. “You good?”

“I’m peachy,” you say quickly, forcing your eye back on the track. “Just focused, that’s all.”

“Focused my ass,” Wonwoo snorts. “You’ve been filming on autopilot since we’ve been here. You didn’t even flinch when Choi spun out.”

“What the fuck? He did?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo deadpans. “Pretty dramatic, too. Half the pit nearly had a heart attack. But sure, you were “focused.”

Your face heated up in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I had a long night.”

Wonwoo tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “A long night, huh? Has anything to do with your golden boy over there?”

“Wonwoo, I love you like a brother. But I am going to beat you with your camera.”

He snickers but doesn’t press further. He studies you for a beat and then sighs, lowering his camera again.

“I don’t know all the details, but if something is going on between you two, after all these years…” his voice trails off, adjusting the lens cap in his hands. “Then you should pursue it. Don’t run from it because it’s messy and you made a mistake. Be honest with him and with yourself. It’ll set you free.”

You blink rapidly, your throat tight. Wonwoo always had this way of cutting through the noise, grounding you when you were spinning out. He didn’t say much, but when he did, it stuck.

“Since when did you become Dr. Phil?” You joke, nudging his shoulder.

“When I took this job and saved your ass from crashing out,” he teases back. “Now pay attention, because your boy is in first place.”

Your eyes snap back to the back, and there he was, leading the pack. Joshua’s silver and black car streaks down the straight, flawless in his lines and carving through the gaps like he was cutting air itself. Lap after lap, he creates a bigger distance from the others, his team shouting encouragement, and you stand there with a microphone in hand in awe. When the checkered flag finally waved with Joshua crossing the finish line in first place, the visceral screams from the fans and his team alike were visceral, proud, and it made you smile from ear to ear.

The garage erupted, with the mechanics leaping into each other’s arms and the racing Principle, Seungcheol, punching the air like sweet victory. Chan, their reserve driver, whoops so hard it nearly drowns out the engines. Joshua climbs out of his car, tearing off his helmet, sweat-soaked hair falling into his face. His grin is blinding as he points to his teammate, Jihoon, who came in second place, the crowd, and his team.

And then he saw you.

For a moment, everyone disappeared, and it was just you and him. His eyes lock in with yours through the sea of bodies, and his eyes shift into something soft and something else entirely. Something meant just for you. You watch him dive into the arms of his crew, the weight of victory and pure joy shown in every moment. As you jot down your questions for the closing interview, you let your smile too, proud in a way you haven’t let yourself feel in years.

You think about the time you spent with him this morning, where you lay in bed with your feet tangled with his like nothing had changed. The intimacy he shared with you again as he told you he loved you over and over. The ease of conversation you had as he was getting ready, talking about his goals for today’s race, and how happy he was to have you there. It felt like you were meant to be there, but it also filled you with a deep regret that you may not ever get over. You could have had this, but you selfishly cut him out of your process, instead of considering him like he did with you. 

It made you realize some things, and you need to get it off your chest.

“Are you ready?” Wonwoo asks as he films the last bit of the celebration. “I’m sure they are going to go into the media room to do the closing interviews, and then we are free.”

“Aww, you don’t like the smoldering heat of Miami?” You tease him.

“I don’t like my shirt sticking to my back,” Wonwoo quips, packing up his camera equipment.

You let out a hearty laugh and follow the crowd of reporters heading into the building where you and he faced off for the first time. There was a faint tang of champagne and sweat in the air, the blur of bright lights and flashing cameras taking over the ample space. You sit in the reserved section for you and Wonwoo, steadying your clipboard as you wait for your turn to answer your questions. The agreement was to ask your questions when everyone finished, and you wait, listening to the professional and not-so-professional questions that made your eyes roll.

When it finally comes to be your turn, Joshua sits across from you, his lips curving faintly in a way that melts your insides.

“Joshua, congratulations on the win. After a difficult qualifying yesterday, what was going through your head today?”

His eyes sparkle when he speaks, feeling a flutter of happiness in your chest. “Honestly? That I couldn’t afford to stay distracted. I had to focus on what mattered and resolve any mental blocks that were holding me back.”

You feel your throat tighten, and you clear it, shooting off your next question. “And what does matter to you?”

He didn’t look away; instead, his gaze intensified. “Winning the race for my team and also knowing when to fight, and when to hold on.”

His words caught you off guard, a double-edged sword hidden in plain sight. You press forward, professional, but every answer he gives feels threaded into something unspoken, tugging at an invisible connection that only you and he could see.

When the interview wraps, the cameras lower and the crew begins packing up. Joshua lingers, and you feel his gaze before you see him, sending chills down your spine. You tell Wonwoo you will catch up with him later— you had to handle some unfinished business.

You turn to face him, who is already walking towards you, a soft smile on his lips when he looks at you, like a man in love. Your heart races with a tenderness that feels comfortable and nostalgic.

“Joshua,” you say quietly, holding onto your clipboard.

“Birdie,” he responds, moving closer to you.

Looking around to make sure everyone was gone, he pulls you into a kiss, wrapping his arms around your waist as if he were afraid to let you go. You melt into him, every professional bone leaving your body.

“I’m glad you didn’t leave this morning,” he whispers in between kisses.

“Well, I couldn’t leave my hotel room,” you giggle. “But if you must know, I might have been glad I woke up to you this morning.”

It wasn’t a lie. You are glad you didn't become a flight risk and stayed with him, allowing yourself to feel. You watched him while he slept, and he still looked like the kid who watched you jump out of the tree. The same boy who called you his pretty bird and who kept you in his heart all these years. Your kind-eyed, sweet, loving boy. You will never be sorry enough for leaving him the way that you did, and you still don’t feel worthy of his forgiveness, but he is giving you an opening, and you’re going to take it.

“Joshua,” you say, motioning for him to sit down. “I’ve been thinking about everything, and I have some things I need to say.”

“Okay?” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, a tremor betraying his uncertainty.

You exhale deeply, stepping out on a small line of faith. “I... I don’t know what this is now,” you say honestly. “Between you and me. Maybe it’s Destiny. Fate. But I know that I missed you, and there is a part of me deep down that still loves you, even after all these years. I cannot say I’m sorry enough—”

“Birdie, you don’t have to keep apologizing—”

“Yes, I do,” you interject, your voice shaking slightly as you struggle to hold back the tide of emotions consuming you. “What I did was cruel, and I hurt you. Thinking about it now, what I did was so fucking stupid. I should have just talked to you and figured something out along the way. You were my best friend, the one person who believed me when I said I could fly. I wasted all these years thinking I was being some self-sacrificing martyr of love when I should have picked up the phone and called. I love you and I’m sorry—”

Joshua shuts you up with a kiss of conviction, his thumb stroking the side of your face. Your body calms immediately, the raging tide you felt earlier falling back and putting you at ease. You wrap your arms around him, calming the chaos in your mind. Warmth spreads through you like the sun, feeling safe and accepting of the love he wants to give you.

“If you will have me, Joshua, I would like to try again.”

His smile is small, trembling at the edges, but real. “Of course I’ll have you. You’re all I ever wanted.”

You nod, tears pricking your eyes when he kisses you again. It’s gentle, unhurried— stirring hopeful feelings in your chest, like it’s okay to feel this with him.

“So you aren’t going to fly away from me anymore?” Joshua asks, intertwining your fingers with his.

You smile softly, biting your lip as you gaze into his eyes.

“I’m done flying away. Joshua,” you say, pointing at his chest. I’m ready to come home.”