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rubywoozii · 2 days ago

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how long before we fall in love - choi seungcheol imagine

the way i was smiling, throwing air punches when i wrote this. pure 100% fluff coming your way!!!🥺😭🤭 (my head screaming SANA GETS NYO KO as i write this)

you can follow me on x, my un there niniramyeonie 😊🌻

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All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(photos not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You’re nursing the last of your drink, ice clinking against the glass as you swirl it with deliberate disinterest, hoping the guy beside you gets the hint. He doesn't. His hand lingers too close to your elbow, and every laugh he exhales smells like beer and desperation.

You've already tried subtle. You even lied about having a boyfriend — twice. Still, he leans in with that rehearsed smirk like he's the one doing you a favor.

You scan the room, fast. Desperation breeds boldness, and tonight, you’re emboldened.

Then you see him.

He’s impossible to miss. Seated at the far end of the bar, broad shoulders framed in black, head dipped low as he nurses something amber in a short glass. He looks like he belongs somewhere darker, quieter. Maybe someplace where men don’t smile, only nod.

You’re not even sure how your legs carry you there, but in three long strides, you’re beside him, heart skittering in your chest like it knows you’ve made a gamble. He glances up, and for a second, you're sure this was a mistake but there's no time for second-guessing.

“Hey, babe,” you say, and your voice barely wavers. “Sorry I took so long.”

His eyes narrow a fraction, and for one charged second, silence stretches between you like a fuse waiting to be lit.

Then his expression shifts. It's subtle, the faintest curl of his mouth, a spark of recognition in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

“There you are,” he says, low and even, like the words were always meant for you. He slips an arm around your waist with a kind of confidence that feels too natural, too smooth.

You think you’ve pulled it off — until a voice slices through the act.

“Seungcheol,” she purrs. She’s suddenly there, close enough that you feel the static of her presence before you even see her. “You weren’t gonna introduce me to your little friend?”

You tense, barely hiding the wince. The stranger, Seungcheol, doesn’t move his arm.

His voice is calm, even, as if this happens all the time. “Not now, Jiwon”

“But babe—”

He doesn’t even look at her. “And how many times do I have to tell you to not call me that”

Something in his tone makes her falter. She huffs, audibly, but walks away with a forced flick of her hair.

You glance up at him, parting your lips to apologize, but he cuts you off before you can speak.

“You okay?” he murmurs, just for you and you don’t know why but you believe him. You nod.

He leans in just a little, just enough that the warmth of him slips past your skin. “You want me to make sure he stays away?”

And god help you, you say yes.

Seungcheol shifts in his seat, gaze sharp now, trained somewhere over your shoulder. You don’t even have to turn to know the persistent guy’s still hovering. You can feel the weight of him, orbiting.

“Stay close,” Seungcheol says, barely more than a breath against your ear. It shouldn’t send a chill down your spine, but it does.

He stands in one smooth motion, hand still warm against your lower back as he guides you forwar. You catch the guy’s expression the moment he sees who you’re with now. The faux confidence drains from his face in real-time, replaced by something caught between confusion and an almost primal, involuntary instinct to back off.

“Problem?” Seungcheol asks him. He’s not loud. Doesn’t need to be. There’s something in the way he holds himself, loose and deadly, like a predator who doesn’t have to growl to be heard.

The guy lifts his hands in weak surrender. “Nah, man. Just talking.”

“You were done talking when she walked away.”

It’s not a threat. It’s a statement. Inevitable. Irrefutable.

The guy backs off, muttering something that doesn’t sound like an apology, but it doesn’t matter. He’s gone. You exhale for the first time in what feels like minutes.

Seungcheol turns to you again, and just like that, the sharpness in him softens—no less intense, but different now. He looks at you like he’s cataloging something he doesn’t quite understand yet.

“You okay?” he asks again, but this time the question feels more layered. Not just are you safe, but what made you need someone like me?

You nod, slower this time. “Yeah. Thanks. That was… I didn’t expect you to actually go along with it.”

He shrugs. “You looked like you needed out.”

There’s a beat of silence, then—

“You wanna sit?” he asks, gesturing to his now-vacant seat. “I won’t bite. Unless that’s what you’re into.”

It’s deadpan. Almost. You glance at him and find the smallest glint of mischief tucked in the dark of his eyes.

You sit. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, or maybe it’s something else entirely but you get the distinct feeling your night just shifted on an axis you didn’t see coming.

You’ve barely settled into the seat beside him when you feel the disturbance before you see it. She’s back. Jiwon. Her heels click soft and calculated across the floor, posture loose but eyes laser-focused on Seungcheol. She doesn't bother with you, not really.

She stops at his other side, voice syrupy. “Thought I’d grab you that drink you like,” she says, holding it out like a peace offering. Like she’s done this before and won.

But Seungcheol doesn’t even glance at the glass. He doesn’t blink.

“I’m good here,” he says, calm as still water. “With my girl.”

It hits with the kind of weight that lands sharp but quiet. No performance, no dramatic pause. Just absolute certainty, smooth as silk and impossible to argue with.

You blink. My girl?

Then, as if on cue, he leans in—closer than he’s been all night. His hand brushes against your thigh under the bar, casual but unmistakable. The space between you disappears, and suddenly, all you can see is him.

The edge of his mouth tilts just slightly, a private smirk made only for you.

“I help you,�� he murmurs, voice pitched low, just for your ears. “You help me.”

Like a switch, you slip into the role. No hesitation. No breath to second-guess.

You lean in until you’re practically folded into his side, your shoulder brushing his chest, the scent of him filling your senses like a hit of something you’re not supposed to want.

Your fingers find his thigh beneath the bar, light but deliberate, and when you turn your head to face her, your expression is sugar-laced steel.

“Thanks for keeping my boyfriend company,” you say, voice sweet enough to rot, “but we’re good now.”

Jiwon stiffens. You see it in the tight pull of her jaw, the way her hand curls around the untouched glass like she might throw it but she doesn’t say anything. Not really. Just a scoff, quiet and bitter, before she turns on her heel and disappears into the crowd again.

The moment she’s gone, Seungcheol exhales a laugh. Low. Quiet. Almost impressed.

“Well damn,” he says, tilting his head to look at you properly. “Didn’t think you had that in you.”

You arch a brow. “What, the spine or the spite?”

His grin widens, lazy and wolfish. “Both.”

You should pull away. You should return to your drink, your solitude, the night you had before this turned into something else entirely.

But you don’t.

Because now, you’re curious—and curiosity is a dangerous thing when someone like Seungcheol is involved. He smirks again, but there’s something different behind it then he leans down, slow enough to feel deliberate, and you feel it:

The brush of his lips against your bare shoulder.

Barely there. Barely anything. But it sets off a fire low in your belly, a spark you weren’t expecting and definitely weren’t prepared for. Your breath catches, and you turn your head to say something but you’re interrupted.

“Yo, Choi!” a voice calls out, casual and easy, and you look up just as two guys approach the table.

They’re both tall, well-dressed, and annoyingly attractive in that infuriating way that only works because they know it. The one with the long and cat-like grin lifts his brows as he takes in the scene. Your hand still on Seungcheol’s thigh, your body tucked into his side, his lips a breath away from your skin.

“Are we interrupting?” the long haired one asks

Seungcheol doesn’t move away. If anything, his arm tightens slightly around you. “If I say yes, will you go away”

The other one—gentler-looking, nudges his friend. “Jeonghan, stop being an ass. Hi,” he says, this time to you. “I’m Joshua. You?”

You give your name, and Jeonghan grins like you just told him a secret. “Cute. She’s cute.”

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything. He just takes a sip from his drink but there’s something in the way his thumb traces idle circles against your hip that says plenty.

“You’re not usually the type to play house, Seungcheol,” Jeonghan adds, sliding into the seat across from you both. “What’s this, new leaf?”

“Maybe I like what I’m playing with,” Seungcheol says, and his voice is so calm, so unapologetic, that for a second, even you forget this started as pretend.

Joshua raises a brow but doesn’t push it. He just smiles a little, as if he already sees where this is going before either of you do. And when you feel Seungcheol’s hand settle more firmly against your thigh, like he’s staking a claim in front of his friends.

A few drinks later, your head’s pleasantly light, the warmth of alcohol and laughter still lingering in your chest. Jeonghan and Joshua had finally wandered off to harass someone else, leaving you and Seungcheol alone again, though somehow the silence between you isn’t awkward—it’s alive.

You glance at your phone, blinking at the time. Late.

You push your glass away and sigh, “Alright, I should probably call it. Before I start thinking karaoke’s a good idea.”

Seungcheol chuckles, low and easy. “You’d make a great bad decision at karaoke.”

You shoot him a look, but you’re smiling. “I’m not drunk enough to embarrass myself like that.”

“Pity. I’d pay good money to hear you scream-sing something tragic.”

You snort. “You’re not even pretending to be nice.”

He tilts his head, mock thoughtful. “Did I ever pretend?”

You open your mouth to fire back something snarky, but the moment shifts. Just slightly. Just enough.

You glance toward the exit, suddenly uneasy. The weight of earlier brushes the edge of your thoughts, and now that the buzz is wearing down, the memory of that guy—the lingering stare, the way he didn’t get the hint—sticks.

Seungcheol notices. Of course he does. His eyes sharpen, but his voice stays light.

“Want me to walk you out?”

You hesitate then nod. “Actually… would it be weird if I asked you to drive me home?”

His brows rise just a touch but he doesn’t hesitate. “Not weird,” he says. “I was hoping you'd ask.”

You raise a brow, teasing. “You were hoping?”

“I mean, you’re kind of glued to me tonight,” he says, smirking as he stands, grabbing his jacket. “Thought I’d return the favor.”

You follow him out, the air outside cooler than expected. He opens the passenger door like it’s instinct—like he’s done this for you a hundred times already—and when you slide in, he leans down just enough that your eyes meet.

“You trust me to drive you home?” he asks, voice lower now, a touch more serious, but still laced with that lazy confidence.

You look up at him through your lashes, lips quirking. “I don’t know. Should I?”

And just like that, the door shuts with a soft click and your pulse doesn’t quite settle the whole ride home. When he slides into the driver’s seat, the engine purring to life beneath his hands, you glance sideways at him, half-joking, half-not, voice just a little too casual.

“I’m not gonna end up in a true crime documentary, right?”

He smirks without looking at you, eyes on the road as he pulls out of the lot. “Nah. Too much paperwork.”

You laugh, but he doesn’t stop there.

“If I was gonna murder you, I wouldn’t have bought you drinks first. That’s just inefficient.”

You raise a brow. “Wow. Comforting.”

He glances over at you, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift, his voice a bit softer now

“I mean, you approached me. Technically, this is your villain origin story.”

You feign scandal. “So I lured you in.”

“Exactly. Innocent-looking girl at a bar, bold enough to lie her way into my lap? Yeah, you’re the dangerous one here.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a grin tugging at your lips. “You think I’m innocent-looking?”

He cuts his eyes toward you, a slow once-over that makes the air between you crackle.

“I think you’re a lot of things,” he says. “But innocent? Not buying it.”

And just like that, the car gets a little quieter. Not uncomfortable. Just… charged.

And you wonder, as the streetlights blur past the windows, what you’ve really gotten yourself into tonight.

“Oh,” you say, feigning surprise, a slow smirk curling at your lips. “So you’ve got me all figured out already?”

He glances over, and this time he doesn’t hide the smile.

“Didn’t say that,” he replies smoothly. “I said I’m not buying the innocent act. Big difference.”

You hum, dragging your gaze out the window like you're not grinning.

“Maybe I’m just mysterious,” you tease. “Hard to read. Dangerous, even.”

He snorts. “You’re definitely dangerous.”

“Yeah?” you ask, turning back to him, playful but edged with something more. “Afraid I’ll break your heart?”

He laughs once but then his eyes flick over to you, and it’s different now. He’s not smiling anymore, not quite. His voice drops, soft but steady.

“Nah,” he murmurs, “I’m enjoying this too much.”

You don’t answer right away, and neither does he. The quiet stretches, dense with something neither of you name. But when his hand brushes yours over the center console—barely there, just a question—you don’t pull away.

“And you?” he says, voice quiet, like he’s easing into something he actually wants the answer to. “How come, out of everyone there… you suddenly let yourself strut my way?”

“I don’t know,” you say at first, then pause. “You just looked like the kind of guy who wouldn’t ask questions.”

He huffs a laugh, amused. “You were banking on me being cooperative?”

“I was banking on you being scary enough to make the other guy piss himself.”

“And I was.”

You grin despite yourself. “So humble.”

He finally turns to look at you fully, eyes dark but curious, a faint crease in his brow like he’s studying you a little deeper now.

“But that’s not it,” he says. “Not really.”

You tilt your head. “No?”

“No. You could’ve gone to the bartender. The bouncer. Your friends, if you had any there. But you came to me.”

You’re quiet for a beat too long, because—yeah. He’s right.

So you shrug, pretending it’s simple when it’s not. “Guess I like walking toward the fire sometimes.”

He laughs again, deeper this time, but there’s something thoughtful behind it.

“Then lucky for you,” he murmurs, eyes still on you, “I don’t burn easy.”

And your heart? Yeah. It skips. Hard.

The next morning, Seungcheol walks into the office ten minutes late with zero regrets and exactly one iced Americano in hand, looking irritatingly composed for someone who got maybe four hours of sleep.

He’s barely set his cup down when Jeonghan’s voice sings from across the room.

“Well, well, well—if it isn’t Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Relationships strolling in like a man who definitely didn’t go straight home last night.”

Joshua looks up from his laptop, raising a brow with a barely contained smirk. “So… who was she?”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer. Just pulls off his jacket and hangs it up with surgical precision, like he’s trying not to indulge them.

Which, of course, only makes them hungrier.

“C’mon, Cheol,” Jeonghan pushes, trailing him to his desk like a cat stalking something shiny. “You had her in your lap half the night. You don’t cuddle in public. I didn’t even know you could cuddle.”

“Technically,” Joshua adds, “I think she was in the driver’s seat.”

“Literally and figuratively,” Jeonghan nods. “She had you wrapped. It was… inspiring.”

Seungcheol exhales through his nose and finally turns around, arms folded, leaning against the edge of his desk like he’s humoring children.

“She was someone who needed help,” he says evenly. “That’s it.”

Jeonghan’s eyes glint. “So you just happened to keep your hand on her thigh all night out of… community service?”

Joshua’s tone is gentler, but no less pointed. “You looked comfortable. Not pretending-comfortable. Just… real.”

Seungcheol hesitates. He hates that they’re good at this. That they know how to read the cracks in his tone.

“She was easy to talk to,” he admits. “Didn’t play games. No agenda.”

Jeonghan fake gasps. “Wait. You liked her.”

He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t not say it,” Joshua counters.

Jeonghan grins like he just won something. “What’s her name?”

Seungcheol smirks now, because this is the part he won’t give them. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

And when he turns back to his desk, his phone buzzes once.

A message from you.

You: So… if I walk into your office right now, am I gonna ruin your mysterious, emotionally unavailable persona?

He stares at it for a second, then smiles—small and private. Maybe he is in trouble. He stares at your text for a beat longer, thumb hovering over the keyboard like he’s weighing something heavier than the words.

Seungcheol: Only if you walk in looking like last night. My reputation wouldn’t survive it.

Seungcheol: Free for lunch? I’ll come to you.

He hits send before he can think better of it.

Across the room, Jeonghan is still dramatically theorizing about your identity, now halfway into a ridiculous monologue about you being an international art thief who seduced Seungcheol for corporate secrets.

He ignores it because right now, he’s more interested in seeing you again and if that means sneaking in an hour between meetings and pretending he’s not the kind of guy who clears his calendar for a woman he just met, then so be it.

A little past noon, your phone buzzes again. You’re mid-email, squinting at your screen, when the notification pops up.

Seungcheol: Outside. Come down. I brought bribes.

You blink. Bribes? What does that even mean? Curiosity wins out fast. You grab your phone, smooth your outfit and head down.

The moment you step out, you see him leaning against a sleek black car that absolutely screams expensive and unnecessary, sunglasses pushed up in his hair, holding a paper bag and two drinks.

Your brows lift. “So this is you not trying?”

He grins, looking annoyingly perfect for someone who probably woke up late and still somehow managed to make the pavement feel like a runway. “Told you. Bribes.”

You walk up slowly, eyeing the bag. “What is it?”

“Sandwiches. From that overpriced place near here. Hope you’re not one of those 'just salad' people.”

You narrow your eyes. “I contain multitudes.”

He chuckles, hands you your drink. “Good. You’ll need them to keep up.”

You gesture toward the car. “So, this your day job? Picking up women and showing off your mysterious wealth?”

He laughs genuinely, this time. “Would you believe me if I said I’m just a humble middle manager?”

You give him a long, skeptical once-over. “Not a chance.”

He opens the passenger door for you again like it's a habit. Like he already knows you’ll get in and you do. Because lunch with Choi Seungcheol? Yeah. That sounds like danger worth walking toward twice.

You slide into the passenger seat, you glance at him as he rounds the front of the car and settles into the driver’s seat again, placing the food carefully between you.

“Okay, so what is it that you actually do?” you ask, peeling open the sandwich wrapper, the scent already unfairly good.

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Management. Mostly.”

“That’s vague as hell.”

“Intentionally,” he says, shooting you a sideways glance. “You’ll find I’m very good at withholding.”

You snort. “Is that your way of saying you’re emotionally constipated?”

“No, that’s me saying I like keeping some cards close.” He takes a bite of his sandwich, chews, swallows. “Makes things interesting.”

You hum, eyes narrowing just a touch. “So you’re not gonna tell me what your job actually is?”

He shakes his head slowly. “Not yet. I kind of like that you don’t know.”

You blink. “Why?”

He turns toward you fully now, one arm draped over the back of your seat, eyes lazy and unreadable but focused—very focused—on you.

“Because if you knew,” he says slowly, “you might treat me differently.”

Something flickers behind his tone. Not arrogance. Something quieter. Something worn and for a second, you forget you're supposed to be teasing him.

You hold his gaze. “Then maybe I’d rather not know.”

He searches your face for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to flinch, waiting for that inevitable shift he’s used to seeing in people when they do find out. But you don’t.

You just take another bite of your sandwich and speak through your smirk.

“So, Mr. Vague Middle Manager, are all your dates catered and chauffeured?”

That draws a full laugh out of him—deep and unguarded.

“This a date now?” he throws back.

You shrug with exaggerated innocence. “You did bring food. And bribes. And you’re staring at me like you wanna ruin my whole week.”

He hums, low and amused, eyes dropping to your lips and staying there just a little too long.

“Trust me,” he murmurs, “if I wanted to ruin your week… you’d know.”

And just like that, your heart forgets how to beat steady.

Again.

The place he takes you to is tucked away on a quiet side street. nothing flashy, no fancy valet, no five-star pretensions. Just the warm, familiar smell of grilled meat and the faint sizzle of something delicious already hitting a hot pan.

You recognize it immediately. The kind of Korean spot that’s half comfort, half chaos. Worn wooden tables, metal chopsticks in tin cups, steam clouding the windows from hot broth and soju-fueled laughter. A place where people don’t come to impress, they come because it feels like home.

He pulls the door open for you, and the ahjumma behind the counter beams when she sees him.

“Seungcheol-ah!” she calls, already bustling toward the kitchen. “Same table?”

He nods, bowing slightly in greeting.

You look at him sideways. “Regular, huh?”

He shrugs, the edge of his mouth twitching. “Told you. I like places where people don’t ask too many questions.”

She’s already setting the table as you both slide into the booth. The tabletop grill is already heating, meat—samgyeopsal, thick-cut and glistening—lands in the center with a satisfying thud.

He picks up the tongs like he’s done this a hundred times, which he probably has, and starts placing the pork belly on the grill, the sizzle instant and loud.

“Wow,” you say, smirking. “So this is how you impress women.”

“I’m feeding you, aren’t I?” he says, eyes focused on flipping the meat with practiced ease. “It’s a love language.”

“You do seem suspiciously fluent in this.”

“You gonna psychoanalyze me now?”

You lean your chin into your hand, watching him with lazy interest. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like watching you cook.”

He glances up, brow raised, but there’s a flicker of something else in his gaze now. That slow burn again.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “Flirting with me at a restaurant I come to every week? You’re treading into girlfriend territory.”

You pop a piece of kimchi into your mouth and smile like it’s nothing. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation.”

“Too late.”

There’s something light about this but underneath, there's a current neither of you are pretending to ignore anymore.

He wraps a piece of grilled meat in lettuce, adds a bit of ssamjang and garlic, then holds it out across the table.

“For you,” he says, voice soft, hand steady.

You pause. Then lean forward, take it straight from his fingers, lips brushing his skin on the way.

And the look in his eyes?

Yeah, lunch just got a lot more complicated.

You're mid-chew when the ahjumma comes back over, wiping her hands on her apron, eyes sharp and curious as she sets another bowl of pickled radish down on the table.

She turns to Seungcheol with a knowing grin. “You’re not with the usual troublemakers today. Who’s this lovely girl? You got married and didn’t tell us?”

You almost choke. Seungcheol freezes for a secondbut then, smooth as ever, he swallows, glances at you, and smiles like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Not married yet,” he says casually, sliding his chopsticks into the rice like punctuation. “But I’m working on it.”

Your eyes snap to him. Excuse me?

The ahjumma gasps, clearly delighted. “Aigoo! She’s pretty and patient—finally, a girl who can handle you! Yah, I prayed for this!”

You blink at her. Then at Seungcheol. He’s not even flinching. The man has the audacity to look pleased.

“Ah, he’s exaggerating,” you say quickly, giving the auntie a smile and trying not to combust. “We just—”

“—Make a good team,” Seungcheol finishes for you, eyes flicking to yours with a glint of mischief. “She keeps me in line.”

The ahjumma sighs dreamily, clearly buying the whole act. “Don’t let him go, sweet girl. He might act cool, but he needs someone who’ll yell at him when he forgets to eat. This one’s stubborn.”

You nod solemnly. “He does give off that energy.”

“Exactly!” she points at you like you’re a genius. “You understand already! Just marry him.”

Seungcheol coughs into his drink, but he’s grinning now, and you can’t help it—you’re laughing, eyes narrowed at him across the table.

The auntie bustles off, muttering about bringing more side dishes for the happy couple.

You lean in, tone low and pointed. “Married? Really?”

He shrugs, unabashed. “What? You handled it like a pro. I’m impressed.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he says, sliding another wrap your way, “you’re still here.”

You hate how easy it is to smile at him. Hate it even more that he’s smiling too—like he likes whatever this is just as much as you do.

The ride back to your office is quieter, he pulls up in front of your building, shifts the car into park, and glances over at you.

You unbuckle your seatbelt slowly. “Thanks for lunch.”

“You make it sound like I’m not planning on doing it again.”

You grin, leaning just a little closer. “Oh? Planning on making a habit out of me?”

His smirk is there, but softer now. “Thinking about it.”

You hop out before you say something stupid. Before he says something worse. But before you can shut the door, he leans across the console and says, quieter:

“Text me when you get up there. Just so I know you made it.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. “Yes, Dad.”

He raises a brow. “You really want to test that boundary this early?”

You shut the door before your brain melts and give him a mock salute through the window.

By the time Seungcheol pulls into the garage under his own office building, he’s five minutes behind schedule and vaguely irritated at how fast traffic moved now that he was in a rush.

He checks his phone in the elevator: one message from you.

You: Alive. Fed. Still thinking about that ssam you made. 8/10.

He grins to himself just as the elevator dings open on his floor. Unfortunately, his mood immediately sours when he sees who’s already in the conference room, arms folded, feet on the table like he owns the place.

Jeonghan.

The second Seungcheol steps through the door, Jeonghan looks at his watch dramatically.

“Five minutes late. How domestic of you.”

“Save it,” Seungcheol mutters, dropping into the seat across from him.

Jeonghan smirks like he’s been waiting for this moment. “So? Was it worth it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh. You’re flushed, your hair’s a little messy, and for once, you didn’t glare at anyone” Jeonghan taps his fingers against the table. “You’re basically glowing.”

Seungcheol sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “Can we just get through this meeting?”

“Oh, we will,” Jeonghan says brightly. “But not before you tell me if she’s single, if she has friends, and if your sudden boyfriend energy is gonna affect this quarter’s performance.”

Seungcheol narrows his eyes. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Absolutely.”

The days blur together. You two still talk, in between meetings and his hectic schedule he would always find some time for you. When he’s free he’ll go drive to you and grab lunch, wherever you want or sometimes a surprise.

It’s just past six when Seungcheol finally leans back in his chair, eyes dragging away from the spreadsheet he’s barely processed for the last fifteen minutes.

His fingers hover over his phone for a second before he gives in to the impulse—simple and direct.

Seungcheol: You free for dinner?

You:Yes. Come rescue me.

He smirks, already pushing back from his desk. Jacket on. Sleeves rolled. A very quiet kind of urgency in his steps.

On your end, the timing couldn’t be more perfect. Your coworkers have been hovering at your desk all afternoon, buzzing about Friday drinks like it’s the social event of the year. They’re already lining up shots in their heads, plotting karaoke and potential chaos.

“You coming, right?” one of them asks, nudging your elbow. “C’mon, you always dip. Just one night.”

You smile politely, already trying to edge away. “I actually have plans—”

“With who?” another cuts in, eyebrows raised. “You’ve been glowing all week.”

You blink. “What is it with people and this glowing thing?”

They groan. “So you do have a date. Who is he?”

Before you can lie—or dodge, or disappear into thin air—your phone buzzes again.

Seungcheol: Be there in twenty. What kind of rescue we talking? Fire escape or just dramatic entrance?

You bite your lip to suppress the grin that tries to surface.

“Just someone picking me up,” you say vaguely, grabbing your bag and ignoring the chorus of curious oohs that follow.

“You’re no fun,” one of them whines as you make your escape. “At least send us a picture! We won’t believe he exists!”

You wave behind you. “Exactly why I’m not sending one.”

They groan louder, but you’re already walking toward the elevator, pulse picking up just a little. You don’t know what this is with him yet—not really. But it’s enough to have you hoping the next twenty minutes pass just fast enough.

You make it out of the building just as the sun is dipping behind the city skyline, casting everything in that dusky golden glow that feels almost too cinematic for real life. As if on cue, his car pulls up.

The passenger window rolls down, and there he is, arm resting on the wheel, watching you with that lazy, low-key amused smile that somehow makes your heart skip like it’s late for something.

“You always look like you just walked out of a movie,” you say as you slide in, tossing your bag at your feet.

He glances over, that grin growing as he shifts the car into drive. “Funny. I was just thinking the same about you.”

You shake your head, suppressing a smile. “Flattery before food? Risky move.”

“Not flattery,” he says, glancing at you as he pulls into traffic. “Observation. You look like you needed a getaway.”

You sigh dramatically, letting your head thud against the seat. “You have no idea. They were trying to hold me hostage for soju and noraebang.”

He chuckles, tapping the wheel. “I’d pay to see that.”

“You would,” you mutter. “Anyway, thanks for the timely rescue.”

“Anytime,” he says, tone quiet but sincere.

For a moment, you both fall into comfortable silence, the hum of the road filling the space. It’s not awkward. If anything, it’s the kind of quiet that only settles when someone’s presence feels... easy.

“Where are we going?” you ask after a while, glancing at him.

He tilts his head, lips tugging upward. “Somewhere that serves food hot, drinks cold, and lets me look at you across the table without interruption.”

You arch a brow. “Is that your version of romantic?”

“No,” he says. “That’s my version of honest.”

Your stomach does that annoying little flutter again. He doesn’t look at you when he says it, but his hand briefly brushes your knee in a turn—accidental, maybe—but he doesn’t pull away too quickly.

The drive takes longer this time, farther out from the noise of downtown, the streets growing quieter, narrower.

You glance over at him. “You’ve got a thing for hidden spots, huh?”

“I don’t like crowds,” he says simply. “And I like places that let me hear you when you talk.”

You pause, caught off guard by the casual weight of it. “You’re smooth.”

“I’m observant,” he corrects, pulling into a tiny gravel lot tucked away

You step out and take in the place. No line. No obvious branding. Just the kind of restaurant people guard like a secret.

“This place looks like it has stories,” you murmur, tucking your hands into your coat.

“It does,” he says, rounding the car to walk beside you. “Mostly about good food. And about the owner being mildly terrifying if you show up drunk and disrespectful.”

You laugh, and he pulls the door open for you, holding it until you step inside.

It’s warm. Cozy. The scent of doenjang jjigae and grilled mackerel hangs in the air. The lights are soft, yellow, casting everything in that old-kitchen comfort glow. You’re seated in the farthest corner, a little nook with floor cushions and a small table already set with water, chopsticks, and folded linen napkins. The privacy of it feels intentional.

The owner, a silver-haired woman in a worn apron, comes over with barely a word, just a sharp eye and a small smile when she sees Seungcheol.

“You brought someone,” she says, voice raspy but kind. “She’s pretty. And awake, unlike the last idiot your friend brought.”

Seungcheol winces. “That was Mingyu.”

She waves him off, already handing you both menus like she’s decided you’re staying regardless.

You stifle a laugh. “Do all your regular spots come with built-in character witnesses?”

“Only the good ones,” he replies, flipping open the menu. “What’re you in the mood for?”

You pretend to study the list, but really, you’re watching the way he sits here—comfortable, known, but still somehow wrapped in mystery. Like there’s more under the surface that he only lets people see in pieces.

“You choose,” you say, passing your menu across the table. “You haven’t steered me wrong yet.”

He takes it with a slow smile. “Dangerous trust.”

“You like that about me,” you say without missing a beat.

His eyes meet yours, steady and sure.

“I do.”

And the way he says it?

It isn’t playful. Isn’t light. It lands somewhere between a promise and a warning.

And suddenly, the quiet between you feels like something else entirely.

He closes the menu without looking at it for too long, then says something casual to the owner, his tone respectful but familiar. She gives you one last look (a little assessing, a little approving) before disappearing toward the kitchen with a short nod.

You raise an eyebrow. “You didn’t even ask what I wanted.”

He leans back, completely unbothered. “I did.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. You said, ‘you choose.’ That’s verbal consent. Witnessed and documented.”

You snort. “Okay, lawyer.”

He grins. “You’ll thank me in a few minutes.”

And you do. Because when the food comes, it’s thin wheat noodles in a light broth, topped with julienned vegetables, sliced egg, seaweed, and just a hint of sesame oil. The aroma alone makes your eyes widen.

Your inner monologue might as well be standing on a table, screaming. He ordered noodles. My weakness. My love language. My eternal home.

“Are you a mind reader?” you ask, unable to hide your excitement as you pick up your chopsticks.

“I had a hunch,” he says, watching you with mild amusement as you practically dive in. “You look like someone who’d fight for the last noodle in a pot.”

You pause with your chopsticks halfway to your mouth. “Is that a compliment or a psychological profile?”

“Depends.” He’s smiling, elbow propped lazily on the table, eyes fixed on you. “Are you the type to share your noodles, or hoard them?”

You pretend to consider it, chewing thoughtfully. “Depends on who’s asking.”

He laughs, low and full. The kind that catches in your chest.

The food is simple, warm, deeply comforting. Not because of the food, exactly. But because of who’s sitting across from you. And how easy he makes all of this feel.

And when he steals one of your noodles just to prove a point? You let him.

As you both finish the last of the broth, the warm glow of the restaurant wrapping around you like a lazy blanket, you lean back on your cushion and stretch your legs under the table, nudging his knee with your foot.

You glance at the time on your phone and raise a brow. “It’s not even eight,” you say, mock-disbelief in your voice. “Don’t tell me you’re the type to go to bed right after dinner. Old-man hours already?”

“What, you think I’m boring?”

You shrug. “I mean… I don’t know. The cozy dinner. The secret spot. The soft lighting. This has bedtime-by-nine written all over it.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” he mutters, grabbing the check before you can even reach for your wallet.

You blink. “Wait. What was that?”

“I said,” he repeats, standing smoothly and ignoring your faux-innocent stare, “you’re lucky I like you.”

“Bold assumption,” you say, following him toward the door. “You don’t know me like that.”

He holds the door open, leaning into the frame as you step past him. “You say that, but you’re not running away.”

You pause outside, cold air kissing your skin as you glance up at him.

“I’d say that depends,” you murmur, lifting your chin slightly. “Are you planning to make the night more interesting or tuck me in with warm milk and a bedtime story?”

“I was thinking…” he steps a little closer, voice dipping, “maybe something in between.”

Your pulse flickers fast. Intrigued.

“So,” you say, eyes narrowing. “What now?”

He glances toward the car, then back at you. “Let’s drive.”

“That’s it? Just a drive?”

He shrugs. “You scared I’m secretly boring?”

You smile, teeth catching your bottom lip as you shake your head. “No. I’m scared you’re not.”

The city peels away behind you, all neon and noise in the rearview, replaced by wider roads and quieter corners. You glance over at him as he drives, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the gearshift.

"You always drive like this?" you ask, the wind catching in your voice just slightly.

He glances over, curious. “Like what?”

“Like you're in a movie. Slow, steady. No destination, just vibes.”

His mouth tugs into that crooked half-smile. “Wouldn’t be the worst scene to be in.”

You roll your eyes, but your grin gives you away. “You're really running with this leading-man energy, huh?”

“You’re the one who asked me to rescue you. I’m just sticking to the role.”

"Right. So where's the dramatic monologue about how you're secretly emotionally unavailable but somehow willing to change only for me?"

“That’s coming in act three,” he says smoothly. “Right after the almost-kiss and right before I mess it all up.”

You’re laughing now, really laughing, and when you glance at him again, he’s not even pretending not to stare.

He clears his throat. “There’s a lookout just up ahead. View’s nice this time of night.”

“Another hidden spot?”

“You doubting my taste now?”

“Never. Just making sure you’re not lulling me into a false sense of security before you reveal you are, in fact, a very charming serial killer.”

He chuckles under his breath. “If I was, you wouldn’t’ve made it past the noodles.”

You hum. “Fair point. Still. You are dangerously smooth.”

“I could say the same about you.”

That brings a new kind of quiet. One with heat underneath it.

By the time he pulls up to the lookout you’re not sure whether you’re more captivated by the view outside, or the one inside the car.

He kills the engine but makes no move to get out. Neither do you.

“So,” he says after a beat, voice a little lower. “Still think I’m putting you to bed before nine?”

You smirk, turning just slightly toward him. “We’re well past bedtime, Cheol.”

And somehow, that feels like the most dangerous thing you’ve said all night. He huffs a short laugh through his nose, eyes narrowing slightly with amusement as he shifts to face you more fully in the dim glow of the dashboard lights.

You tilt your head, feigning casual. “Just doing my due diligence,” you say, poking at the corner of the console with your nail. “Before this gets… you know. Interesting. You don’t have kids right? Or a wife waiting at home something like that”

He raises a brow, resting his arm against the back of your seat. “Interesting, huh?”

He doesn’t deny it. Just lets that lazy grin spread as he lets his gaze settle on you—like he’s trying to read between your words and the space between your knees brushing his.

“No wife,” he says finally. “No kids. No secrets.”

You blink. “Wow. A full set.”

He leans in just a little, voice lower now. “Disappointed?”

You laugh, the sound soft, breathless. “Relieved, actually. I’d hate to be a plot twist in someone else’s drama.”

“No,” he murmurs. “If anything, you feel like the beginning of something.”

You freeze just for a second.

“Are you always like this? Charming, smooth-talking, devastatingly good at timing?”

His fingers brush a strand of hair behind your ear, slow and deliberate. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

“Guess I’ll need more data.”

He laughs again—quiet, warm—and lets the moment linger in that hazy space between restraint and intent. Outside, the city glows. But in here, it’s just the two of you, suspended in that delicious kind of silence where everything feels possible.

You swallow lightly. “So… how much data are we talking? One night? Two? A whole series?”

His smile curves, lazy and full of mischief. “Are you asking how many dates it takes before I kiss you?”

“Maybe,” you say, voice just above a whisper.

“Depends how good the data is.” He leans in a little, not touching you yet but close enough. His voice dips, rough around the edges in that way that sends a shiver up your spine.

Your breath catches, pulse ticking a little faster, but you don’t lean away. If anything, you meet him halfway.

You exhale slowly, watching his eyes flick down to your mouth.

“You’re really not going to kiss me, are you?” you ask, a little breathless now.

He smirks, gaze lifting back to yours.

“I will,” he says. “But not because it’s expected.”

You blink, pulse stuttering.

“Then why?”

He tilts his head, thumb brushing the curve of your cheekbone.

“Because the second I do… it stops being light and easy. And I think we both know it.”

You sit there for a second, stunned into silence—because he’s not wrong. There’s a weight to this that neither of you are quite ready to name, but it’s there. Unspoken, humming like the low thrum of electricity before a storm.

So instead, you nod—slow, almost amused.

“You’re dangerous, Choi Seungcheol.”

He leans back just slightly, watching you with that infuriatingly unreadable expression.

“And you’re trouble.”

You smile.

“So what now?”

He reaches for the gear shift, gaze still lingering on you.

“Now,” he says, “I drive you home before we both make very bad, very good decisions.”

And you don’t argue.

But as he pulls away from the lookout, your fingers resting dangerously close to his on the center console, you get the feeling this isn’t the end of the night.

It’s just the prelude.

The sky is painfully clear, bright blue with not a cloud in sight and the sun has no business being this aggressive before noon.

Jeonghan’s halfway through lining up his swing when he notices it. The stillness. The quiet hum of something off.

He looks over and nearly misses his shot entirely.

“Okay,” he mutters, club dangling from one hand as he turns toward Joshua. “Am I hallucinating or is Seungcheol smiling at his phone?”

Joshua, already sipping on an iced americano and way too comfortable in his obnoxiously pastel golf attire, raises an eyebrow and glances over at their friend, who’s sitting on the edge of the golf cart with his phone in hand, thumb tapping out something quick.

And yeah. He's definitely smiling. Not smirking. Not plotting someone’s downfall.

Actually, smiling.

Joshua leans closer, squinting dramatically. “Are we about to die? Should I call my mom?”

“Maybe he’s reading memes,” Jeonghan says, though his voice lacks conviction.

“Right,” Joshua snorts. “Because Seungcheol totally wakes up and chooses cat videos.”

They both watch him a beat longer.

Seungcheol finally glances up, catching their stares. “What?”

Joshua holds his drink up like it’s a toast. “Just wondering if we need to evacuate Seoul. You good, buddy?”

Jeonghan crosses his arms. “You’re smiling, Cheol. Like… full teeth. Sunshine smile. Are you in pain? Blink twice if it’s a hostage situation.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth don’t drop. If anything, they twitch higher when his phone buzzes again and he types out a quick reply before tucking it away in his pocket.

“Y’all are dramatic.”

“Oh no no,” Jeonghan says, hopping into the cart. “You don’t get to be mysterious. Who is she?”

“There’s no she.”

“Liar. You haven’t looked this happy since Mingyu fell into that koi pond.”

Joshua hums, thoughtful. “It’s the girl from the bar, isn’t it?”

Seungcheol doesn't answer which is an answer in itself.

Jeonghan squints. “Wait, you’re still talking to her? Damn. I thought that was just a one-night distraction.”

Seungcheol shrugs, grabbing his club and walking toward the next hole. “Maybe I like being distracted.”

Joshua raises his brows. “He’s whipped.”

“Absolutely whipped,” Jeonghan echoes, grinning like he’s already plotting how to make this his new favorite topic of conversation.

The reason for that rare, suspiciously soft smile on Seungcheol’s face? Easy.

It’s sitting in his phone, timestamped at 8:02 a.m.

A photo of your desk, where a bouquet of creamy white ranunculus and pale blush roses now sits in the center, like it owns the place. A handwritten note tucked between the blooms simply reads:

Thanks for keeping me up past my bedtime. - CSC

Your caption underneath the photo had been equally unfair.

You: You smooth bastard. You knew I liked flowers, didn’t you?

He hadn’t, actually but he guessed. Just like the noodles. And the way your voice lit up over the phone when he mentioned he had a surprise coming.

It was a hunch, like everything else about you so far, a series of guesses that kept turning out more right than he probably deserved.

You: Do I have to say thank you over lunch or dinner? Because I can clear my schedule.

Hence: the smile.

The same one he’s fighting right now, out on the golf course, while Jeonghan interrogates him like a nosy mother with a magnifying glass.

“She thanked me,” Seungcheol says finally, smirking to himself as he adjusts his grip on the club.

Joshua frowns. “For what?”

He doesn’t even look up as he swings. “For the flowers I sent this morning.”

There’s a pause.

“Flowers?” Jeonghan yells from the cart. “Oh, we’re officially in rom-com territory now.”

Joshua leans on his driver. “You used to make fun of me for that. Remember back then when I got my girlfriend flowers after two weeks and you called me a simp with no spine?”

“I was right. You were insufferable,” Seungcheol replies easily. “I, on the other hand, am charming.”

Jeonghan snorts. “You sent ranunculus, didn’t you?”

That actually gets Seungcheol to glance over, brow raised. “How the hell do you know that?”

“Because you’re dramatic,” Jeonghan deadpans. “And because you’re literally the only person I know who flirts with florals like it’s a love letter.”

He shrugs, but the smug look doesn’t leave his face.

“She liked them.”

And really, that’s all he needs today. Not the perfect swing, not a quiet weekend, not even an answer to whatever it is that's slowly, surely happening between you and him.

You’re barefoot, hair up in a loose bun, sleeves shoved past your elbows, and a cleaning rag hanging off your shoulder like a badge of honor. There's a half-folded pile of laundry on the couch, your favorite playlist echoing from the kitchen speaker, and the scent of lemon cleaner still lingers in the air.

You weren’t thinking about him. Not exactly. Okay, maybe a little.

But still, when the doorbell rings, you freeze mid-wipe, glancing toward the door like it might be another delivery.

Flowers again?

You make your way over, still patting your hands dry on your pajama shorts, and swing the door open without much thought.

And your heart absolutely stutters.

Because standing there isn’t a courier. Or a stranger.

It’s him.

Choi Seungcheol, dressed down in jeans, a dark tee, and that unfairly calm expression that somehow looks even better in daylight. One hand casually stuffed in his pocket, the other holding up a familiar-looking takeout bag.

“You said lunch or dinner,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Thought I’d split the difference.”

You blink, stunned and slightly underdressed for this plot twist. “You—wait, you’re here?”

He lifts the bag slightly. “Samgyeopsal dosirak. And something sweet because I thought you might need dessert after all that dusting.”

You let out a soft, surprised laugh, stepping back instinctively to let him in. “You could’ve texted.”

“I could’ve,” he agrees, stepping past the threshold, eyes flicking to the mess of throw pillows and laundry and general weekend chaos. “But I figured showing up gets me bonus points.”

“Bold move,” you say, shutting the door behind him.

He shrugs, setting the bag down on your kitchen counter. “You already called me smooth this morning. Might as well live up to it.”

You watch him for a moment, slightly in awe—and slightly mortified you’re wearing an old t-shirt and fuzzy socks while he looks like that.

“Sorry for the mess,” you mutter, grabbing a few stray pieces of laundry and shoving them toward a basket.

Seungcheol just leans against your counter, watching you with that amused, unreadable expression.

“Relax,” he says. “I kind of like seeing you like this.”

You pause mid-fold. “Like what? Disheveled and unprepared?”

“Comfortable,” he corrects. “Like yourself.”

You clear your throat and gesture to the bag. “Well… you coming all this way with food means you’re definitely staying to eat, right?”

He grins. “Only if you sit next to me this time.”

“Scandalous,” you murmur, already pulling out plates. “We’ll have to keep the blinds shut. Can’t let the neighbors catch me fraternizing with the flower guy.”

He lets out a low laugh as he moves to help, and just like that, the space between you feels smaller again.

You slide the plates across the counter toward him, eyes flicking up briefly to meet his as you settle into the rhythm of unpacking the food. The scent of grilled meat, garlic, and rice fills the space, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy the easy comfort of it.

“How was your morning?”

He leans back a little against your counter, breaking apart his chopsticks slowly, like he has time—like he’s in no rush at all.

“Golf,” he says. “Jeonghan roped me into it. He and Joshua have this bet going about who’ll finally beat me. Spoiler: they didn’t.”

You snort softly. “Let me guess. You smiled once and they thought something was wrong?”

He looks up at you, surprised, then chuckles. “Actually, yeah. Jeonghan thought the world was ending.”

“Because you were texting me?”

His gaze lingers on you for just a beat too long.

“Maybe.”

You look away then, biting back the way your heart trips at the casual weight of his honesty.

You try to keep your voice light. “You like golf?”

“I like the quiet,” he says. “And the way it slows everything down. Plus, it's one of the few times the guys don't expect me to be in CEO mode.”

You blink. “Wait—CEO mode?”

His smile turns crooked, caught between smug and sheepish. “You didn’t know?”

Your mouth opens, then closes. “You told me you work in management!”

“I do,” he says innocently. “Technically.”

You gape at him. “You're ridiculous.”

“And you're adorable when you're annoyed,” he replies, grinning as he sets the table with casual precision.

You shake your head, still reeling, still smiling despite yourself.

“Fine,” you say, settling down beside him. “You can be mysterious and charming and maddening later. Right now, just tell me more about your morning. What else happened?”

And he does. He tells you about the way Joshua nearly ran over Jeonghan’s foot with the golf cart. How the coffee at the clubhouse was abysmal. How the sun was too bright but the breeze made up for it. And you listen like it’s the most interesting story you’ve ever heard.

You finish the last few bites of your meal, chopsticks tapping against the empty container as you sit back with a satisfied sigh.

“So,” you say, stretching slightly, “since you’re already here, Mr. CEO—”

His brow arches, amused. “Oh, we’re using titles now?”

You ignore that smug little curve of his mouth. “Since you're already so generously spending time with a commoner like me, mind helping with a few things?”

He eyes you, mock suspicion in his gaze. “Define few.”

You push off the counter and gesture for him to follow you down the short hallway.

“It’s really just one thing. I’ve been putting it off because I like having a functional spine.”

You stop in front of your bedroom door, already bracing yourself for the impending chaos he’s about to witness. With a deep breath, you push it open and point to the far corner of the room.

“That,” you say flatly, “has not moved since I moved in. It’s heavier than it looks and it hates me.”

Seungcheol steps in behind you, eyes landing on the wide, solid wood dresser wedged awkwardly against the wall. He whistles low.

“Yeah, okay. That thing looks like it weighs more than I do.”

You cross your arms, already grinning. “Don’t be dramatic. I just need it shifted a little to the left so I can finally plug in the lamp I’ve had sitting on the floor”

“And you were just gonna… try to do this alone?”

“I tried. Got maybe an inch before I considered calling emergency services.”

He laughs, shaking his head, already flexing his fingers like he’s warming up. “Alright, move aside. Let me show you what those gym memberships are actually good for.”

You step back, arms folded, watching as he tests the weight, then—with alarming ease—shifts the dresser a few inches left, then a bit more, until it’s perfectly centered beneath the window.

“That’s it? That was like, two seconds.”

He turns, feigning a wipe of imaginary sweat from his brow. “You’re welcome, peasant.”

You scoff. “Okay, that’s the last time I compliment your arms.”

The sunlight hits him just right, painting golden streaks across his face and forearms, and for a second, the whole room feels brighter. Lighter.

“You’re trouble,” you murmur, half to yourself.

He catches it anyway, walking back over until he’s standing in front of you again, too close in that now-familiar, deliberate way.

“And you keep inviting me over,” he says, voice low and warm. “What does that make you?”

“Worse than I thought, apparently.”

He grins. “Good.”

And just like that—helping you move a dresser somehow becomes its own kind of intimacy. Domestic. Quiet. Dangerous in all the best, slow-burning ways.

Then something catches his eyes on something behind your desk. He drifts toward it, more curious than anything, his gaze pulled by the small burst of color on the wall.

It’s a collage of sorts, not perfectly arranged, but it has that personal, lived-in charm. Polaroids with slightly smudged ink dates along the bottom, movie tickets curled at the corners, scribbled notes, travel stubs, even a pressed flower or two.

A few things are clearly sentimental, a few probably meaningless to anyone but you.

But it’s the tiny folded receipt pinned neatly in the corner that catches his eye. Barely noticeable, until he sees the logo.

The bar.

He steps closer, mouth quirking slightly. “You kept this?”

You glance over from where you're fluffing the pillow he nearly flattened earlier. “Hm?”

He taps the pinned slip, and your eyes flick toward it.

“Oh.” You laugh softly, walking over to stand beside him. “Yeah. It felt... significant, I guess. A good story.”

“You keep a lot of stories, huh?” he asks, gesturing to the wall.

You shrug, suddenly shy. “I like remembering things. Even the dumb ones. Even the weird little in-between moments. They make everything feel more real.”

“Where’s the part where you almost got kissed by a stranger pretending to be your boyfriend?”

You narrow your eyes at him playfully. “You’re lucky I didn’t choose someone taller.”

“I’m lucky you chose me at all,” he says, quiet but clear, not teasing.

The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s full—warm. Like the pause after a really good line in a movie, one that doesn’t need music or movement to make it matter.

You glance back at the wall, at the receipt, the night that started all of this.

“Guess that night’s part of the wall now,” you murmur. “Part of the story.”

His eyes flick back to you, amused. “So you’re the sentimental type.”

You raise a brow, lips twitching. “Why? That not fit into your little criteria?”

Seungcheol tilts his head slightly, eyes scanning you in that quietly intense way that always makes you feel like you’re being read instead of looked at. His voice drops, warm and smooth.

“I don’t think I ever had a real list.”

You scoff lightly. “Please. Everyone has a list.”

He grins. “Fine. Maybe I thought I’d go for someone less likely to keep bar receipts and concert stubs like museum exhibits.”

You feign offense. “Wow. So judgmental for someone who literally sent me florals with emotional implications.”

“That was strategic,” he deadpans.

“Mm-hmm. And I’m sure flirting with me in front of your friends was all part of some master CEO plan too.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just studies you for a long moment, something unreadable behind that steady gaze.

From then on, the flowers keep coming. Not every day but often enough that it’s clear there’s a pattern. An intention.

Sometimes it’s a soft arrangement of lilies and baby’s breath that arrives late in the morning with a note scrawled in that clean, all-too-neat handwriting: Don’t skip lunch today.

Other days it’s bold peonies or deep red ranunculus, tucked into a glass vase that seems to match your desk without trying.

One morning it’s a single sunflower with a post-it: Because you were complaining about deadlines. Sun’s out now.

And in between the deliveries, there are lunches—casual, spontaneous. A text at 11:32 a.m.: You free? I’m craving something spicy.

Or dinner on the way home from work, when you say you’re too tired to cook and he offers takeout. He picks you up like it’s routine, like the two of you have been doing this for years.

He holds doors open, lets you steal bites off his plate, keeps track of which side of the booth you like to sit on. He remembers you hate soggy fries and that you get cranky when you skip breakfast.�� And when your wrist started aching from too much typing, a small ergonomic mouse showed up at your office two days later. No note. No message. Just Seungcheol, a few hours later at dinner, asking casually, You get that thing I sent? Like he hadn’t just studied your habits like they were blueprints.

One night, you tease him. “You always feed people this well when you’re trying to win them over?”

He glances at you across the table, eyes warm, steady.

“No,” he says. “Just you.”

And it’s not a confession. Not really but your heart answers like it is. He grins at that—slow and lazy, like he’s been waiting for you to say it.

“Careful now,” you say, voice light, but your eyes don’t leave his, “I might get used to being spoiled.”

He leans back in his seat, one arm draped over the back of the booth, and he gives you that look

“And what exactly would be the downside of that?”

You hum, pretending to consider it, swirling the last of your drink with your straw. “Mm, I don’t know. Expectations. Disappointment. Sudden withdrawal of dumpling privileges.”

He chuckles, low and smooth. “I don’t take things back once I give them.”

You glance at him sideways, the corner of your mouth lifting. “Sounds like a threat.”

He tilts his head, his smile softening. “Sounds like a promise.”

For a second, the noise of the restaurant fades behind the weight of those words—like the hum of conversation, the clink of plates, even the music playing overhead all quiet just enough to make space for the way he’s looking at you.

You feel it, the shift. Again.

And you could say something sarcastic, you could push it away with another joke—but you don’t. Instead, you let the moment hang there, rich and charged.

“You keep this up,” you murmur, “and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink.

“Good,” he says. “That’s the idea.”

You swirl your drink once more, watching the ice clink softly against the glass before glancing up at him with a sly tilt to your head.

“So…” you start, casual—too casual. “How many more dinners like this before the kiss?”

Seungcheol’s fingers pause mid-reach for his glass, his eyes lifting to yours, slow and deliberate. There’s that smirk again—just a shade more dangerous now, edged with the kind of tension you’ve both been dancing around for days.

He leans in a little, arms resting on the table, and his voice drops low. “You keeping count?”

You shrug, the corner of your mouth twitching. “I’m just saying… that first night? You played the part really well. Had me thinking you were the type to go in for the dramatic, sweep-her-off-her-feet, movie-scene kiss.”

“I remember,” he says. “You were looking at me like you were waiting for it.”

Your laugh is soft, quiet. “Maybe I was.”

“So what number is this then? Dinner four? Five? Let’s call it four and a half. One of those was technically just noodles and complaining about work.”

“So what you’re saying is… I’m close.” You lift your glass to your lips, hiding your grin behind the rim.

“Closer than you think. Don’t worry, I’ll make it worth the wait.”

And you believe him. God help you, you really do.

“You’re really making me wait for this kiss, huh?”

Seungcheol’s lips part, not in surprise exactly, but like he wasn’t expecting you to say it so directly. His gaze drops to your mouth for the briefest second, and it’s subtlebut enough that your heart skips once, hard.

He exhales, and the corner of his mouth lifts like he’s trying not to let it turn into a full smile. “I told you,” he murmurs, “I make things worth it.”

“Yeah, but now I’m starting to think you like the anticipation too much.”

“I do,” he says without missing a beat. “But I like your reaction more.”

Your brows lift. “My reaction?”

“The way you look at me,” he says, quietly now, eyes not wavering. “The way you lean in just a little closer when you think I might—” He doesn’t finish the sentence. Just lets it hang there between you, heavy and electric.

“You’re dangerous,” you whisper. Your heart’s hammering now, a rhythm too loud to ignore, and still he doesn’t close the distance.

“You’re really not going to kiss me,” you say, half a laugh, half a dare.

He tilts his head slightly, like he’s deciding something. Then—

“I will,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “But not here.”

Your breath catches. “Why not?”

His eyes flick to the restaurant around you. “Because when I finally do, I’m not sharing it with a room full of strangers.”

And just like that, your skin is flushed, your chest tight, and you’re no longer thinking about how long it’s been—but how close you are now. How much more you want.

The moment you step out into the night, the cool air brushing against your skin like a sigh, his hand finds yours. No hesitation. No theatrics. Just warm fingers threading through yours like they’ve done it a thousand times.

You glance at him, heart kicking once against your ribs.

He doesn’t look over. Doesn’t need to. His grip is steady, his stride unhurried, and there’s something about the way he holds you—like it’s not even a decision anymore. Just instinct.

When you reach the car, he lets go only to open the door for you. Still without a word. Still with that same quiet, unrushed certainty. He waits until you’re seated, until the seatbelt clicks, before he rounds the front and slides into the driver’s seat beside you.

No questions.

No where to?

He starts the engine and pulls out into the street like he already knows. Because he does. He’s memorized your route home—left turns, shortcut alleys, that one spot where traffic always sucks near the crosswalk.

And for a moment, you sit in the silence of the ride, his hand resting on the gearshift, the lights of the city playing soft across his profile.

You lean your head against the seat, watching him through the slow hum of passing streetlights. “You’re a little scary when you’re this confident.”

“I’m always this confident,” he murmurs, eyes forward, that same grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

You laugh under your breath. “Cocky.”

He doesn’t deny it. But when he reaches over at the next red light, brushing his thumb across the back of your hand, there’s a softness in it—something that betrays the calm exterior. Something that says: I’m not rushing. But I’m sure.

And it steals your breath more than any kiss might’ve.

Seungcheol’s already at his desk when Jeonghan strolls into his office unannounced, like he owns the place. He’s got that look on his face too. mischief bubbling just beneath the surface, like he’s been waiting for this all morning.

Seungcheol doesn’t look up from his laptop. “No.”

“I didn’t even say anything yet,” Jeonghan counters, already dropping into one of the chairs across from the desk, far too comfortable for someone who doesn’t technically work in this building.

“You’re thinking very loudly.”

Jeonghan grins. “Fine. If you insist, I’ll start. One: she completely held her own last night. Didn’t flinch once when Mingyu started rapid-ordering food like he was feeding an army.”

Recalling last night when Seungcheol took you with him for drinks out with the guys. Surprising everyone.

“She’s impressive,” Seungcheol says simply, and this time he does glance up, barely trying to hide the small, proud smile tugging at his mouth.

Jeonghan points. “That. That smile. That’s what I came here for. I knew you were gone the moment she toasted Soonyoung under the table.”

Seungcheol just leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers together. “He challenged her. It’s on him.”

“And she won. You know what that means? She’s one of us now. And more importantly…” Jeonghan leans in dramatically. “You’re so in it, man.”

“I drove her home,” Seungcheol says casually, but the softness in his voice betrays him.

Jeonghan narrows his eyes. “And?”

“And nothing.”

Jeonghan groans. “You’re seriously dragging this out? You're the most controlled man I know, and even I was rooting for a kiss.”

Seungcheol just smirks. “Told her I’d kiss her when she’s sober.”

Jeonghan stares. Then throws his head back with a groan. “You’re hopeless. Ridiculously swoony and hopeless.”

“I like her,” Seungcheol says, tone low and honest.

And that—that—makes Jeonghan pause. His teasing drops, just for a second. Because when Seungcheol says it like that, not as a joke or a half-guarded confession, but as a fact... it’s real.

He leans back, quieter now. “Yeah. I know you do.”

There’s a beat of silence between them before Jeonghan can’t help himself. “Still. If this ends in wedding bells, I’m officiating. Or, at the very least, giving the toast.”

Seungcheol sighs, already regretting letting him in.

Jeonghan grins again. “Don’t worry. I’ll start writing my speech.”

The city blurs past the windows in a soft hum of motion, headlights washing warm streaks of gold across your skin as you talk—casually, openly, like you always do now.

You’re curled in the passenger seat with your legs tucked under you, your shoes kicked off and your fingers fidgeting absently with the soft edge of the blanket draped over your lap. His blanket. The one he insisted on leaving in the car after you shivered just once during a late drive home.

Seungcheol doesn’t say much as you talk, but he glances over often—tiny flickers of attention between the road and you, like he’s memorizing pieces of the moment to revisit later. His left hand rests on the steering wheel, right one easy on the gear shift, the movement of his thumb mirroring the rhythm of your voice. Calm. Comforting.

You’re halfway through rambling about a disaster of a meeting you had that morning when your train of thought stutters.

“Oh,” you say, almost too quickly. “I—actually. Meant to ask you something.”

He hums, a lazy sound that rumbles in his chest. “Yeah?”

You hesitate. Just a second too long. He picks up on it immediately, his gaze flickering your way.

You’re looking down now, fiddling with the corner of the blanket, suddenly hyperaware of the lip gloss you left in his cup holder and the extra hair tie wrapped around his rearview mirror. There are little bits of you all over his car now. Just like there are little bits of him scattered across your days.

“So…” you start, trying for casual, but it comes out a little breathy. “There’s this wedding. In a couple weeks. One of my friends from college.”

You chance a glance at him. He’s still driving, still calm, but his head tilts slightly. Listening.

“I kind of... need a plus one,” you go on. “Well, I don’t need one, technically, but everyone’s bringing someone, and—” You bite your lip, nerves buzzing. “I just thought maybe… if you’re free, you could come? With me.”

“You want me to go with you?” he asks, voice low, like he’s checking—really checking—that he heard right.

You nod, trying to keep your voice light, even as your heart feels like it’s doing cartwheels. “Yeah. I mean, you’d probably hate it. Lots of mingling. Dancing. Champagne. Small talk with strangers.”

He smiles a little. “And you want me to be your date.”

You blink at him. “Well… yeah.”

The light turns green. He doesn’t move. Not yet. His eyes are on you, steady and searching, and the longer he looks, the more you feel exposed—in a good way. In a real way.

“I’ll go,” he says finally, with that soft certainty that always makes your chest ache. “Of course I’ll go.”

Your breath whooshes out of you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he repeats, eyes on the road now as the car starts moving again. “But only if I get to keep pretending I’m your boyfriend.”

You laugh, startled by how easy he makes it feel, how warm your chest goes at his words. “Is that what you’ve been doing all this time? Pretending?”

His grip on the steering wheel shifts. “You tell me.”

And you don’t answer right away, not because you don’t know but because the answer sits somewhere in the middle of your ribs, nestled against every glance, every ride home, every shoulder kiss and every moment he’s chosen to stay.

When you reach your building, he parks without asking for directions. Of course he does. He knows the way by heart now.

As you’re getting out, he catches your wrist gently. “Text me the details,” he says, voice lower now, more serious. “What time. What to wear.”

You nod, and your throat’s a little tight. “Okay.”

It’s one of those perfect afternoons. the kind that hangs suspended between spring and summer, warm without being too hot, a breeze just light enough to make your dress flutter as you wait outside your building.

You’re not waiting long.

His car pulls up exactly on time, and you catch sight of him behind the wheel through the windshield—dark suit, crisp white shirt, and a tie that looks suspiciously like it was chosen to match the color of your dress.

Your heart kicks up, stupid and traitorous in your chest, because he looks good. Too good. Like the kind of man who belongs on magazine covers, not in your driveway.

And then he steps out.

He smooths a hand down the front of his suit jacket, one brow lifting the moment he sees you. “Wow,” he says, low and honest, eyes sweeping over you with a slow, appreciative gaze that makes heat crawl up your neck. “I knew you’d look beautiful, but... I wasn’t ready.”

You try for casual, but your grin gives you away. “You clean up alright yourself, Mr. CEO.”

He holds the car door open for you without a word, and when you slide in, you spot the little extra things right away. Your favorite mints in the cup holder. A spare hair tie looped on the gearshift. He doesn’t say anything about them, but the details are there—always there.

“You nervous?” he asks at one point, tone light.

You shake your head. “About the wedding? No. They’re the ones getting married. I’m just there to eat cake.”

He smiles. “About me being your date, then?”

You pause, then look over at him with a soft grin. “Not even a little.”

When you get to the venue, it’s like the entire world slows for a second. The moment you both step out of the car and walk in together—side by side, his hand hovering at the small of your back, your arms brushing as you walk—you feel it. The glances. The looks.

You were right. Everyone did bring someone. And yet somehow, you’re the one that people can’t stop staring at.

Because of him.

Because of the way Seungcheol exists in a room like he’s always been meant to be there—quietly powerful, quietly yours.

Introductions start slow. your friends immediately curious, trying to figure him out. But Seungcheol handles them all with the kind of smooth charm that makes you want to simultaneously laugh and melt.

He’s polite. Warm. Slightly reserved. But he doesn’t leave your side once, and when your hand accidentally brushes his under the table during dinner, he doesn’t pull away.

It’s only when you're both standing off to the side during a slow song, sipping champagne and laughing at the clumsy first-dance attempts on the floor, that he leans down, voice brushing your ear.

“You know,” he says, “I don’t think I’ve seen you stop smiling since we got here.”

You glance up at him, heart thudding. “Yeah? Is that a bad thing?”

He meets your eyes. “No. I think I’d like to be the reason behind it more often.”

He holds out his hand. “Come dance with me?”

And with your fingers in his, his suit pressed lightly to your side, his palm warm at your back, you finally stop waiting. Because this, him, was worth every slow, drawn-out second.

You don’t realize how naturally it happens. How easily you lean into him, how right it feels to have your hand resting lightly on his shoulder while his other hand holds your waist, not too tight, but firm.

“You’re not a bad dancer,” you murmur, the tease threading through your voice.

Seungcheol lets out a low laugh, eyes twinkling as he looks down at you. “I had to learn. It was either that or embarrass myself at corporate galas.”

You tilt your head, smirking. “So I’m your rehearsal?”

He leans in, just enough that you feel his breath along your cheek. “No,” he says softly. “You’re the reason I’m glad I learned.”

That shuts you up for a second—not because you don’t have a comeback, but because the way he says it—earnest, grounded—makes your heart stumble in your chest.

“I still haven’t kissed you,” he says quietly, almost like he’s reminding himself. “And you’ve been very patient.”

“Painfully patient,” you whisper back. He smiles, but it’s different this time. Not teasing. Just full of something so genuine it makes your stomach twist.

“But this moment,” he says, pulling you in just a little closer, “this right here… I didn’t want to rush it. You deserve the good kind of build-up.”

You swallow. “So… this is a build-up?”

“Isn’t it?” he murmurs. “Every time I pick you up. Every dinner. Every time you leave your things in my car on purpose.”

“I don’t—” You try to defend yourself, but he grins, cutting you off.

“I like it,” he admits. “I like all of it. Even the fact that your lip gloss has now permanently scented my dashboard.”

You laugh, cheeks warm. “You’re very sentimental for someone who pretends not to be.”

“And you’re very brave for someone who said they weren’t looking for anything serious,” he counters.

That gives you pause. Because he’s not wrong.

You didn’t plan for any of this. But then again, you didn’t plan on walking up to a stranger at a bar just to escape a persistent creep either. And now… now you’re dancing with that stranger at your friend’s wedding while the night curls around the two of you like it knew.

“I still don’t know what we are,” you say finally, your voice lower, honest.

Seungcheol’s thumb brushes your waist gently, like he feels the shift.

“You don’t have to name it,” he says. “Not yet.”

“But you already have,” you murmur, meeting his gaze.

He looks at you for a long second. “Only in my head.”

You smile. “What is it, then?”

His grip on you tightens ever so slightly.

“Mine.” he says.

Just like that the music slows to an end, but he doesn't let go. And when the moment feels just too full, too warm, too close. His hand lifts gently to your jaw. His thumb grazes your cheek. And this time, finally, he doesn’t kiss your shoulder.

He kisses you.

It’s soft at first. A gentle brush of lips that speaks less of fireworks and more of certainty like he’s been waiting for just the right moment.

You don’t even realize your hands have slipped up to his chest, anchoring yourself as his other arm wraps around your waist to keep you close. There’s no rush, no urgency. Just the quiet, unspoken truth of it sinking into your bones—that this kiss was a long time coming. T

When you part, barely an inch between you, your forehead lingers against his. Your heart beats like it’s trying to memorize the rhythm of his.

“Finally,” you whisper.

Seungcheol chuckles, low and husky, still close enough that his breath grazes your lips. “Was it worth the wait?”

You tilt your head just enough to press another soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ll let you know after the second one.”

He smiles like he can’t help it, like something warm is cracking open in his chest. “Greedy.”

“Very,” you reply without missing a beat.

You don’t even care that you’re standing in the middle of a wedding reception, that people are milling around behind you with cake and champagne and whispered guesses about who you are. None of that matters.

Because he’s still looking at you like you’re the only thing that does.

When you got to your building he offered to walk you up. Standing outside your door, your fingers are curled into the lapel of Seungcheol’s suit jacket, your mouth barely a breath away from his when the sound of someone clearing their throat slices right through the moment.

You both flinch, pulling apart like guilty teenagers caught sneaking out after curfew.

Your eyes widen. “Oh my god.”

Your mom stands there in front of your apartment door, arms crossed and one brow raised with terrifying precision, the classic mom look of I have questions and you better answer them properly.

She blinks slowly, then turns to Seungcheol with the kind of pointed interest that has your soul trying to escape your body.

“And who,” she says, sweetly, “might this be?”

You swallow. “Uh. Hi, Mom. What are you doing here?”

“I texted. You didn’t answer. So I thought I’d drop off some side dishes I made.” She holds up the container bag like evidence. “Good thing I came, it seems.”

You’re nearly sweating. Seungcheol, on the other hand, somehow still looks calm. Like he didn’t just almost get caught mid-doorstep make-out by your mother.

He straightens, then offers your mom a polite bow. “Good evening, ma’am. I’m Choi Seungcheol. I was just dropping her off after a wedding.”

Your mom gives him a long once-over, then side-eyes you. “A wedding? Interesting. And how long has this Choi Seungcheol been around?”

“Mom,” you groan, but Seungcheol beats you to it.

“Not very long,” he replies easily. “But I’m hoping to stick around a while.”

You gape at him.

Your mom narrows her eyes. “Is that right?”

“If she’ll let me.”

Your mom stares at him another beat. Then to your utter disbelief, she… smiles. “Hmm. Well. At least you’re polite.”

You’re still recovering when she presses the container into your hands. “These are for you. You too, I suppose, since you’re clearly being fed well.”

Seungcheol accepts them with a small bow and a quiet “thank you.”

Your mom gives him one last look, then leans in to whisper (not quietly at all), “She likes flowers. And she talks in her sleep.”

“Mom!”

She pats your cheek and strolls away like she didn’t just commit emotional homicide.

You turn to Seungcheol, mortified. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe—”

But he’s already smiling. Like really smiling. “That was the best first ‘meet the parent’ ambush I’ve ever had.”

Seungcheol’s in his office early the next morning, already settled in behind his desk. His sleeves are rolled up, fingers tapping out a light rhythm on the edge of his desk as he hums a low, tuneless melody to himself.

He’s got that look on his face, the rare kind his staff sees maybe three times a year, a glint in his eyes like he just won the lottery and the stock market. Every so often, he pauses to check his phone, then smiles like someone just whispered a joke in his ear.

That’s exactly the energy Joshua and Jeonghan walk in on.

“Okay,” Jeonghan says slowly, not even trying to hide the suspicion in his voice. “Who are you and what have you done with our very serious, emotionally constipated CEO?”

Seungcheol doesn’t look up. “Good morning to you too.”

Joshua squints. “Is that... whistling? Are you—tapping your foot?”

Jeonghan drops into the seat across from him and kicks his legs up on the coffee table like he owns the place. “You’re smiling. Like smiling smiling. The last time you were this chipper was when we landed the Tokyo account and you got to yell at someone in perfect Japanese.”

Joshua leans against the wall. “No offense, man, but it’s kind of weirding me out. Is this like… a blood sugar thing? Are you okay?”

Seungcheol leans back in his chair, stretching with a soft groan and a big, satisfied sigh. “I’m great.”

“Yeah. We can tell.” Jeonghan raises a brow. “So go on. Tell the class. What happened”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer right away, just glances at his phone again with that same soft smile playing at his lips.

Jeonghan and Joshua exchange looks.

“Oh my god,” Jeonghan breathes, sitting up straighter. “It’s her, isn’t it? The bar girl. Your girl.”

Joshua’s eyes widen. “The one who literally drank Soonyoung under the table?”

“She’s not my girl, yet” Seungcheol says quickly—but his voice betrays him with the slightest upward lilt at the end, like even he doesn’t believe himself.

Jeonghan leans forward, both elbows on his knees. “So what happened last night? Because whatever it was, you’re acting like a man in love.”

“I am not in—” Seungcheol stops himself, mutters something under his breath, then groans as he runs a hand over his face. “You two are insufferable.”

“Did she finally kiss you?”

“Technically,” Seungcheol replies slowly, “I kissed her. But only after she asked for the third time.”

Jeonghan lets out a bark of laughter. “Took you long enough, Romeo.”

“It wasn’t about taking my time,” Seungcheol mumbles, and then lowers his voice, more to himself than to them. “I just… didn’t want to screw it up.”

There’s a beat of quiet.

Joshua softens. “You like her.”

Seungcheol doesn’t look up. “Yeah.”

Jeonghan’s watching him, a little differently now. Less teasing, more thoughtful. “It’s serious, isn’t it?”

“She asked me to be her plus-one to a wedding,” Seungcheol replies, then glances at them, almost shy. “And I met her mom.”

Joshua and Jeonghan practically explode.

“You what?”

Seungcheol winces. “It wasn’t planned—her mom showed up at her apartment with side dishes and caught us on the doorstep. Thought I was her boyfriend or something.”

Jeonghan is beside himself. “And you survived? No wounds? No emotional damage?”

“She liked me.”

“Okay, that’s it,” Joshua says. “We’re done for. He’s in too deep.”

“Send help,” Jeonghan deadpans, placing a hand over his heart. “Our friend is gone. Replaced by this domestic, well-fed, love-struck clone.”

“I’m not love-struck.”

“You’re literally glowing.”

Seungcheol shakes his head with a small chuckle. “Shut up.”

But he’s still smiling.

Seungcheol’s phone buzzes once, then again—your contact lighting up on the screen. His hand darts for the phone almost too eagerly, thumb swiping before the second ring finishes.

“Hey,” he answers, voice dropping into something soft and familiar, like the two of you are already alone in a room and not with Jeonghan and Joshua both watching like hawks from a few feet away.

You laugh softly on the other end. “Hi. Sorry, are you busy?”

“No,” he says without hesitation. “I’ve got time.”

Jeonghan mouths liar and Joshua smirks.

“So, I was gonna text, but my mom insisted I call. She’s making dinner tonight and… well, she asked if you’d like to come?”

His heart skips in a way he’s not used to—it’s not nerves exactly, more like… something warm curling in his chest. He stands slowly, pacing to the side of the office, back turned as if it’ll make the conversation any more private.

“You sure?” he asks, lowering his voice. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not,” you assure him. “She literally made enough for an army and said, and I quote, ‘tell that polite boy to come hungry.’”

He chuckles, unable to help himself. “Guess I can’t say no to that.”

“Seven okay?”

“Perfect.” He smiles again, stupid and wide and absolutely forgetting that he is not alone.

“I’ll see you tonight then.”

“Yeah,” he says, still in that soft tone only reserved for you. “Looking forward to it.”

The call ends. He stares at the screen for a second longer before pocketing his phone, already mentally rearranging the rest of his day.

Then he turns around.

Joshua is grinning like a fox. Jeonghan has both hands folded like he’s praying. “Okay. Let’s try that again. You’re not love-struck?”

Seungcheol sighs, running a hand through his hair, the soft grin on his lips refusing to fade. “She invited me to dinner. Her mom’s cooking.”

“Oh my god,” Jeonghan groans dramatically. “That’s domesticity. That’s serious.”

“You’re doomed,” Joshua chimes in cheerfully. “Next thing we know, you’ll be asking us to be groomsmen.”

“Shut up,”

You’re halfway through setting the table when the doorbell rings, and your mom, already at the stove with her sleeves rolled up, waves you off with a knowing smile. “He’s early. That one’s got good manners. Go let him in.”

You smooth down your shirt, trying not to look too eager, but your feet are already hurrying toward the door.

When you open it, Seungcheol is there dressed in that casually polished way that makes it look like he stepped off the cover of a weekend magazine. Button-up sleeves rolled just once, watch peeking out, hair slightly tousled like he ran his fingers through it before he knocked.

And in his hands?

Two bouquets.

You blink. “Are you trying to start a flower shop?”

He grins, lifting both arrangements slightly. “One’s for you.” He holds out the first—soft colors, delicate petals, your favorites, of course. “And the other’s for your mom.”

You take the bouquet, inhaling the sweet scent with a tiny smile before stepping aside. “She’s going to love that. You just earned, like, ten extra points.”

“I’m trying to rack them up,” he says lightly, stepping in and revealing the dessert box in his other hand. “Also, I may or may not have picked up your favorite. You know… just in case.”

You glance down and immediately light up. “You remembered?”

“Please,” he scoffs playfully. “You’ve only ranted about it, what, three times? Of course I remembered.”

You laugh as you lead him inside, his shoulder brushing yours in that easy, now-familiar way. Your mom peeks out from the kitchen, and her smile grows when she sees the extra bouquet.

“Oh, you charmer,” she says warmly, walking over to greet him. “Flowers again? You’re going to make all the other boys look bad.”

Seungcheol offers her the bouquet with both hands and a small bow. “I figured last time I came empty-handed, so I had to make up for it.”

Dinner’s warm and loud, your mom doing most of the talking while Seungcheol listens, chimes in with small jokes, and praises her cooking so sincerely she beams every time he opens his mouth. He’s relaxed here, blending in like he’s done it a hundred times, and somehow that’s the part that gets you.

Later, after helping clean up and exchanging stories with your mom, the two of you step out into the cool night air.

He walks beside you in silence for a moment, then glances over. “So... still thinking about replacing me with someone from a crime documentary?”

You laugh. “I don’t know. That guy probably wouldn’t have brought dessert and flowers.”

He nudges you gently. “Damn right.”

You turn to him, slowing a little on the steps outside your building. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it.”

And there’s that pause again—that loaded, quiet moment. You can feel it, humming between you. All the things unsaid but understood. No labels, no big declarations. Just gestures and quiet moments and the space he fills beside you like he’s always belonged there.

You lean in and kiss his cheek. He’s already smiling before your lips brush his skin.

“Don’t make me wait forever, Mr. CEO.”

He grins, eyes flicking to yours. “Patience, pretty girl. I’ve got a plan.”

And somehow, you believe him.

The moment you step back inside, your mom's perched on the couch like she never moved. She's got a cup of tea in hand and a look on her face that immediately makes you nervous—too calm, too unreadable, which only ever means she’s up to something.

Seungcheol follows behind you, quietly helping carry the dessert box into the kitchen, but before either of you can pretend the evening is winding down smoothly, your mom speaks up—tone light, but very deliberate.

“So…” she starts, gaze sliding over to Seungcheol like she’s just making small talk, “are you gonna marry my girl, or what?”

You nearly choke on air. “Mom!”

“What?” she shrugs, totally unbothered. “You’re both at the right age. You like each other. He’s handsome, polite, he brings flowers and dessert. I don’t want to wait another five years for grandchildren.”

“Oh my god—” you groan, half-burying your face in your hands.

But Seungcheol? Not flustered. Not even close. In fact, the traitorous man has the audacity to smile. A slow, confident one that only makes your embarrassment worse.

“Well,” he says, glancing at you before looking back at your mom, “if she keeps letting me stick around, who knows?”

Your mom raises a brow, then nods approvingly. “Good answer. You’re growing on me more and more, you know that?”

Seungcheol laughs, and you’re halfway to combusting. “Okay! Time to say goodnight, this interrogation is over,” you declare, grabbing his wrist and tugging him toward the door.

“Bye, Mom,” you grumble over your shoulder.

Your mom just waves, clearly pleased with herself. “Bye, future son-in-law!”

Seungcheol chuckles under his breath all the way down the hall. When the elevator doors close, he glances at you, amused. “So… how long do I have before she starts dress shopping?”

You glare up at him, still pink in the face. “Don’t you dare encourage her.”

“Too late.” He leans a little closer. “But if it helps…” His voice dips, teasing. “I am starting to like the sound of it.”

The elevator hums quietly as it takes you both downstairs, your hand tucked into Seungcheol’s without thinking. You walk him out to his car, the evening air crisp and still, soft with city quiet. He unlocks the door, but neither of you moves just yet.

“I’m just warning you,” you say, voice teasing, glancing up at him through your lashes. “Next time you come over, she’s not going to be asking if you’re marrying me.”

“No?”

You shake your head, grinning. “Nope. She’s skipping right ahead to asking when you’re giving her a grandchild.”

He chuckles low in his throat, eyes twinkling. “That so?”

“I can see it already,” you continue dramatically, “She’ll be standing in the kitchen, apron on, casually stirring soup while dropping 'So when’s the baby due?' like it’s small talk.”

Seungcheol leans against the car, folding his arms, that amused smile never leaving his face. “Well… we have kissed now,” he says, playful but soft. “I guess that means I should be prepared for her to start knitting booties.”

You swat his arm, trying not to laugh. “You’re too comfortable with this.”

“I’m comfortable with you,” he replies easily, gaze settling on you in that way that makes your heart skip and stumble all at once.

Seungcheol shifts closer, one hand brushing your hip before resting there, gentle but sure. “And hey,” he says, voice low, “about that kiss…”

Your breath hitches, and before you can even answer, he dips his head and brushes his lips against yours—slow and deliberate, nothing rushed, like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth all over again.

He pulls back only slightly, close enough that his nose still brushes yours. “Still got more where that came from.”

You manage a breathless laugh, fingers curling in the front of his shirt. “Dangerous man.”

He grins. “Only for you.”

When he finally slides into the driver’s seat, you linger by the open door. “Text me when you get home.”

He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Of course I will.”

You step back, watching as he pulls out of the lot, his hand lifting briefly in a lazy wave. And as you head back to your apartment, you already know: your mom’s going to be impossible next time.

You barely make it three steps into your apartment before your mom, still lounging in the living room like she owns the place (she kind of does, considering she brought over food and stayed uninvited), looks up from her tea and levels you with that look.

Not smug. Not surprised. Just deeply, motherly knowing.

“Oh,” she says, setting her cup down with an audible clink. “I see what this is.”

“What’s what?” you ask, walking past her, pretending to be busy as you head toward the kitchen.

But she doesn’t let you off that easy. She turns in her seat and calls out—voice just a touch singsongy.

“You love the guy.”

“What?” You laugh, unconvincing. “I don’t—what? That’s a lot, don’t you think?”

She stands, follows you to the kitchen like a shark who smells blood—or in this case, feelings.

“I’ve been watching you all day. You were smiling at your phone like a teenager,” she says, opening the fridge like she owns that too. “And when he came over? You lit up like someone plugged you in.”

You open a cabinet just to have something to do with your hands. “He’s just… nice.”

“Oh, no. Not just nice. He’s thoughtful. Respectful. Tall. Brings flowers. Carries dessert. Helped you move furniture. That man looked at you like you’re the only person on the planet.” She shuts the fridge.

“And you my sweet girl, you looked right back like he hung the moon.”

You groan, leaning against the counter. “You really don’t pull punches, huh?”

She smiles, proud. “I’m your mother. It’s my job to see through the nonsense.”

The smile that crept onto your face when Seungcheol kissed you tonight is still there. You feel it even now, this warmth that’s settled behind your ribs. It’s soft and terrifying and real.

And when you look back up, your mom’s just watching you with that soft expression, the one that says she’s been waiting for this kind of happiness to find you.

You sigh, eyes rolling, voice barely above a murmur. “Fine. I like him.”

She raises a brow.

“Okay,” you grumble. “I really like him.”

Her smile widens as she turns back toward the living room. “Took you long enough.”

The phone barely rings once before he picks up, voice warm and low like honey over gravel.

“Hey, baby.”

You swear your brain short-circuits for a second. The word hits you with a quiet thud right in the chest, catching you off guard even though you should be used to it by now.

“Hi,” you say, a beat late, already smiling into the receiver. “Okay, I forgot what I was gonna say for a second.”

There’s a soft laugh on his end, the kind that rumbles just under his breath. “That’s a good sign.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks warm. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late.”

You lean against the kitchen counter, heart still doing that embarrassing little flutter. “I was just calling to see if you were gonna be busy later… I was planning to cook dinner.”

He goes quiet for half a second. Not because he’s hesitating—just because you know he’s already rearranging his whole evening in his head.

“Do I get to watch you cook?” he asks, voice lighter now, teasing.

You smirk. “That depends. Are you just gonna stand there looking pretty and touching nothing?”

“Depends. Can I taste-test?”

You scoff. “You’re just in it for the food.”

“Not true,” he says, soft again now, “but it is a very nice bonus.”

You pretend to sigh. “So… does that mean you’re coming?”

“I’ll be there,” he says without skipping a beat. “Tell me what time and I’ll bring wine.”

The ease of it makes your chest feel full, like the kind of full that wraps around your ribs and stays there.

The knock on your door is right on time—because of course it is. You’re still smoothing down your shirt when you open it, and there he is.

Wine in one hand. Flowers in the other. And that stupid smile on his face that already has you forgetting whatever it was you were about to say.

“Hi,” you breathe, just a little breathless at the sight of him. He’s in a casual button-down, sleeves rolled, hair a little messy like he ran his hands through it on the drive over. He looks good. Too good.

“For you,” he says, lifting the bouquet

“You really don’t have to keep bringing these every time, you know.”

“I know,” he says easily, already slipping out of his shoes and placing the wine on your counter. “But I like watching you smile when I do.”

You open your mouth to come up with a witty response, but it never makes it out. Because he’s suddenly in your space arms curling around your waist as he presses a kiss to the side of your head.

Clingy. He’s so clingy tonight. And you love it.

“You okay?” you murmur, hugging him back.

“Just missed you,” he replies against your hair, like it’s that simple.

“You’re really not gonna let me cook, are you?” you ask, laughing as you try to wiggle out of his grasp.

“Nope.” He grins, chin resting on your shoulder. “This is a hostage situation now.”

“You’re clingy.”

“You love it.”

You glance at him over your shoulder. “I do.”

That earns you a kiss to the cheek. Then the temple. Then your neck. He’s shameless tonight. Unapologetically soft.

You try to cut up onions, but his arms stay wrapped around you the entire time, body warm at your back, like he can’t stand to be even an inch away. By the time dinner’s ready, he’s seated too close at the table, knees brushing yours under it, foot tapping against your ankle.

And when you pass him a bowl, he doesn’t let go of your hand right away. Just holds it for a second longer, thumb brushing your wrist.

“I could get used to this,” he says softly.

You smile, eyes locked with his.

He’s standing at your sink, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, strong hands buried in soapy water. Your purple apron is tied securely around his waist. your apron, the one with little hearts embroidered along the hem and a faint stain from that time you spilled sauce and never quite got it out.

You’re halfway through wiping down the counter when you glance up and pause, arms frozen mid-motion. Because this scene in front of you is almost too much.

Choi Seungcheol, your moody, broody, suit-wearing, don’t-mess-with-me CEO, is currently humming under his breath while washing your dinner plates in a heart-covered apron like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You wrap your arms around his middle from behind, chin pressed against the back of his shoulder. He pauses.

Then smiles, water still running as he leans back just slightly into your hold. “You done cleaning?”

“Mostly,” you hum. “I just needed a break to admire this sight.”

He chuckles, voice low, the sound vibrating through his back and into your chest. “What sight?”

“You. Domestic. In my kitchen. In my apron.”

“You mean your very fashionable, extremely purple apron?” he says, glancing down at it with mock seriousness.

“Mhm. It suits you.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah,” you say, drawing out the tease. “You look like the type of man who says things like ‘dinner’s ready, honey’ and then washes the dishes without being asked.”

“If you wanted to brag to someone, you could’ve just taken a picture.”

It’s a little surreal, stepping into the bar again after all these months.

The lighting’s still dim, the music low and pulsing in the background, familiar laughter echoing from the same corner booth the guys always seem to claim. Only this time, there’s no desperate escape from a stranger’s attention, no half-baked plan to use the intimidating guy in the corner to save yourself.

This time, you’re walking in hand-in-hand with him.

Seungcheol is dressed down, a fitted black tee and jeans that still somehow manage to make him look unfairly good. His hand is warm in yours, thumb drawing absent little circles on the back of your palm as he greets the guys already mid-round of drinks.

Jeonghan spots you first, grinning like he’s been waiting. “There they are! The king and queen have arrived.”

You roll your eyes. Seungcheol just chuckles, guiding you into the booth beside him. His arm slides across the back of your seat, casual and easy, but his fingers find your shoulder and rest there, grounding you like always.

It’s comfortable—normal, now.

You catch Joshua glancing between you two, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Kind of wild to think it all started here, huh?”

You raise a brow. “What, the bar?”

“The act,” he teases, nodding toward Seungcheol. “Captain Broody pretending to be your boyfriend.”

“Oh,” you laugh, nudging Seungcheol playfully. “Right. That little performance.”

“Wasn’t much of an act,” he mutters, just quiet enough for only you to hear.

You turn your head, surprised—and he’s already looking at you, eyes dark and soft under the warm glow of the bar lights. You swear you feel it in your stomach, that little flutter you still haven’t quite gotten used to.

He leans in closer, voice a little rougher. “What? Don’t tell me you forgot.”

You arch a brow, teasing. “Forgot what?”

“That you strut your way right up to me. All wide-eyed and bold like I wasn’t five seconds from leaving.”

“Oh please,” you grin. “You loved it.”

His smile widens. “Still do.”

The music dips into something slower, something smoother. Around you, the bar hums with noise, glasses clinking, someone laughing too loudly near the bar. But in this moment it’s just you and him.

He tugs you gently, pulling you into his side until you’re almost in his lap. You go easily, leaning into him, resting a hand on his chest.

“So,” you say with a smile, tilting your head up, “is this the part where you tell me you’re no longer my pretend boyfriend?”

He pauses like he’s considering it, then leans in until his lips are barely a breath away from yours. “Mm... maybe.”

You lift a brow. “Maybe?”

He kisses you then, slow and sure, like there’s nothing pretend about it.

Like there never was.

His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he pulls away just slightly, lips still grazing yours.

“I’m not your pretend anything,” he whispers. “Haven’t been for a long time.”

You smile, cheeks warm, fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

“Well good,” you say, heart fluttering, “because I’m pretty sure my mom already considers you family.”

He laughs, the sound low and unguarded, and kisses you again—just because he can. And you kiss him back—because it’s him.

And because this time, there’s no act, no games.

Just the two of you—right where it all began.

1K notes · View notes

rubywoozii · 3 days ago

Text

the accidental kiss

summary: one night, when kwon soonyoung is piss-drunk and needs to be rescued by his friends, he accidentally kisses you. now that he’s sober, he can’t stop thinking about doing it again. the problem? he has no idea who you are—but kwon soonyoung is a persistent man, and he is determined to find you.

⇢ pairing: kwon soonyoung x fem!reader ⇢ contains: fluff, comedy, strangers to lovers au, college au, idiots to idiots in love, profanity, alcohol consumption—please let me know if i’ve missed anything! ⇢ word count: 3.7k ⇢ note: happy birthday @etherealyoungk! i love you so much & i hope you like this little fic i wrote for you. i love talking to you and making plans to meet up with you (we will do it. someday) & i hope you have the most wonderful year ahead 💌 thank you to @melonppang for beta reading. set in the same universe as the accidental one-night stand.

The music is way too loud.

It’s the kind that makes your ribs thump and your ears buzz. Someone’s playing DJ in the living room, and judging by the way the bass shakes the floor, they’ve never once heard of volume control. You’re clutching a plastic cup of something vaguely lemon-flavoured—probably spiked, probably a mistake—and trying to figure out how long you need to stay here before leaving wouldn’t be considered rude.

You don’t even know whose house this is.

The only reason you’re here is because Sejeong begged you to come. “Just for a little while,” she’d said, grabbing your arm and giving you those puppy-dog eyes. “I swear it won’t be boring.”

She lied. The moment the two of you walked in, she vanished into the crowd with some guy who complimented her earrings. That was forty minutes ago. You haven’t seen her since.

Now you’re standing at the corner of a too-warm kitchen, next to a sticky counter and a bowl of tortilla chips that someone accidentally spilled beer into. You check your phone, pretending like you have someplace better to be. You don’t. But it’s a nice fantasy.

That’s when, you’ll tell your friends later, someone kissed you.

Out of nowhere, someone barrels into you from the side. Not aggressively—more like a very determined, very wobbly puppy. A slosh of your drink nearly spills onto your shoes. You suck in a sharp breath and look up, ready to mutter a half-hearted It’s fine, but—

“Oh,” he says, blinking down at you.

He’s taller than you. Kind of soft-looking. Flushed cheeks, dark eyes, disheveled hair curling a little at the ends. His lips are parted like he wasn’t expecting you to be there, which is funny, because you’re not exactly trying to hide.

“Hi,” he breathes. “You’re really pretty.”

You stare at him. He smells like peach soju and mint. “Thanks?” you say, cautious.

“I’m Soonyoung,” he tells you, and then leans in like he’s letting you in on a secret. “I was just telling my friend that I saw a UFO earlier. But it could’ve been a drone. I wasn’t wearing my glasses.”

Your brain stalls. “That’s… cool?”

“Are you an alien?” Soonyoung asks seriously.

“What?”

“Because I think you abducted my heart.”

You make a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Oh, my God.”

“I just said that,” he says proudly, lips stretching into a smile so wide, it makes his eyes crinkle. “And I meant it. I think I love you.”

“You’re definitely drunk.” You blink.

He nods solemnly. “So drunk.”

You don’t know why you’re still talking to him. Maybe because he looks at you like you’re something soft. Like even in his alcohol-hazed brain, he’s trying his best to be gentle. Maybe because he’s clearly harmless and just the right amount of charmingly pathetic. Or maybe because, despite yourself, you’re a little curious to see what he does next.

He sways slightly. You instinctively reach out to steady him, your hand brushing his arm.

Then—without thinking, without warning—he kisses you.

It’s not the best kiss of your life. Not even close. He smells like soju and sweat, and he’s a little off-center. But it’s surprisingly soft. Warm. Hesitant, like he’s afraid you might disappear.

It lasts maybe two seconds.

Soonyoung pulls back, blinking, like he’s not entirely sure what just happened. “Whoa,” he says, kind of dazed. “You taste like… gummy bears. Or maybe that’s me.”

Your heart thuds. You open your mouth to speak, but—

“Soonyoung!”

Someone else’s voice cuts in, and a tall guy—broad-shouldered and exasperated—grabs him by the shoulder.

“Dude,” the newcomer says, dragging Soonyoung backward. “We talked about this. Stop kissing strangers.” He turns to look at you, an apologetic smile on his face. “I’m really sorry about that. When Soonyoung is drunk, he’s—”

“I wasn’t!” Soonyoung protests, eyes still on you. “We had a moment. Right?” He squints at you. “Tell him.”

You don’t say anything. You’re not sure what to say.

“Alright, loverboy. Time to go,” his friend says, hauling him toward the door. You hear him mutter under his breath, “Where the fuck is Wonwoo? Minghao said he’d sent him over an hour ago.”

Soonyoung doesn’t resist his friend’s grip, but as he’s pulled away, he twists to look at you one last time.

“I’m gonna find you again!” he calls out, grinning like a total idiot. “Don’t fall in love with anyone else!”

He’s gone after that. You stand there, staring at the space he left behind, slightly dazed, slightly amused, and still not entirely sure what just happened.

Someone nudges you with an elbow. “Was that Kwon Soonyoung?”

You turn. It’s a girl you vaguely recognise from a class you had last semester. She’s holding a cup and watching the door like it might burst open again.

“Uh,” you say. “I think so.”

She snorts. “Typical. I’m not even surprised.”

You glance down at your drink. It’s lukewarm now, all the ice cubes that were floating at the top having finally melted. You should probably leave, you think. But you can’t stop replaying it in your head—the way he looked at you, a little glassy-eyed, like you were the only person in the room.

You shake it off and make your way towards the door. It was just a kiss. That’s all it was.

Right?

After Kwon Soonyoung finishes chewing out his best friends—Jeon Wonwoo and his new girlfriend, since they’d conveniently decided to forget to pick him up after they realised their suppressed feelings for each other—all he can think of is you.

But after that, when Wonwoo’s girlfriend leaves, and Soonyoung is sprawled sideways on his couch, legs dangling over the armrest, he brings up The Girl.

“I kissed someone,” he says.

Wonwoo pulls out his laptop and starts working on some assignment. “That’s not exactly new for you.”

“No, but like—I kissed someone. And I think…” Soonyoung trails off, frowning. “I think it meant something.”

“You were drunk.”

“At least I didn’t end up naked in bed with my best friend,” Soonyoung points out and notes, with vicious satisfaction, that Wonwoo’s cheeks turn pink. “But so what if I was drunk?” he continues. “I still remember her. Like, really clearly. She was standing in the kitchen, and there was this lemony drink, and—God, she looked so annoyed at being there, it was kind of hilarious. But then she looked at me, and…”

And what?

You looked at him like you weren’t expecting anything from him. Not even that stupid pick-up line. Not even the kiss. You just let it happen. Let him happen. And then held onto his arm when he almost tripped like he was someone worth steadying.

“I said the alien line,” Soonyoung mumbles.

Wonwoo makes a pained sound. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

“I did. And I told her I loved her.”

“Oh, my God.”

“But it wasn’t that bad,” Soonyoung insists, even though he’s visibly shrinking into his hoodie like a mortified turtle. “She didn’t slap me or anything. She was just… there. And then I kissed her. And she didn’t pull away.”

“Do you even know her name?” his friend asks.

“No,” Soonyoung says, “but she was drinking from a yellow cup. The lemon one. I think it was hers.”

“That’s not a name.”

“I know.” He sighs. “But I’m gonna find her again. I told her not to fall in love with anyone else.”

Wonwoo snorts. “Romantic. And delusional.”

“Maybe,” Soonyoung agrees, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. A smile tugs at his lips. “But if I see her again, I’m gonna ask her out properly. With flowers or something. Maybe apologise for the alien joke. Maybe not. She kinda laughed.”

He sits up straight, a Plan forming in his mind. It’s haphazard, and sort of all over the place, but Kwon Soonyoung is a determined man. Persistence is both a curse and a blessing—and right now, for Soonyoung, it is the latter.

Somewhere between a hum and a sigh, he murmurs, “She tasted like gummy bears,” and walks out of Wonwoo’s apartment.

You hear it first in passing. Something about a guy. A party. A yellow cup.

You’re not even listening at first. You’re sitting under the overhang by the arts building, sipping your drink and pretending to study. The two girls beside you whisper loud enough for you to overhear, because gossip is gossip, after all, and college is the best time for it.

“—like, actually going around asking people. Told Jisoo she had the wrong yellow cup. Can you imagine?”

The other one snorts. “Imagine being that crazy over someone you met one time.”

Your pen stills. It could be anyone. That’s what you tell yourself. Campus is big; parties are crowded. Yellow cups are practically default. This is nothing.

But then, later that same day, you hear it again—this time in the student union, right outside the coffee shop where you’re waiting for your order.

“He said she had this look like she was ready to bolt the second someone tried to talk to her,” a guy tells his friend. “Apparently she was drinking some lemon vodka thing.”

You freeze. Fully freeze—because you remember that drink. That sickly sweet vodka thing someone had poured into your cup without asking, and you’d taken one sip, grimaced, and then kept drinking it out of spite. You’d been annoyed about coming to the party, annoyed about your shoes, annoyed about the whole social experiment of pretending to have fun.

That’s when Alien Boy showed up, with the hoodie and the sleepy smile and the godawful pick-up line. The boy you kissed by accident.

You shake the thought out of your head. It’s probably a coincidence. You’re not that girl. You don’t kiss strangers at parties and leave them wandering about campus with nothing but adjectives and a citrus beverage to go by… Do you?

The final straw is the flyer taped to the bulletin board outside the student recreation centre, flapping in the breeze beside a lost water bottle notice and a poster for an improv show.

It reads, in sloppy black marker:

LOOKING FOR A GIRL yellow cup. lemon drink. looks unimpressed by everything. may or may not believe in aliens. if it’s you, please call/text: **********

You stare at it for a full minute.

It’s handwritten, slanted slightly to the right. There’s no name, just the description. Just the memory of a moment you barely allowed yourself to think about because it felt too much like a glitch in the matrix. A night out of time.

You don’t realise you’ve been holding your breath until someone walks by and bumps into your shoulder.

“Sorry,” they mumble, and keep walking.

You step back from the board like it might burn you. You could take it down, ball it up and pretend you never saw it. Delete the memory of his lips and the way he said, Don’t fall in love with anyone else! like he meant it. But you don’t.

You just stand there for a while, staring at the letters, heart tapping out a strange, staccato rhythm in your chest.

Kwon Soonyoung. You never expected to see him again. You especially didn’t expect him to come looking.

Three days.

It’s been three whole days since Soonyoung put up the flyer.

He hadn’t expected it to go viral. Or for the music department group chat to roast him in real time for his Sharpie scrawl and poor sense of anonymity. He also didn’t expect his Creative Writing TA to stick a Post-It on his latest assignment that read: Nice character work. This wouldn’t happen to be autobiographical, would it?

But the worst part—the worst part—is the university’s student-run Instagram account posting a story this morning with a picture of his flyer, a crying emoji, and a poll underneath that said:

Would you text him back? 🍋 Yes, lemon soulmate ❌ No, he seems unwell

The “unwell” option is currently winning by 63%.

Soonyoung’s sitting at the quad with a bucket hat pulled down halfway over his face, sunglasses he doesn’t need, and the last bite of a cold bagel in his mouth, when Minghao drops down beside him on the grass.

“You’re trending on all the campus meme pages,” Minghao says, taking a slurp from his iced coffee. “They’ve started calling you The Yellow Cup Guy.”

Soonyoung groans, smacking his forehead against his knees. “I didn’t ask for this attention.”

Minghao raises an eyebrow. “You printed out twenty-six flyers.”

“Yeah, but I used recycled paper!”

“You also went into the psych building and asked if anyone there believed in aliens.”

“I was being thorough!”

Minghao slurps on his coffee again, then pulls out his phone. “Do you want to see the Reddit thread where someone theorised you’re part of a sociology experiment?”

Soonyoung makes a wounded sound, somewhere between a yelp and a squeak. “I’m trying to find her,” he says miserably. “I thought the flyers would be sweet.”

“They are,” Minghao admits. “If you squint and ignore the serial killer vibes.”

Soonyoung flops backward onto the grass, sunglasses falling off his face. “She tasted like gummy bears,” he says to the sky.

“And now you’re known across campus as the alien guy with a gummy bear fetish.”

“Okay, that’s not—” Soonyoung sits up straight. “Wait, is that what they’re saying now?”

Minghao nods solemnly. “Also something about lemon girl being a metaphor for delusion. It’s very literary.”

Soonyoung groans again, tugging his bucket hat lower. But underneath all the embarrassment, all the very justified mockery, he can’t help it—he’s still smiling. A little. Just enough to make Minghao roll his eyes and stand up. “You’re not going to stop, are you?” he asks, dusting grass off his jeans.

“Not a chance,” Soonyoung says, flopping back again. “I told her not to fall in love with anyone else.”

“Very healthy,” Minghao deadpans. “Text me when she inevitably sues you for defamation.”

As Minghao walks away, Soonyoung stares up at the clouds and wonders, not for the first time, if maybe he is just a little bit unwell. But then he thinks of you—of the way you stood there in the corner next to the beer-soaked tortilla chips, looking like you would rather swallow a whole lemon than be there—and closes his eyes and smiles. He places his bucket hat on top of his face to block the sun, and, a little bit tired, decides to take a nap.

You weren’t supposed to take the flyer.

You meant to just look at it again. Maybe make fun of it in your head a little. Maybe wonder—again—if it was really about you. You were definitely not supposed to peel it off the bulletin board next to the library printers and fold it into your tote bag like it’s a love letter that you’re too embarrassed to keep in plain sight.

Yet. There it is. In your hands. Crumpled and slightly coffee-stained because your lid was loose and life is cruel.

You cross the quad, dodging longboarders and lazy sunbathers, reading the flyer for the twentieth time like the words might rearrange themselves and tell you what to do. Your friends think it’s a campus prank. Sejeong said it’s giving “Wattpad energy.” But your gut—annoyingly, inconveniently—feels otherwise.

“Don’t fall in love with anyone else,” he’d said.

Stupid. Supid and corny and weirdly sincere.

You shake your head, about to shove the flyer deeper into your bag, when a sharp gust of wind launches it straight out of your hands.

“Wait—shit—no—!”

The paper flips and flutters in the air like it’s taunting you. It skates over the grass, dodging a pair of bare feet and a discarded frisbee. You sprint after it, arms flailing, nearly trip over someone’s backpack, and shout a panicked “Sorry!” as you hurtle across the quad.

The flyer lands on someone.

You don’t notice right away—your hair’s in your face, and you’re winded, and someone just yelled “Go long!” too close to your ear—but when you finally spot it, it’s fluttering gently against a stranger’s chest. He’s lying on the grass, bucket hat over his face, like the very image of college student apathy. He’s fast asleep. Or pretending to be. You can’t tell.

You slow down, sheepish now, and hover awkwardly over him.

The flyer is right there, on his chest. One of its corners is tangled in the strap of his messenger bag. Do you… wake him up? Ask him to move? Slink away and pretend none of this ever happened?

You lean down slowly, trying to snag it without disturbing him, but the paper crinkles. He shifts slightly. Breathes out. Doesn’t wake. You stare at him—at the bucket hat, at the sunglasses tucked into his shirt, at the soft curve of his mouth. He looks vaguely familiar, but it’s college; everyone looks vaguely familiar.

Your fingers brush against the edge of the flyer and you ease it free from where it rests on his chest, fold it carefully into your hand, and step back. You don’t look at him again. But the tips of your ears are warm, and your heart won’t stop thudding, and you swear—just as you walk away—he murmurs something in his sleep.

You can’t make out what it is.

TELLING KWON SOONYOUNG THAT YOU’RE THE GIRL HE’S LOOKING FOR

Pros:

Closure

A great story for your grandkids

Directness

He might be just as weirded out

Cons:

Awkwardness overload

Instant regret

He might not remember (please let him remember)

He finds you… and then what?

You stare at your phone, thumb hovering uncertainly over the keyboard. The tiny, blinking cursor mocks you, like it’s daring you to just type something, anything, already.

Your heart is racing, hammering against your ribs in a way that feels almost theatrical. You try to picture it: telling him. The words are clumsy in your head, and even worse when you imagine saying them out loud. You could just leave it, pretend none of this ever happened. You could bury the memory deep, like a time capsule labeled Do Not Open — Ever.

But the thought of it nags at you. Itches under your skin.

You think about the flyer, still tucked into the back pocket of your journal, creased from all the times you’ve taken it out to look at it. You think about the way he smiled—a little lopsided, a little sleepy—right before he kissed you. You think about how ridiculous this all is, how the normal thing would’ve been to move on with your life and let it fade into some fuzzy, alcohol-tinted memory.

Instead, here you are, conducting a pros and cons list like you're weighing a major life decision instead of deciding whether to text a boy you kissed once.

Screw it.

You take a breath, shallow and shaky, and let your fingers fly across the screen before you can talk yourself out of it.

hey, this is going to sound completely insane, but i’m the girl from the flyer. the one you kissed while you were probably drunk off of peach soju. so. hi, i guess?

You stare at the message. Your thumb hovers over the send button. You can practically feel the moment tightening around you, like pulling a slingshot back to its breaking point.

Before you can lose your nerve, you hit send.

The message whooshes away, disappearing into the void of cyberspace where you can no longer yank it back. Your stomach flips violently, your palms suddenly clammy.

You sit there, blinking at the screen, watching the tiny status under your text change from “Sending…” to “Delivered.”

You’re digging through your bag, muttering under your breath about your missing dorm key, when you round the corner of your building at full speed — and slam right into something solid.

Or rather, someone solid.

“Oof—!” The impact sends you sprawling backward, but a pair of hands catches you before you hit the ground. Unfortunately, momentum isn’t on your side, and the next thing you know, you’re both tumbling down in a very ungraceful heap.

There’s a split second where everything feels suspended—the breath knocked clean out of you, your palms splayed against someone’s chest, your face ridiculously close to—

Soonyoung blinks up at you, wide-eyed and startled, and in your panic, you lurch forward—

—and accidentally kiss him.

It's not even a real kiss, more like a clumsy brush of your mouth against his, but it’s enough to freeze time. You jerk back immediately, horror clawing its way up your spine.

“Hi,” Soonyoung says, dazed, still lying on the pavement like you’ve just knocked the soul out of him.

“Hi. What the fuck?” you blurt, scrambling upright.

He sits up slowly, grinning like a lunatic, utterly unbothered. “You’re the girl I’ve been searching for,” he says, almost reverent.

“Um,” you stammer, cheeks flaming. Of course he knows. You were the one who texted him—after forty-seven minutes of pacing your room, after three deleted drafts, after practically giving yourself a heart attack.

“Can I kiss you? Properly, this time?” Soonyoung asks, his voice soft but eager. “I’m not drunk, and we’re not at a party.”

Your brain short-circuits. “How did you even find me?” you manage to say.

He beams, like he’s been dying for you to ask. “Well, I asked my friend Seokmin, because he knows a lot of people, and he asked his girlfriend Jihyo, who asked her roommate Miyeon, who asked her best friend Sana, who asked her boyfriend Jihoon, who told my best friend Wonwoo, and then Wonwoo’s girlfriend told me you might be my best bet.” He shrugs, like this is a perfectly normal chain of events. “She follows you on Instagram.”

You stare at him, completely overwhelmed. It's either adorable or terrifying. Possibly both.

“I—” you begin, but he’s already leaning in closer, his smile turning softer, more tentative.

“So can I?” he asks again, quieter now, a nervous energy buzzing just beneath his words.

You nod helplessly.

This time, when he cups your face in his hands and kisses you, it’s deliberate—not accidental, not hurried—just slow and sure. His mouth moves against yours like he’s been waiting, like he wants to savor it, and the warmth of it floods through you, all the way down to your fingertips.

You kiss him back without thinking, your hands fisting in the front of his hoodie, and he laughs a little into your mouth, giddy and weightless.

When you finally break apart, forehead resting against his, he whispers, “Hi,” again, grinning like an idiot.

You can’t help but laugh. “Hi.”

389 notes · View notes

rubywoozii · 12 days ago

Text

Courting The Court - Boo Seungkwan

Genre: Non idol au, romance, slight comedy and sports

Pairing: Seungkwan × fem!reader

Content: Best friends-to-lovers, college basketball, banter, kiss, teasing, excitement, competitive sports, transition to romance, tenderness, college au, mutual pining.

Word count: 2165 words

A/N: Ahhh, basketball player Seungkwan truly has my whole heart. I’d probably combust if I ever saw him on the court in real life. Honestly, this didn’t turn out exactly how I pictured it, so who knows? Maybe I’ll give basketball player!Seungkwan another shot in the future! Fingers crossed you enjoyed it anyway. Wishing the happiest, most sunshine-filled birthday to our adorable Boo 🍊🎉💛

There’s something about college basketball games that gets everyone buzzing. The squeak of sneakers on polished wood, the sharp whistle of referees, the roar of the crowd when a basket is made—it’s electrifying. Today is no exception. The indoor court is packed, and you’re in the middle of it all, clutching a foam finger that your best friend forced into your hand five minutes ago.

But let’s get one thing straight: you’re not here for the game. Oh, no. You’re here for him.

Boo Seungkwan.

The star of the team, the golden boy of your college, and the bane of your existence or at least that’s what you tell yourself. Because liking your best friend is bad enough. Liking your best friend when he’s out there looking like a god in a jersey? Downright humiliating.

“Y/N, you’re staring again,” your other friend nudges you, snickering.

“I’m observing,” you snap, eyes glued to the court as Seungkwan takes his position.

And oh, what a position it is. He’s crouched slightly, knees bent, his hands hovering in front of him like he’s ready to pounce. His expression is focused, serious—a contrast to the Seungkwan you know, who once tripped over his own shoelaces while trying to pick up a pen.

“Okay, let’s be real,” you mutter under your breath. “Does he have to look this good?”

The referee’s whistle blows, and the game starts. Seungkwan’s team has the ball first, and he’s off like a shot.

Let’s pause here for a second because you need to understand something: Seungkwan is good. Like, really good. He moves with the kind of grace that makes you forget he’s tall…174 centimeters to be exact and built like he could bench-press you. He dribbles down the court, weaving between defenders like it’s nothing.

That piece of shit isn’t flinching. Like, at all.

The ball passes between his hands and those of his teammates, a blur of movement so fast you can barely keep track. And then, just as the opposing team tries to block him, Seungkwan fakes left, spins right, and—bam! A perfect three-pointer.

The crowd goes wild. You? You might’ve forgotten how to breathe.

“Y/N, you’re gripping the foam finger like it owes you money,” your friend points.

You let go of it immediately, crossing your arms as if that will stop the embarrassing thrum of your heart.

The game continues, and Seungkwan is everywhere. He’s blocking shots, stealing the ball, setting up plays. It’s like watching a movie where he’s the star and everyone else is just there to make him look good. At one point, he dives for the ball, landing hard on the court but popping back up like it’s no big deal.

By the time the final quarter rolls around, the score is too close. Seungkwan’s team is up by one point, but the other team has possession. The tension in the room is palpable, every pair of eyes fixed on the court.

You’re gripping the edge of your seat now, your heart in your throat as the clock ticks down. Ten seconds. Nine. Eight.

The opposing team makes a desperate shot, but Seungkwan leaps up, his hand smacking the ball away just in time. He grabs it, sprinting down the court like his life depends on it. Three seconds left. Two.

And then, in one fluid motion, he jumps, shoots, and—swish.

Game over.

The room erupts into cheers as Seungkwan’s team floods the court. He’s grinning now, that big, stupid grin that makes your chest ache.

“Go talk to him,” your friend nudges you.

“What? No! Why?”

“Y/N.”

Before you can argue, Seungkwan spots you from across the room. His eyes light up, and he starts making his way toward you, sweat-soaked jersey and all.

“Hey,” he says, his voice slightly hoarse but still annoyingly attractive.

“Hey,” you manage, your mouth suddenly dry.

“You stayed,” he says, his grin softening into diabetes.

“Of course I stayed,” you say, trying to sound casual. “It’s not every day I get to see you humiliate the other team.”

He laughs, and the sound is warm, like sunlight on your skin. “I couldn’t have done it without you cheering me on.”

Your cheeks heat. “I wasn’t cheering.”

“Liar,” he teases, stepping closer. “I saw you.”

“You were supposed to be watching the ball,” you mutter, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Hard to focus on that when you’re in the crowd.”

Your stomach flips not understanding what he's saying, so you look up at him, startled. He’s closer than you realized, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to figure something out.

“Kwan…”

“Can I say something?” he asks, his tone uncharacteristically hesitant.

You nod, your throat too tight to speak.

“I think… I think I like you,” he says, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I mean, I know I like you. I’ve liked you for a while now, and I just—”

You don’t let him finish.

Instead, you reach up, your hands trembling slightly as you cup his face, pulling him down gently until his lips are hovering just inches from yours. His breath is warm against your skin, his eyes locked onto yours with surprise. Without a second thought, you close the distance, pressing your lips to his in a soft, lingering kiss. The moment is everything you’ve dreamed of—sweet, tender, and full of promises. It’s like time slows down, and the world around you fades away. When you finally pull back, your breath shallow and your heart pounding in your chest, you find him staring at you, wide-eyed and breathless, as though he can’t quite believe what just happened. His lips are parted, his gaze intense, but there’s a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and you swear it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“Did that answer your question?” you ask, your voice shaky but sure.

The whole gym seems to freeze for a second. The crowd, who moments ago was cheering for Seungkwan's game-winning shot, now seems utterly distracted by the sudden, unexpected turn of events. Some are frozen, staring in disbelief at the two of you, while others can’t help but whisper in each other’s ears. A few students nudge one another, grinning at the obvious change in the air.

“Wait—did they just kiss?” someone murmurs from the bleachers.

“Is this real?” another voice calls out, clearly excited.

Seungkwan’s teammates, who are still catching their breath from the game, look from one another to the scene unfolding, half-smiling and half-giggling. “Man, I did not see that coming,” one says, but his tone is light, almost impressed. A few more laughs ripple through the hallway, and you catch someone making a, ‘pick me’ gesture under their breath. The competitive spirit of the game, however, has already shifted into something lighter, something personal, now that this has become a spectacle for the entire room.

In the corner, a teacher who had been discreetly observing the game now watches the scene unfold, slightly confused but trying to remain composed. The teacher shakes their head, as if wondering if this is the moment to intervene or simply let the students enjoy their youthful drama. “I thought this was just a basketball game,” they mutter under their breath. As for the referee, still catching his breath from calling the game, he watches the two of you with a raised brow. He shakes his head, smiling to himself.

Your friend, standing nearby, has her mouth hanging open. “FINALLY!” she whispers loudly enough for the person standing next to her to hear. She crosses her arms smugly, clearly gloating about being right all along.

Meanwhile, Seungkwan still seems as shocked as you feel, but he smiles like he’s won a gold medal. As the noise continues, it’s almost as though the entire room has taken a collective pause to watch the two of you, waiting for the next moment. But Seungkwan’s grin grows wider with every second that passes.

“Yeah,” Seungkwan says, his grin lighting up the whole room, like it’s a celebration of its own. He places his hands on your waist, steadying you as if you might float away in the middle of the storm of emotions buzzing around you both. “Yeah, it did.”

The buzz of the game has barely settled when Seungkwan pulls you away from the chaos of the court, towards the quieter hallway leading to the locker rooms. His hand is warm against the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd of teammates in the hallway who are still buzzing with excitement.

You’re trying your best to act casual, to pretend that you’re not absolutely floating on air, but let’s be real here, you’re so far from casual. Every time Seungkwan’s eyes flicker over to you, your heart does that ridiculous thing where it skips a beat and you feel like you might just float off into the atmosphere. It’s like your chest is too small to hold all of the emotions swirling around in there. You’re not sure if it’s because of the game, the kiss, or the fact that you’ve just entered a whole new chapter in your life. But whatever it is, it feels like you’ve won something, something much more important than a basketball game.

Seungkwan opens the locker room door for you with a grin. “Stay for a bit, yeah?” He doesn’t even wait for your response, already ushering you inside.

The smell of sweat and the loud blurry voices of his teammates from the hallway fill the room, but all you can focus on is him, the way his messy hair is falling over his forehead, the way his eyes keep darting to you, checking for your reaction like he’s afraid he did something wrong.

You give him a light shove as you walk past him. "You did good out there, superstar."

He snorts, following you to the small bench by the wall. “Stop it. You’re going to make me blush.” He sits down, but not before adjusting his jersey, the fabric clinging to his skin, accentuating his shoulders and chest. Your mind quickly wanders to how he looked on the court—sweat glistening on his skin, focused yet relaxed, like he could do this all day.

"You're allowed to blush, you know," you say, sitting next to him, trying to keep your voice casual, despite the way your heart is racing. “It’s cute.”

“Not around you,” he replies, his voice instantly low, playful.

A beat of silence hangs in the air, your heart pounding in your chest, and it’s clear that both of you are trying to adjust to this new... thing between you. The whole best friends-to-lovers transition is tricky enough, but now that it’s out in the open, it feels like the ground is shifting beneath you.

“So,” he begins again, his tone a little softer this time, like he’s searching for the right words. “I was thinking... Maybe we could grab dinner tonight? Just us.”

You feel your cheeks warm at the thought of being alone with him, but the smile you give him is genuine. “Sounds perfect.”

His face lights up, and he reaches over, ruffling your hair with his now-free hand. “Perfect. I’m serious, though—this was a long time coming. I can’t believe it took me this long to get you alone.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back against the locker with a sigh. "Oh, yeah, I’m sure it was so hard to get me alone.”

“Oh, it was!” Seungkwan laughs, the sound filling the small space between you, and you can’t help but chuckle too. “Always surrounded by people, always too busy with your own stuff.”

You’re surprised by how much you like hearing him talk about you this way. That little tug in your chest, the warmth spreading through your stomach—it’s all so much more than you ever expected. “Well, maybe I wasn’t exactly waiting around for you, you know.”

He tilts his head, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”

You grin, leaning closer to him, just enough to make his breath hitch slightly. “Maybe,” you murmur, “I wanted you to work for it a little.”

Seungkwan’s eyes sparkle with amusement and something deeper. “Oh, trust me, I’ve been working for it..”

Before you can reply, one of his teammates bursts in, clapping him on the back. “Boo! That last shot was insane! You’re a legend!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Seungkwan teases, brushing it off with a grin. But his hand brushes against yours.

The teammate notices and raises an eyebrow at both of you, his grin growing wider as he crosses his arms. “Oooo, you’re here too?” His tone teasing, dripping with mock curiosity as he now looks at you.

“Shut up!” Seungkwan says, shoving him playfully. His cheeks flush a deep pink, and he looks at you, embarrassed yet proud. You laugh, nudging him gently.

Boo Seungkwan isn’t just the star of the team. He’s the star of your heart, too.

⌦ 🍊 © mylovesstuffs | est. 2025. thank you for reading—your reblog means everything. until we meet again, stay cozy and keep dreaming! ◜ᴗ◝

95 notes · View notes

rubywoozii · 13 days ago

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Little Hands, Big Hearts — Lee Seokmin

Genre: Non-idol au-ish, babysitter au and rom-com

Pairing: Seokmin × fem!reader

Content: Friends-to-lovers (?), babysitter & hot uncle, found family, single parent vibes (but he’s actually just an uncle), mutual pining, jealousy but cute, domestic fluff, protective love interest, small Joshua cameo (no dialogue), idol life elements (seokmin’s busy schedules), “i want to be someone important to you” confession

Word count: 2140 words

A/N: I actually had something else planned for his birthday, something much longer and (hopefully) better but Tumblr decided to be a piece of shit, and I physically cannot format it all in one sitting without losing my mind. So maybe next month (or the month after, knowing my luck). Anyway, when I realized mere hours before Dokyeom’s birthday, mind you—that my original post wasn’t happening, I had to speed-write this incredibly cliché thing instead. Am I satisfied with it? Absolutely not. Are we running with it anyway? Absolutely yes.

Huge, massive, life-saving thanks to @gyubakeries !!! I swear you are the only reason this got beta-ed last minute. I hope your pillows stay cold on both sides forever, your WiFi never betrays you, and you obliterate your exams. Ilysm, truly. I was fighting for my life with this schedule, and then Tumblr came in and delivered the final boss battle. But anyway happy belated birthday, DK! May your high notes always soar, your jokes always land, and your days be filled with nothing but love and warmth. Love you endlessly, you absolute gem of a human being! 💛🎉 And sorry in advance for whatever this is.

Babysitting wasn’t exactly the most glamorous job in the world but it paid the bills. Plus, you genuinely enjoyed spending time with kids. That’s why, when your friend recommended you to a new client who needed an occasional babysitter for his niece, you said yes without hesitation.

What you didn’t expect was that the ‘uncle’ you’d be working for was Lee Seokmin, the bright, cheerful vocalist of SEVENTEEN.

The first time you met him, he nearly tripped over the couch trying to grab his niece’s stuffed bunny before she could burst into tears. His energy was exactly what you imagined from someone who spent most of his time performing on stage.

“Hi! I’m Dokyeom,” he said, flashing a beaming smile that was so radiant it could rival the sun. “Thank you so much for helping out. I’d do it myself, but—”

“—You have a busy idol schedule,” you finished for him.

He blinked. “Yeah…exactly.”

His niece, Hana, was an absolute angel. She had his same bright smile and she grew fond of you immediately. You spent the next few weeks looking after her whenever Seokmin was busy with schedules and little by little, you saw different sides of him.

He wasn’t just the loud, happy-go-lucky guy everyone knew. He was also a doting uncle who could lull Hana to sleep with soft hums of ‘Circles’, and a surprisingly good cook when he had the time.

One night after a particularly long day, Seokmin returned home just as you were tidying up Hana’s toys. He let out an exaggerated sigh and collapsed onto the couch, covering his face with a pillow.

“Long day?”

“You have no idea,” he groaned, voice muffled. “But I kept thinking about Hana and—” He hesitated. “—and wondering if she gave you a hard time.”

You smiled. “She was great, as always. Though, she did insist I tell her a bedtime story about ‘Uncle Min and the Princess.’”

Seokmin peeked out from behind the pillow, eyes twinkling with interest. “Oh? And what happened in this story?”

You shrugged, playing along. “Well, Uncle Min was a very silly prince who made the princess laugh all the time.”

“Sounds accurate.”

“But then he got lost in a giant castle of laundry and the princess had to help him find his way out.”

Seokmin laughed, sitting up. “Okay, that part is true. My laundry pile is terrifying.”

The conversation melted into comfortable silence, the only sound being the soft breathing of Hana sleeping in the other room. After a moment, Seokmin glanced at you with a thoughtful look on his face.

“You’re really good with her,” he said softly. “I—uh, I really appreciate you.”

You felt warmth creep up your neck. “It’s my job.”

“I know, but…I think Hana really loves you.” He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I can see why.”

Your heart did a tiny flip at the way he looked at you, gentle and sincere. You quickly busied yourself with putting away the last of Hana’s toys, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way your face heated up.

Maybe Hana wasn’t the only one growing attached.

The weeks turned into months and before you knew it, babysitting Hana had become a regular part of your life and so had Seokmin.

You didn’t realize when the small moments started meaning more, when you started looking forward to his late-night returns just to chat about your day or when you found yourself laughing a little too much at his terrible dad jokes. Seokmin was always there. Bringing you snacks before he left for work. Texting to ask if Hana was behaving. Staying up an extra ten minutes just to keep you company before you left for the night. It was easy. It was natural. It was dangerous.

Because one evening after you put Hana to bed, Seokmin walked you to the door like he always did but this time, he hesitated.

“I, uh…I have a day off tomorrow,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hana’s been asking to go to the park and I figured…maybe you could come too?”

You blinked. “You want me to come? You don’t need a babysitter tomorrow.”

“I know,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “But I thought it’d be fun if we all hung out together. Y’know, as…friends.”

Friends. Right.

You ignored the way your heart did a stupid little flip and nodded. “Okay. That sounds fun.”

“Push me, push me!” she squealed.

You laughed, helping her up. “Okay, okay! But what about Uncle Min?”

Hana turned to Seokmin and pouted. “Uncle Min is too slow!”

Seokmin gasped-pouted. “Betrayal! How could you?”

Hana just giggled and you couldn’t help but shake your head. “She’s not wrong, though.”

Seokmin narrowed his eyes at you. “Oh, you’re in trouble now.”

Before you could react, he scooped you up, yes, actually lifted you off the ground and spun you in a circle.

You shrieked. “SEOKMIN! PUT ME DOWN!”

“Nope! You insulted my speed, now you must pay the price!”

Hana clapped her hands, cheering. “Again! Again!”

When he finally set you down, you were breathless from both laughter and the way his arms had felt way too strong around you. It was hot.

"You’re absolutely something else,” you muttered, smoothing your clothes.

Seokmin just grinned, completely unfazed.

The day continued with moments like that, Seokmin challenging you to silly races, losing horribly at rock-paper-scissors to Hana, and stealing your ice cream just to see you pout and somewhere in between all the teasing, the laughter, and the stolen glances, you felt something change. Maybe it was when Hana fell asleep in your lap during lunch and Seokmin just sat there watching with a soft unreadable expression. Or maybe it was when he gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and said, ‘You’re really amazing with her. She adores you.’

Maybe it was just him.

And you were starting to fall.

You should have known that nothing could stay simple when Lee Seokmin was involved. Seokmin wasn’t just ‘Hana’s uncle’ anymore. He wasn’t just the funny, sunshine-filled idol who stumbled into fatherly duties with zero experience but a whole lot of love. He was…Seokmin. Your Seokmin. (Not that he actually was. But he could be. If only you were brave enough to admit what you were feeling.)

One evening after another long day of babysitting, you found yourself lingering. You weren’t sure why, because Seokmin had already come home, Hana was fast asleep, and yet…you just didn’t want to leave yet.

Seokmin sat on the couch, running a tired hand through his hair. He looked exhausted—schedules had been brutal lately but when he saw you standing awkwardly near the door, he smiled anyway.

“Leaving?” he asked, voice soft as usual.

“I…should,” you said, shifting on your feet but you didn’t move.

Seokmin noticed. Instead of saying anything, he patted the empty space next to him, an invitation. You hesitated for about three seconds before giving in.

As soon as you sat down, Seokmin sighed and leaned his head against your shoulder. Your heart nearly stopped.

“Just for a second,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. “I’m too tired to sit up straight.”

You should have told him to sit properly. You should have shoved him off before you lost your mind. Instead, you sat there frozen, too aware of his warmth, his scent, the soft rise and fall of his breathing.

“Hey.”

You hummed in response, too scared to actually speak.

“I was thinking,” Seokmin said, voice still quiet, still sleepy. “I like spending time with you. A lot.”

Your breath hitched.

“You’re great with Hana,” he continued, eyes still closed. “And I always feel better when you’re around.” He suddenly sat up and faced you, his expression unreadable. “And…I think—” He swallowed. “I think I—”

BANG.

A loud noise from Hana’s room made both of you jump apart.

Seokmin was on his feet instantly. “Hana?”

The moment was gone.

He rushed to check on his niece, leaving you sitting there, heart pounding, mind racing, stomach doing cartwheels. What had he been about to say? And why were you so scared to find out?

A few days later, you were out shopping when you ran into your ex. It wasn’t a big deal. Really, it wasn’t.

He was just some guy called Joshua from years ago and the relationship had ended on neutral terms. He saw you, waved, and you exchanged some small talk before parting ways. Simple. Harmless. Totally normal. But when you got back to Seokmin’s apartment, you knew something was off. He was acting weird. Not his usual ‘I just tripped over air’ weird. Weirder. Quieter. Sulkier.

And then as you were helping Hana with her drawing, he suddenly blurted out, “Who was that guy?”

“What?” You blinked animatedly.

“At the mall,” he said, not looking at you. “I saw you talking to some guy.”

Oh. “An ex,” you said simply. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

Seokmin nodded slowly, lips pressed together. “You seemed happy talking to him.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you…jealous?”

“Me? Pfft. No.” He scoffed, crossing his arms. “Why would I be jealous? I mean, we’re just—you’re just—”

You waited. He struggled.

Finally, he groaned, rubbing his face. “Okay. Maybe I’m a little jealous.”

Your heart did a very unhelpful little flip.

Seokmin exhaled and looked at you. “I don’t want to be just ‘Hana’s uncle’ to you,” his breath caught. “I want to be someone important to you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “The way you’re important to me.”

Silence. Your brain screamed at you to say anything but before you could, a tiny voice interrupted.

“Uncle Min,” Hana said, tugging his sleeve. “Stop making her sad.”

Both of you turned to her.

Seokmin paled. “I—I made her sad?”

Hana pouted. “She looks like she wants to cry.”

You did, honestly. But not for the reason she thought. Because finally, finally, you had your answer.

You swallowed hard and forced a smile, ruffling Hana’s hair to distract yourself. “I’m not sad, sweetheart. Your uncle just…surprised me.”

Hana looked between the two of you with that suspicious little squint of hers. Then she sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “Grown-ups are weird,” she muttered before skipping off to continue coloring.

Seokmin chuckled but when his gaze returned to you. “Hey,” he said. “Are you okay?”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Yeah. Just…processing.”

Seokmin nodded slowly. “Take your time.”

And just like that, he gave you an out. No pressure. No expectations. Just him, waiting, hoping. Maybe that was what made you nervous the most.

A week passed and things were almost normal again. Except now, you were hyper-aware of everything Seokmin did. It was getting too much so when Zhang, one of your childhood friends, texted you out of the blue asking to catch up over coffee, you jumped at the chance. It was not a date and you made that very clear. But Seokmin didn’t get the memo.

When he saw you getting ready, actually putting in effort, wearing something cute, doing your hair, he panicked.

“Where are you going?” he asked, pretending to be casual about it.

You glanced at him. “Just meeting a friend for coffee.”

Seokmin squinted. “A friend?”

“Yeah.”

“A male friend?”

You smirked. “Why does that matter?”

“It doesn’t,” he said too quickly.

You bit back a laugh. “Seokmin. Are you jealous again?”

“No.” He crossed his arms. “I just…I just think you should be careful! What if this guy has bad intentions? What if he—”

“Zhang is married,” you interrupted, amused. “To a man.”

“Oh.”

You grinned. “Were you about to ask me not to go?”

He opened his mouth, closed it, then groaned, rubbing his face. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” You patted his cheek. Big mistake.

Because the second your fingers touched his skin, he grabbed your wrist, holding you in place. Your breath hitched. For a moment, neither of you moved. Neither of you breathed. Then, softly, so softly you almost missed it, Seokmin said, “If I asked you out, would you say yes?”

Your heart literally stopped.

He was still holding your wrist, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your pulse. If he could feel how fast it was beating, he wouldn't have to ask anything.

Slowly, you met his gaze. “Would you actually ask?”

He didn't say anything at first but responded a few seconds later, “Maybe.” His lips twitched. “Depends on if you’d say yes.”

You exhaled a laugh, shaking your head. “You’re so dumb.”

“And you still haven’t answered.”

You rolled your eyes but your smile gave you away. “Yeah, idiot. I’d say yes.”

Seokmin beamed. “Cool, cool. So, uh…” He cleared his throat. “Wanna go on a date tomorrow?”

You grinned. “Yeah. I do.”

⌦ 🌻 © mylovesstuffs | est. 2025. thank you for reading—your reblog means everything. until we meet again, stay cozy and keep dreaming! ◜ᴗ◝

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rubywoozii · 14 days ago

Text

Fifteen to Forever

"I can’t not be happy when I know I have you."

PAIRING: hockeyplayer!choi seungcheol x f!reader

SYNOPSIS: Fifteen was the age you had met Choi Seungcheol at a school hockey game. Forever was the age you would find yourself spending with him.

CONTAINS: fluff, angst, smut (MINORS DNI), growing up, tears (a lot), distance, this is so emotional you will be in your feels, kissing, p in v sex (unprotected), clit stimulation, handjobs, happy endings bc we love them, i think that's it

WORD COUNT: 6k

masterlist

[AN]: thank you so much @ressonancee for birthing the idea of hockey player cheol in the first place, reading over some of the bits and helping me w some of the plot!!! ty for letting me ramble in your dms lol. hockeyplayer!cheol WILL reappear in other fics bc I'm obsessed with the idea, for now, I hope you enjoy this angsty fluffy creation <33

It wasn’t until the last echo of the slammed car door had faded that you realized, yes, mom, I do actually want you to go in with me.

But alas, as the last tresses of exhaust from her car fade into nothingness, you accept that you’d have to do this alone. Gripping the straps of your brand new backpack helps you ground yourself as the increasingly erratic breathing takes over you. It sinks in now that you’re alone.

There’s a honk, and you realize you’re still frozen in the drop-off zone, the mom in the Subaru not appreciating the 7 AM delay to drop off her own high schooler. You wonder if her kid would let her drop them off inside.

Scurrying into the entrance of the open gates, you find the courtyard full. Huddles of teens laughing and yelling despite the early morning hour, not a spare square foot on the grass. You try to find someone who looks like an adult but fail, hoping you’ll be luckier once you’re inside the building.

You do find yourself lucky as you find a line of teachers at the entrance, ready to greet the new batch of freshmen on their first day of high school. There are a few other kids who look as tense as you, but you feel better with the way the administrator pats your shoulder as she hands you your schedule, assigning you to a lanky sophomore to show you around the building that’d become your second home for the next four years.

Jeonghan tells you his name as he leads you into your homeroom, where you deposit your bag before going back out. He’s peculiar, you decide. He tells you to never walk without looking at the floor on Monday mornings to save your shoes from the occasional start-of-the-week breakfast hurl. He tells you in the cafeteria that the lasagna was horrible, but not the sloppy joes; the sloppy joes were good. He tells you in the gym that the coach would let you off if you rubbed a little eyeliner under your eyes, “he’s an empath.”

By the time he’s listing off clubs and teams, you feel a little less nervous, pushing you back into your fuller homeroom with a sign-up sheet and a goodbye. You don’t get to say thank you.

Kwon Soonyoung slips into the empty seat next to you, introducing himself a little louder than you’d anticipated, but you suppose you needed the enthusiasm. He innocently slips you his home number and hopes out loud that you’d be the best of friends.

You get in the car that afternoon, responding with a wider-than-expected smile at your mother inquiring about your day.

“It was great! I think I’ll like it here.”

You found it strange that the rink was so packed for a high school hockey game, but that was before you saw the ten-foot banner and face paint. Soonyoung sits on your right as Jiwoo places herself on your left, both donned in blue and yellow, sandwiching your uncoordinated outfit. For whatever reason, you’d thought movies exaggerated the hype around high school sports, yet the support for the boys entering the rink roars into your ears to prove you wrong.

They win, and with the way the rest of the team pats him on the back after sending in the last puck, you assume it’s all thanks to the boy with the Choi on the back of his jersey.

He removes his helmet, hair flopping into his eyes as you realize you know him. He was always in the cafeteria with Jeonghan, the boy who gave you a tour on your first day, along with many other boys from his year. It was hard not to notice them with the ruckus they were always causing, yet you found them easy to drown out with the rest of the noise.

“What’s his first name? The guy with the 08 on his back?” you ask Soonyoung.

“Oh, that’s Seungcheol. Dude’s a fucking progidy or something.”

“Prodigy,” Jiwoo corrects.

“Yeah, that. Jihoon said the only reason they got to finals last year was ‘cause of this guy.”

You watch as he drinks from his bottle from the benches, smiling at his coach and teammates as they debriefed. At least you were guessing that was happening; the only thing you were thinking about was how you could hear his laugh from where you sat. And how it was making you smile, too.

You stare at your worn shoes that glow in multicolors as the beats in the gym warp and stagger through the speaker. You’re on your third punch, finding yourself awkward without something to occupy at least one hand.

You had danced a little with Jiwoo, watched with bright eyes as Soonyoung dance off-ed yet another senior to his victory, giggled as you let another freshman, Jun, take Jiwoo away for the next dance. You now lace the edges of the party, taking a breather as you down the remnants of your punch, already trailing the memorized path to the snack table. Maybe you’ll try some of the lemonade this time.

There’s already somebody occupying the lemonade cooler when you get there, back to you as you patiently wait for him to finish up. He moves away, leaning against the table. He takes a sip from his cup, and you move forward to fill your own.

It’s Seungcheol. You recall his name as you recognize his face. He somehow looks as haphazard as you last saw him from yesterday’s hockey game.

If he had come in with a tie, it’s long gone as he has his collar popped and shirt unbuttoned the first few steps. It doesn’t end there as you note the hair that dresses his eyes, soaked in what you cannot imagine is water with the way you saw someone with a similar build typhoon across the floor with nearly as much vigor as Soonyoung has had tonight.

He’s downing the cup in haste, and you take a sip of the slightly tart drink as you debate if you should say something.

“You did really well yesterday. Congrats,” you decide to say.

He emerges from his cup to acknowledge you sipping on your own lemonade, “Oh, thanks. Were you there?”

“Oh, yeah, I was. First hockey game, went with my friends,” you let out a little chuckle, not understanding why you suddenly felt so awkward.

“Cool,” he answers plainly, mouth glistening and posture stagnant. “You’re friends with Soonyoung, right? Seen him hang around Jihoon a lot.”

“Yeah, he’s — he’s friends with everybody,” you laugh a little, and you hear him laugh with you.

“How do you handle him? He’s giving a run for everybody’s money out there,” he gestures to the dance floor with a smile.

“He mellows out after a while; he’s just excited,” you say, understanding his bewilderment.

“How’re you finding high school so far?” he asks when he runs out of things to say, yet forgets that he can easily excuse himself. But he doesn’t.

“Pretty alright. I’m having fun so far.” You don’t need to ask him the same, knowing well that the sophomore was having the time of his life.

“Good to hear, hope it stays that way for you.”

It’s another painful five seconds before you see Jiwoo waving at you from afar, pointing at something Soonyoung is doing.

“Uh, I’ll see you around, my friend’s waving me over–”

“Oh, sure, uh, I’ll see you around.”

You give him one more tight-lipped smile as you wave from waist length before retreating.

“Wait!”

You turn around at his voice.

“I never got your name.”

Seungcheol took you on your first not-date in the spring.

Not-date because neither of you had labeled it as such, but you were pushed to reconsider when both Jiwoo and Soonyoung insisted.

He had brought his car that you slipped into after school to drive to the movies, where he bought you popcorn and paid for both of your tickets. He held your hand as you walked out of the theatre, wide-eyed and all smiles as you discussed the film you had just sat through for two hours.

His palm fit in yours like it belonged there, and maybe it was your fifteen-year-old brain talking. Still, you never expected to be this comfortable with him — especially after the possible insinuation your friends had instilled.

He drove you home that night as you searched for a million excuses to stay a little longer in his car as he parked in front of your door. But alas, you open the car door at the end of the night and are surprised to find him doing the same as he walks around to where you get out.

“I had a lot of fun today,” you say in your rehearsed line.

“Me too,” he smiles. “The weather’s getting nicer, we should see the cherry blossoms next weekend. If you wanted to. We can take the car again.”

He didn’t kiss you, at least not on the lips as he hugged you at your front door and pressed his lips to your cheek.

You were quick to squeak out your goodbyes after that happened, slamming your door shut as you vaguely heard him drive off.

With a hand to your racing heart, you count to ten. Perhaps you’d reconsider that not-date after all. Besides, you had cherry blossoms to look forward to.

Choi Seungcheol kissed you, really kissed you, when he brought the team to the cup they missed out on last year, throwing himself at you as soon as you appeared before him. He was sweaty, half-dressed in his gear with his skates still on as he embraced you tighter than anyone ever had before.

He put his lips on yours the second he saw your face as you pulled away, unable to help himself despite the groans and retches of his teammates, despite the fact that an entire bleacher’s worth of people saw you both.

Not that either of you cared; you were just happy he didn’t have his mouth guard on (and that he kissed you before you couldn’t help it yourself).

It was in your junior year and Seungcheol’s senior year that you began to hear the absurdities about the strength of your relationship, that you wouldn’t make it, that high school sweethearts never do.

With shaking hands, you grip your boyfriend’s arm as he has a conflicted look in his eye.

“No,” you say. You wonder where all of this strength was coming from when you all wanted was to cry. “You’re gonna go. You will go. I won’t let you throw all of this away because of something that’s never gonna waver.”

He’s silent as he refuses to meet your gaze. The voices were getting to him, his older college friends laughing when he suggested that his relationship would last both college and the distance it would bring. He realizes he’s not so sure anymore.

He sits cross-legged in front of you on your bedroom floor, mentally prepared to walk out for the last time.

“You’re supposed to be happiest about this; I don’t understand why you insist I leave. And so far away?” he looks slightly bewildered.

“Because you’ll regret it if you don’t. This isn’t about me, Cheol, it’s about everything you’ve worked for all these years—”

“Us, what about us? I’ve worked on us, too.”

“Why have you gone years without listening to a word what other people say to only listening to them now?”

“Was it just me, then? Because it feels like I’m the only one worried about our future together—”

“Choi Seungcheol, stop right there.” Your voice is brittle, and you don’t know how long you can keep the tears at bay.

“I…I don’t know what to think,” his shoulders slump even lower.

His hockey scholarship would take him so, so far away. He thought you were strong enough for this, but with every anecdote, every comment, every dejected “have it your way” to his resilience, he wonders if the both of you would be forced to fight a losing battle if he left.

There were sports universities here at home, but there was no you with his scholarship.

“I’ll tell you what to think. Will you listen to me?”

Slowly, but surely, he nods.

“You can get the scholarship you’ve always wanted, and we can stay as we are, although a little farther away.”

He looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t.

“I believe in us. And if you don’t right now, I’m ready to believe for the both of us. We’ll get through this.”

In the end, Seungcheol believed you over everything the world told him, praying he wouldn’t let you or himself down as he laid with you on the last night he’d call his bedroom home.

Graduation was a happy endeavor, momentarily forgetting what lay ahead as he enjoyed his last hours with all his friends in one place. The heavy feeling returned as the night progressed, agreeing to spend the night with him, tucked under his covers as you listened to his heartbeat. You wonder how long it will be until you're able to do this again.

As you lay in his stripped bedroom, there’s little either of you say, an unspoken agreement to not sleep, not tonight. He has an early morning, but he doesn’t really seem to care as he continues to fiddle with your hair, kissing you at intervals like he's trying to bring back the feeling when it begins to fade.

There’s little you can talk about when you’re trying to memorize each other’s scent. You remind yourself to give him your sweater when morning comes, already noting the hoodie you need to remember to pick up, the lone one he left you in his closet.

But as the first rays of sun peeked through the blinds, sending stripes of sun into the bedroom, you tried not to feel the hard clench of your heart as the bare room came into sight. Despite the snoozing of alarms, the multiple knocks on his door, and the dawn of a new day, you let yourselves have an extra five, ten, fifteen, twenty minutes.

Just you and him before it would be you, and it would be him.

Seungcheol called you more than you called him. It was everywhere, even if it was just to say a quick “I love you” before a game, to hear your voice before he went to class, to listen to you complain about an assignment before he had to do his own.

As resilient as you showed yourself to be, you’d be lying if you said there was a part of you that was afraid of how much faith Seunghceol held for the both of you, but at ease you were with the constant bugging he’d do and the bugging he seemed to appreciate back.

By Christmastime, he’d texted you his itinerary for the holidays, explaining how he couldn’t spare a second to things like thinking. Most of his list involved spending all day rotting indoors with you.

As much as Seungcheol had hoped you’d pick a college nearer to him, he was less scared when you finally announced your college decisions close to graduation. The past year had proved a lot, mostly that you both were stronger than the distance. Which is why he was the first to congratulate you when you got into the college of your choice, despite the fact that you’d be even farther away, leaving home in what felt like the opposite direction to him.

You were scared too, mostly of how Seungcheol would react, but seeing the smile break out on his face when you told him gave you all the reassurance you needed. That summer brought you the best memories of your teenage years, with Seungcheol, preparing for you both to leave. Except this time, the air was less tense, fewer tears shed, fewer solemn goodbyes at airport gates, and less desperation in both of your hearts. A surety that you’d come back to each other.

Seungcheol was offered a contract with his dream hockey team when you were on the cusp of your final year. He told you nearly two weeks after he received the first email, not believing it until he was pestered to do so by the representative.

You cried on the phone that night, the ache in your chest unbelievably present as you wished you could hug him at that moment. He denied his own tears, but you knew his glassier-than-normal eyes weren’t just through the camera lens. You told him you were proud, you told him this was only the beginning, that you needed to sit in the bleachers with his jersey on for every game he’ll ever play, that he was about to have an entire career to be proud of soon.

He let a couple tears slip.

And when he showed up to your graduation, sitting next to your family, you gave him the biggest hug you could muster from your bones. That year may have been the last you’d have to endure apart, but it was somehow the hardest.

It was in that moment, when you pulled away to look at his smiling face, that the years registered in your mind.

You’re fifteen again, seeing Seungcheol for the first time, donning the features he hadn’t grown into yet, the features you hadn’t grown into yet. You have to tiptoe to meet his lips now, see a man where there was once a boy, the deep set of maturity behind his pretty eyes.

When he drops the last of your boxes into his — your shared apartment, you’re brought to the stark realization that you're going to stay here.

It’s when you’re unpacking your toothbrush, placing it in the cup right next to his that you realize you could do whatever you wanted with each other without having to work around flight schedules. It’s when he’s hobbling around wooden planks and screws in the bedroom, putting together the brand new queen-sized bed to replace his too-small twin, that you realize that you weren’t here for the week, or for the month or for any set amount of time; you were here forever.

At least that’s what you hope as you watch him collapse the last of the cardboard boxes to recycle, shoving in the corner of the entryway, leaving that job for tomorrow.

By the time you emerge in the living room after a shower, Seungcheol has already begun to unpack the delivery food on the coffee table. It’s an array of delicious smells, slightly soggy food, and mounds of styrofoam and plastic wrap; a feast for your tired, tired bodies.

The dumplings are amazing, and the warm feeling in your chest expands as you realize you can now order them whenever you like.

Seungcheol picks out the chopped chilies from his food, migrating them onto your own plate as he talks about his next practice session without interruption.

A thought occurs to you in that moment as you watch him down his cola. “Hasn’t coach put you on a diet plan?”

“Yeah,” he says normally. You merely stare at him, not understanding how any of this junk could be any good for his form, especially when you know he’s good about abstaining when it comes to training.

He smiles at the questioning look on your face, setting down his utensils, “It’s our first meal, in our first home. I think we deserve to share this with each other.”

A smile breaks out on your face at the thought of this being your first meal, the first of many meals together in this home. Of all the meals you’ll share in every home after this, every day.

And while Seungcheol finds himself sacrificing his diet to enjoy all of this greasy grub with you, you will also find yourself occasionally sharing his awfully bland chicken breasts and salads. All to share with each other.

Walking into the bustling restaurant in your uncomfortable shoes and your arm around Seungcheol’s, you’re quick to find the group you’re looking for.

The noise is a dead giveaway, and you quickly realize they haven’t changed.

You hear Soonyoung before you see him, his distinct laugh echoing the loudest across the sea of mingling heads. A loud banner hangs at the end of the room with your high school grad year.

You detach from Seungcheol as he finds his junior friends, and you find yours, taking both Soonyoung and Jiwoo into a bone-crushing hug. It’s been a while since you last saw them. The crowd of familiar faces greets you, making small talk with everyone as they introduce you to their partners and even their children. You’ve grown; all of you have.

“Seungcheol’s here too. You guys were together in high school, right?” somebody asks you at some point during the night. “He graduated before us, though; wonder who he’s here with.”

You don’t blame them for assuming, considering both of you have been in your own circles all night. That, added to the obvious assumptions of high school sweethearts, you only laugh a little as you reply with a wider-than-usual smile.

“Oh, he’s here with me,”

You go home with a permanent smile stuck to your face, talking more animatedly than usual in the car ride home. Seuncheol mirrors your smile as he listens.

Your good mood prevails for the rest of the night, even as you slip under the covers, ready to end the night on a happier-than-usual note. Seungcheol is reading his book when you crawl under his arm, head on his chest, and your arm slung across his torso. You feel his lips on the top of your head, the faint sound of his book being placed on the bedside table.

“What’s got you so smiley?” he asks with one of his own.

You shake your head as you reply, “Nothing. I’m just happy I saw Soonyoung and Jiwoo.”

“I’m glad you saw them too. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

You hum in response, suddenly remembering a conversation you had. “You know, Jess asked me who you were there with.”

“Figures,” he shrugs before laughing a little.“How much did she hesitate before asking you?”

“Looked like she was holding it in for a little bit. Don’t blame her, though. She probably thought we ended it in epic teenage fashion.”

He snorts at that, “Probably would’ve if you didn’t talk some sense into me.”

“Probably would’ve if you didn’t trust me like you did,” you crane your neck to look at him.

“Glad I wasn’t that far gone,” he whispers, a faraway look in his eyes despite looking directly at you. “Haven’t doubted us ever since.”

There’s that warm feeling that spreads throughout your body, an overwhelming feeling of contentment coming over you. There was nothing, nothing, that could convince you to be anywhere else, especially anywhere that wasn’t in his arms.

“Sometimes…well, a lot of the times, I think about us,” you start. “I thought us hitting six months was enough to tell me I’d be with you forever.”

He smiles at the thought of high school you, starry-eyed, awkward little kids. He remembers the way you blushed when he kissed you for the first time in front of the whole school, the heat that had risen to his own face at the time.

“And then we hit a year, and then two years,” you remember every surprise for every anniversary, from when you’d collect your allowance for weeks to get him something he’d like.

“And then college happened. I tried being so positive, but I had never been more scared for us. I hope we never have to go through something that hard ever again.” You almost sound like a child not wanting to go to the doctor’s office, but with the way you feel yourself tighten your grip around him, you don’t think it’s any different.

You can feel your eyes begin to well, and your voice begins to shake. It was nearly comical how quickly the smiles were turning into sentimental tears.

Seungcheol places a kiss on your lips, and you know it was meant to be reassuring, but it only wrenches open the floodgates. The tears begin to make their way down your face, sniffles muffled as you go back to burying your face in his chest, his shirt soaking the wetness. You can feel a rumble in his chest as he laughs at your state. He’s also squeezing up your sides and placing kisses in any place he can reach.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you murmur into his shirt.

“It’s okay. Today was very reflective,” he reassures, letting you stay hidden.

“I just—” you sniff. “I just wanna stay happy like this all the time.”

It’s only then that he guides your stained face away from his shirt to bring you to look at him, wiping the remnants of your tears as you try to keep the fresh ones at bay. “We’ll be happy, even when we’re sad. I can’t not be happy when I know I have you. I love you too much for that.”

“I love you,” you whisper into his lips, arms around his neck as you pull yourself to him, chest to chest. You kiss him properly, pecking him a few times to have your fill.

And then he’s pulling away, ever so slightly to bring a bare millimeter of gap between your lips. His hands burn where they rest, one on your waist, one on your thigh. He’s breathing hard. Both of you are.

“I’m gonna say something so not fit for right now,” he breathes.

You can’t help but freeze in his hold as you register his words, hesitating before you ask. “What?”

“Marry me.”

It comes out as the same whisper, directly into your lips as he utters the words. Like he was keeping a secret from the walls and the furniture, like they were only meant for you; because they were only meant for you. Your heart stops, and you vaguely wonder if you’re breathing at all.

“I—” he takes a long, shaky breath from his nose. “I was supposed to do this a little differently, but…”

You watch him reach over into his bedside drawer, the one you never touch, and bring out the smallest velvet box. Opening it reveals the prettiest, most delicate diamond you’ve ever seen, the jewel glinting and sparkling even in the dim bedroom lights.

That’s when you let out a tiny gasp, feeling the tears return, dripping down your face one after the other. “Choi Seuncheol, you bitch.”

You’re sobbing at this point, and it has him sitting up straighter, leaving the box to the side as he lurches for you when you pull away.

“Wait, fuck, sorry, I thought,” he exhales in frustration, hands trying to pull yours away from your face as you cry into your hands. He sounds desperate. “I got carried away, I don’t know what I was thinking—”

“No, it’s not that,” you finally manage through hiccups.

“Yes, of course, I’ll marry you, I’m just fucking emotional.”

You hear him laugh again, no doubt out of pure relief, as he nearly doubles over at the situation.

You’re a little calmer as you continue to sniffle, watching him with a half-disgruntled, half-amused expression, “Put it on, stupid, or do I need to cry again for you to do that.”

You don’t need to tell him twice as he slips the ring on your finger, the perfect fit, the perfect jewel, the perfect ring.

Bringing him closer, you kiss him again, lips pressed hard on his as you try to communicate every last emotion into it. You’re out of words, and you hope he knows what you're feeling. You know he knows; he always knows.

He’s reciprocating with the same vigor, arms coming up to wrap around you so tight it pushes you flush against his body. He nips at your lip, running his tongue over it for good measure before letting it enter your mouth. You let him take the lead, let him guide you through every motion, every step forward.

You’re putty when he pulls off your clothes for you, feeling your heart scream in protest whenever he pulls away to get rid of the obstructions. Your emotions were in a delicate place, and you suddenly couldn’t handle not being able to feel him against you consistently.

He does well to make it quick, moving back on top of you to occupy your mouth once more. He tries to migrate lower, latching onto your neck to continue his ministrations there, but you don’t let him as you pull his face back to yours again.

“I love you,” you whisper against his mouth before latching onto his lips.

He lets out a low grunt, pulling away for breath as he whispers it back, “I love you more.”

If you won’t let his mouth move, you let his hands do whatever they wish, feeling them move lower against your sides to reach your hips. His thumbs draw circles on them as he slowly moves his hands to where you can feel the arousal grow.

His fingers hit your bare heat as he plunges them into your folds, encasing your clit between his fingers. He drags them up slowly before moving back down, all the way to your now sopping hole to brush against the opening.

You sigh against his lips as he pushes his finger in slowly, lips releasing yours as you throw your head back to feel his digit around your walls. He pushes a second one in without hesitation, and you know he’s just as desperate as you right now.

He’s only two fingers deep, and yet you feel yourself beginning to come undone. He always knew what to do when he wanted to stretch you out faster, always knew what to do when he wanted to draw the pleasure out, keep you writhing for hours.

Right now was different; it felt like he was holding himself back to the point where it was almost painful. If he wasn’t worried about the stretch, he would’ve buried himself inside you already, and yet, when he feels you clench undeniably hard around his fingers as you orgasm, he feels like he might’ve cum himself.

His low moans echo off the walls with your louder, more desperate ones, riding out your high as you feel him bring his other hand up to rub your clit in fast circles, making the pleasure last. Coming down from your high, you feel him pause for a moment as he peppers kisses on your face, down your jaw and neck, finally coming to press his lips against yours.

“You okay?”

You nod in response, already grasping at his boxers to yank them down. Despite having just orgasmed, the satisfaction is yet to come, needing to feel him inside you before you combusted entirely.

He helps as he discards himself of the final obstruction, letting you stroke his painfully hard member in your hands. The face he makes is heavenly as you watch him feel your hands wrapped around him. The impatience takes over as he finally removes your hands, instead pinning them beside your head as he guides himself to your entrance.

Seungcheol goes back to planting himself onto you entirely, knowing exactly what you wanted from him, needing to feel him against you so flush and tight. He lets you wrap your hands around his neck as he finally begins to push himself into you, letting his tip graze the beginning of your entrance.

He breathes into your neck in deep, deep exhales, trying so hard not to cum before he’s even entered you entirely. He takes his time pushing into you, focusing on your fingers as they play with his hair, your palms running down his shoulder blades in a pathway. He closes his eyes as he sheaths himself in you completely, continuing his steady breaths to not come undone before you.

He begins to move when he feels like he’s gotten a hold of his bearings, feeling you hold onto him as he starts thrusting into your cunt. The sounds you make are bliss; the feeling of every inch of your skin on his is making him lose his already lost mind.

Your arms drop when they can’t hold onto him any longer, your hands remaining on him regardless, in some way or the other. Seungcheol takes hold of your hand, emerging from the crook of your neck to bring it to his mouth. He kisses it, your palms, the back of your hand, your fingers, directly over the rock he slipped on you himself.

The tenderness of his actions makes your brain rattle against your skull, the building feeling in your abdomen coming so close to collapsing into release. You find yourself pushing yourself up on your elbows, face finding the crook of his shoulder as you push yourself back into him when pulled back in the slightest.

You’re so close now, so, so close. “Cheol,”

“I know, darling. Cum for me, baby, I’ve got you, I’ve always got you.”

You release to the sound of his voice, the words that tumble from his desperate mouth, the feeling of his own cum shooting inside your spent walls. He continues to thrust into you as you both let out the loudest moans of the night, letting yourself get wrapped up in the feeling of each other before you lose your peak.

You register nothing as you feel him drop his weight on top of you, letting the moment pass.

Despite having had nights rougher, more lengthy than this, you somehow feel more spent than you have at the end of any of those escapades. The answer comes to you in the few minutes it takes for you both to catch your breath, Cheol being just as fatigued as you despite his athlete stamina.

You feel him continue to press his lips onto your skin, letting you do the same to him in between kisses. Neither of you speak for another few minutes, letting the heaviness of your hearts come forth in the showers of love you seem to want to give each other.

He’s grasping your left hand, toying with the ring fitted there. “I can’t wait to spend forever with you.”

A picture of the both of you hangs on the wall in your bedroom, dim yet decipherable in the low lights. There’s a moment where you have a flash of that same photo on multiple different walls. Different shades of neutral, in different rooms in different houses. It’s the same picture.

You think of what forever might hold for the both of you, separately and together. You let the prospect of every step, every change, and every milestone wash over you in waves that keep coming, crashing back to feed into another.

Change, you rehearse. There had been lots of it, and yet you had merely scratched the surface of what life was about to throw at you. You knew that, Seungcheol knew that. But you found yourself, in that moment, convinced in entirety that change is good, whether it feels good or bad.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder; you didn't realize the meaning of the phrase until you had to live apart from the love of your life. Painful, difficult, sometimes agonizing, yet also necessary, you conclude. You wonder if your love would ever have grown this deep if you hadn’t felt life without each other.

You think of how far you’ve come, how you’ve grown with each other. There was an encompassing of gratefulness that came with every step you had taken, and with every step you would take henceforth, you knew that for certain.

Perhaps you would find yourself voicing these emotional thoughts to him, but not now. The unspoken was louder than anything you could say.

“I can’t wait to spend forever with you, too.”

taglist (strikthru could not be tagged): @rubyreduji @vampirexlotita @simqly-yunjin @tomodachiii

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rubywoozii · 22 days ago

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busy woman

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: kwon soonyoung x afb.reader

Yeah, I’m a busy woman. I wouldn’t let you come into my calendar any night. But if you want my kisses. I’ll be your perfect Mrs. ‘til the day that one of us dies

��𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): romance, smut

𝐚𝐮(𝐬): non idol

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.4K

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: needy soonyoung, mc can be quite bitchy

𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected sex, creampie, so much kissing, oral (fem rec), mentions of rough sex, car sex, mentions of being sore from overstimulation, passionate sex, cockwarming, quickie (it’s not really quick) mentions of anal/anal play. Nicknames: Baby girl, baby, darling, honey, sweet cheeks, ice queen (hers) baby, baby boy, tiger boy, soonie (his)

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: mature, 18+

𝐚𝐧: I can’t stop writing for hoshi right now. This inspired by the song of the same name by Sabrina carpenter. Thank you @naniwatig3r for beta reading and helping me with this story.

🎧: busy woman - sabrina carpenters | I’m in love with you - the 1975 | sunshine baby - the japanese house

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

You didn’t make it easy on Soonyoung from the moment you met. His attempts to bring you home after a night out at the club were put to a screeching halt. Your teasing words informing him you don’t do one night stands. Your sweet teasing words that told him “I’m a busy woman. I don’t have time for games. I need you to prove to me this isn’t just about sex to you.”

”Give me your number and I’ll prove to you that I just don’t want to have sex with you. Let me get to know you.”

That night you gave the boy with sparkling eyes and an energetic personality, your number.

Boy did Soonyoung work to prove to you that he was serious about you. You’ve never had a man make you feel so incredibly wanted. From the moment you met him, he worshiped the ground you walked on. In the beginning, you held your walls up high. Trying to portray the role of a strong woman, some people would call a bitch. But damn was he good at chipping away at your walls.

When he first started texting you, it took four days before you agreed to go on a date with him. One perfect date turned into two and then the next thing you knew you’ve been seeing him for a month.

The original plan was you were going to hold out on having sex with him until the one month mark. The problem was he was too charming and adorable for his own good. By the third date, you found yourself riding him in the backseat of his car. His hands touched anywhere they could reach as he moaned your name like a prayer.

At the three week mark you met his friends, and suddenly things started to feel more serious. That night when he intended to drop you off he like he always did. This time he just decided to let a little confession slip past his lips.

“Baby, I like you so much.”

“Baby?” You cock your head to the side. You’ve never been one for pet names. But the way he says it gives you butterflies.

“You’re my baby. Unless you hate that name – If so, I can call you something else. Honey, darling, sweet cheeks.” He’s now rambling on like an idiot. You might have broken him with little effort.

“I like baby.”

A huge smile forms on his lips causing his eyes to squint. “Baby.”

“Sweet cheeks?” There is no way you can’t bring up that absolutely terrible nickname.

Reaching up he pinches your cheek lightly. “You have the sweetest cheeks.”

Before Soonyoung you don’t think there is a single man on this planet that could get away with pinching your cheek and saying that. Narrowing your eyes at him. He pulls away quickly knowing he’s absolutely playing with fire.

“You’re lucky I like you too, Soonyoung.”

“You like me back? He says it like you haven’t been having a sleepover for the last week.

“Kwon Soonyoung, I like you a lot. Just remember if you ever make me feel unwanted or hurt me once. It’s absolutely over.” You knew deep down inside he would never do that. You just needed to make sure it was extremely clear to him.

Seven days later Soonyoung decides to be bold and say those three big words. Laying on his bed completely naked scrolling through your phone. Soonyoung is in the bathroom brushing his teeth. You’re not sure if your legs even work anymore. He managed to make you come five times in the span of an hour. Your legs feel like jelly, and to be quite frank your pussy is literally sore.

He walks back into the room and stands by the bed next to you. Glancing up at his glorious naked body, the twisted part of you wonders if your body could take another orgasm.

“Fuck you look good,” you practically moan.

“Baby I thought you said I broke your pussy, that you need a break?” He pushes your hair away from your face.

“Could you go nice and slow?” Sex with Soonyoung was normally quite passionate. Sometimes it was rough and lust filled, other times you’re pretty sure it’s what people referred to as “making love”.

“Aren’t you sore?” He crawls onto the bed.

“Maybe a little.” You’re suddenly acting shy and you aren’t quite sure why.

“Spread your legs for me baby.”

He crawls on top of you while resting on his knees. With the amount of cum left in you, he slides into you with ease. You expect him to start moving at a slow pace. But he doesn’t move at all. He just stays completely still hovering over you, while filling you to the brim.

“Are you going to move?” You reach up resting your hand on his cheek.

“Do you just want me to cockwarm you?”

“Isn’t this an inconvenient position to be doing that?”

“I mean we can switch positions.”

“So you’re not going to fuck me again?”

He doesn’t respond, he just leans down and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. You want to act like a bitch and tease him, but you can’t. The way he’s looking at you, makes you feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside.

“Soonyoung.”

“Baby?”

“Can you move?” You tangle your fingers in his hair holding him close to you.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You’re sore and you need to rest.” He presses another kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Fine. Can we at least switch positions if you’re just going to keep your dick in me?”

A smile tugs at his lips before he kisses you. His kiss feels different. It’s filled with passion and it feels almost as if it’s filled with love.

“I want to say something to you. I just need you to promise me you won’t turn into an ice queen on me.” You can’t help but roll your eyes at your college nickname you made the mistake of telling him about.

“I can’t make any promises.”

“I need you to make a promise about this. Please.”

“Fine. I promise I won’t be an ice queen to you.”

“I love you.” Who knew those three words would feel like a ton of bricks hitting your chest. Holy shit he did fall hard for you. Your eyes are probably the size of saucers. You’re just in shock. “Judging by the look on your face you definitely don’t feel the same way. But that’s like cool. Just pretend I never said anything.” He’s stumbling over his words, definitely freaking out and you don’t blame him.

He starts to pull away from you sitting back on his knees. “Wait a damn minute Soonyoung.”

He pulls out of you leaving you once again feeling empty. You reach out for his hand. “Give me a minute to process what you said. I love you too.”

It’s his turn for his eyes to be the size of saucers. “Oh fuck we’re in love.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at his statement. “Baby boy we’re definitely in love.”

One of your first major milestones after your fated “I love you” was your one year anniversary. You’ve dated around quite a bit since college, but you never tried having a serious long term relationship.

“Are you free Saturday?” Soonyoung asked, walking into your apartment.

“I'm a busy woman. I have dinner plans that night.” These plans would be extremely easy to get out of. Or it would be easy to just bring Soonyoung along with you.

“It’s our anniversary. I was hoping we could have dinner.” He shoves his hands in his pocket as he looks down, almost defeated.

“I’ll cancel the dinner. I may be busy, but I can be flexible. Just for you.” You give him a flirty smile at the word flexible.

“How flexible are we talking?” He instantly cheers up.

“I don’t know. Maybe we could test out a new position.” Leaning back on the couch you can’t help but let out a laugh.

“Fuck.”

“Wasn’t that how the anniversary night is supposed to end?”

“Please tell me how I managed to make you fall in love with me?” He drops to his knees and practically crawls to you. He doesn’t realize it’s the other way around, You aren’t quite sure you managed to make him fall in love with you.

“I’m not quite sure. Something about you, tiger boy, is just so irresistible.”

He gets up off the floor and sits on the couch next to you. “I got you something.”

“I didn’t get you anything. My present to you was I was finally going to let you play with my ass.” This man is obsessed with your ass and you’ve built up enough trust with him in the bedroom that you decided he can start testing the waters with you, when it came to trying anal.

“Wait, are you serious?” He sounds like you just told him he’s getting his dream Christmas present.

“Yes. Now what is my present?”

“One minute.” He hops off the couch and jogs over to the front door where he dropped his work bag. He pulls out a long box and walks back over to you.

“If it was up to me I would be getting down on one knee and proposing to you, but I know you might slap me if I did that today. So I got you a necklace.”

He hands you the box. Opening it up you instantly smile at the beautiful gold necklace he got you. There is a delicate heart with two stones. One being your birthday stone, and the other being his. By no means are you ready to get married, but you hope one day he will actually propose to you.

“Soonie.” You rarely cry, but his thoughtful gift has you feeling extra emotional.

“You like it?” You don’t say anything, you just grab his hand, pulling him down to you. Crashing your lips into his. You kiss him like you need him to breathe.

“Just so you know, I’m not opposed to marrying you.”

He pulls away smiling. “That’s good to know. I’ll start ring shopping now.”

Two years into your relationship Soonyoung now lives with you, and he casually gave you an engagement ring three months ago. He didn’t make his proposal flashy. He just got down on one knee while you were cooking dinner together. It was absolutely perfect.

Things with Soonyoung just feel right. You can’t get enough of him, and he surely can’t get enough of you.

Rough lips moved down your neck as you gripped his shoulder holding on to him for dear life. You only have an hour together before he needs to go to work. It's clear he wants to take advantage of every moment you have together.

His teeth graze your skin as he gently nips at your skin, earning a gasp from you. He lays between your legs as he continues to kiss your skin. He’s never been one for a quickie. That’s probably due to the fact this man is obsessed with foreplay. This man never misses an opportunity to have his head between your thighs eating out until you're overstimulated and crying.

You’re a whiny mess desperately wishing he would move. Your hands roam lower resting on his butt pulling his hips forward slightly.

“Someone is needy,” he murmurs against his skin.

“I just want you,” you moan and he suddenly thrusts his hips.

“Can you ask nicely?” He pulls away from you looking at you with lust filled eyes.

“Please Soonyoung. I need you to fuck me,” you normally hate begging, but he has desperately needing him to move.

“Does my future wife want me to fuck her?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. Ever since he proposed this man never misses an opportunity to call you his future wife. “Does my future husband want to?”

“God I love it when you talk dirty to me.” He practically groans.

“That wasn’t dirty talk.”

“You called me your husband while I’m literally inside you. That is literally the dirtiest thing you could say to me. I’m shocked I didn’t come immediately.” Sometimes you question why you put up with how dramatic he is.

“Future husband. Not present husband.”

“We can go down to the courthouse and change that right now.”

“It’s a shame you have to go to work.”

“I can call out.”

“Maybe if you fuck me so good I forget my last name I’ll take yours today.”

He lets out a groan closing his eyes. His ultimate dream is to marry you immediately. The day he proposed it you would have asked him to get married right then and there he would have in a heartbeat.

“Okay my love,” he leans forward pressing his lips to yours as he slowly starts rolling his hip into you.

With each thrust, your hands grip his shoulder holding on to him as his lips continue to assault yours. Your leg hooks over his back resting right above his butt.

He’s leaving for work in less than an hour and this is the one way he knows to show you exactly how much he’ll miss you and how much he truly loves you.

He continues his ministration, with each movement he’s hitting just the right spot with each thrust. You're lost in the moment and time doesn’t seem to matter. You aren’t sure if it’s been ten minutes or an hour.

You both finish moaning the other person's name. Laying in your bed next to each other, you aren’t ready for him to go to work.

He looks over at you and whispers, “Would you actually marry me today?”

He’ll never understand how much you love him, and how much you broke all your own rules for him.

“We’re both off from work tomorrow. Let’s go down to the courthouse and get married.”

The smile he gives you is a firm reminder that he’s hopelessly in love with you, and you can’t quite put into words how much you love him.

If you have asked to be tagged I request that you please reblog. If you could leave comments and or tags that would be greatly appreciated.

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rubywoozii · 26 days ago

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Haunted!

Synopsis: This is your apartment to haunt, so why does it feel like you're the one being tormented?

Pairing: human!Minghao x ghost!reader

Genre: crack, fluff, non-idol! au, fantasy! au

Rating: sfw

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: Minghao's a tsundere, lemme know if I missed anything!

Note: Thank you twin @tomodachiii for helping me out with the banner!

Thank you so much @chugging-antiseptic-dye for betaing!

Click here to join my taglist!

Read on ao3

Reblogs are appreciated ♡

.ᐟMinors/blank/no age indicator blogs will be blocked.ᐟ

You perk up at the sound of the door clicking open. That's...new. You haven't heard that sound in ages. The apartment you've been haunting has been empty for years—mostly because you've scared off every single tenant who dared move in. You figured the realtor would've given up on selling the place by now, but apparently not.

Oh well. Just another human to chase away, you think.

Silently, you watch as the human steps inside, and your mouth falls open slightly. He's ethereal—so much so that you wonder if he's even human. His hair is dyed silver-grey and styled into a messy mullet. You thought mullets were out of fashion but, somehow, he makes it work. His features are almost too perfect, as if they were carefully sculpted by an artist. He looks like a statue come to life.

You shake the thought away. Now is not the time to be ogling him—you need to figure out how to scare him off. You watch as he brings in boxes and slowly unpacks, moving with an unbothered calmness that irritates you. You decide to wait until nightfall to make your move. Until then, you'll enjoy some much needed eye-candy.

Night falls, and you watch as the man meticulously goes through his nighttime routine, each step executed with the precision of a surgeon. His fingers work expertly, massaging various products into his skin until he practically glows. You position yourself outside the bathroom door, planning to start simple with a classic jump scare as he steps out.

The door clicks open, and you immediately lunge forward, making yourself visible and letting out your most blood-curdling scream.

...he doesn't even flinch.

He just stands there, staring at you with a mildly irritated expression, as if you're nothing more than a pesky insect buzzing around his face.

Your scream fades into oblivion, and you lower your hands, bewildered. This is not how people usually react to you. Embarrassment creeps in so fast that you might be the first ghost to ever blush.

Rubbing his temple, he lets out a deep sigh. "If you're going to haunt this place, do it quietly. I need my beauty sleep," he mutters before brushing past you and climbing into bed without a second glance.

You stand there, dumbfounded, as he turns off the light, makes himself comfortable, and promptly falls asleep.

...this was not in the script.

Days pass, and you learn the man's name: Minghao. You also learn that scaring him is a lost cause. Every attempt you made to drive him away failed miserably. In fact, it almost feels like you're the one being tormented.

He treats you like a nuisance, constantly shooing you away as if you're the intruder—even though he's the one trespassing in your home. He's even established rules for you, like banning you from the bedroom and bathroom. And it's not like you have to listen to him, you just choose to. It definitely has nothing to do with being afraid of his sharp glares or the way he scolds you like an exasperated parent. Absolutely not.

So, now, you're sprawled out on the living room floor, listlessly staring at the ceiling. You don't even know why—it just feels more interesting than usual.

Footsteps echo through the apartment, but you don't bother looking up.

A long-suffering sigh breaks the silence. "Stop moping around. You're making the place feel depressing."

You whip your head toward Minghao, glaring.

"I wasn't moping," you snap.

"You clearly were," he replies, tone flat. "So, cut it out."

You open your mouth, then close it, trying to come up with a witty comeback. But with nothing coming to mind, your shoulders sag in defeat. If only you were quicker with words. But, unfortunately for you, even when you were alive, you were always a little slow.

So, you just lay there and accept your fate (and defeat at the hands of a human).

Trying to haunt Minghao was the toughest thing you ever tried (counting both your alive and dead self).

You go about your usual routine, aimlessly wandering the apartment—carefully avoiding the bedroom and bathroom as per Minghao's rules—when you spot him eating dinner in the dining area. Your mouth subconsciously waters at the sight of food. Sure, you've been dead for a while, and it's been ages since you last ate, but you miss the taste of food. Just watching him eat, you can almost imagine the flavours tap dancing on your tongue.

You're too busy drooling over his meal to notice the disapproving look he's giving you.

"Out of all the outfits you could've died in, you really chose that?" he says, voice laced with judgment.

Snapped out of your food-induced daze, you turn to him, offended. Sure, your oversized, tattered grey hoodie and stained sweatpants aren't exactly runway-worthy, but did he really have to point it out? It's not like you had the luxury of picking the outfit you were going to die in.

"That was unprovoked," you huff, crossing your arms.

"I'm just saying, if it were me, you'd never catch me dead in that," he shrugs.

And, annoyingly, he's right. Even when he's just lounging at home, he looks effortlessly put together—draped in silks and satin, somehow managing to exude both comfort and extravagance.

"Okay, fashion diva. I didn't ask for a critique," you grumble before stomping off.

As you leave, you fail to notice the small smile playing on Minghao's lips.

You find yourself in the spare room Minghao converted into a study, silently watching as he sketches at his desk. You’ve learned that he's a fashion design student, which explains his ridiculously high standards when it comes to clothes.

You watch in quiet awe as his hands glide across the paper, effortlessly bringing designs to life. You've never been particularly talented at drawing—or at anything, really—so seeing him create masterpiece after masterpiece fills you with admiration.

Just as you're getting lost in observing him, he suddenly stops mid-sketch.

"I need you to stop being so loud," he mutters, catching you off guard.

You blink. "But...I'm not doing anything?"

"Your breathing is too loud."

"...I'm dead," you say, frowning. Can ghosts even breathe?

"Well, whatever you're doing, it's distracting," he grumbles, still not looking at you.

Your shoulders slump, and you pout. If he didn't want you here, he could've just said so. Huffing, you turn to leave.

"I never said to leave," he murmurs. "Just stop being so loud."

You pause, looking at him in confusion. So, he doesn't want you to leave? Your brain short-circuits at the realisation.

Awkwardly shuffling into a corner, you continue watching as he sketches—this time, hyper-aware of your nonexistent breathing.

The sound of the TV fills the living room. You and Minghao sit in comfortable silence, watching a drama. You've come to learn that he has a love-hate relationship with this show—he complains about it constantly but can't seem to stop watching.

He's on one end of the couch, and you're curled up on the other. Somehow, over time, you've come to accept each other's presence. Any space feels emptier when he's not around.

"Do you remember how you died?" Minghao suddenly asks, eyes still glued to the screen.

You glance at him, then stare at the floor, trying to wade through the hazy memories. "No," you murmur. "I- I just woke up one day and realised I was a ghost, bound to this place."

He hums softly in response.

"Do you want to know? Find out how you died?" he asks, still not looking at you.

You hug your knees to your chest, resting your chin on them. A long silence stretches between you, broken only by the noise from the TV.

"I don't know," you admit.

"I could help you," he says, voice quieter this time. When you look up, his dark eyes are finally on you, holding a softness you're not used to seeing on his sharp face.

His offer catches you off guard. No one has ever offered to help you before. Not when you were alive. Not after you died. Your ghostly heart stutters at the thought.

"I have a feeling that if I find out, I'll move on," you say hesitantly. "And I don't think I want to do that. Not yet." Your voice drops to a whisper. "I just want to stay here a little longer.With you."

A faint smile tugs at Minghao’s lips. "I don't mind that."

You smile back, warmth spreading through you—a feeling you haven't felt in a long, long time.

The two of you turn back to the drama, settling into a comfortable silence.

Being with Minghao makes the afterlife feel a little less lonely.

Taglist: @tinyelfperson @gyuguys @stay-tiny-things @unlikelysublimekryptonite @miyx-amour @iamawkwardandshy @codeinebelle @brownbunnyb @do-you-remember-summer-127 @sclovreina @theidontknowmehn @toplinehyunjin @gyuhao365 @mysticfairies @cherrylovescheol @cookiearmy @4shypotato @lxnnrobin @sashaaahh @xueisaaa17 @aeriyell @eshia16 @dreamingofpcy @archivistworld @kyeomiis @iwannakisspoutycheol @foxiesgf24 @livelaughloveseventeen @kwanniehae @ateez-atiny380 @aliiikareed @jennwonwoo @smiileflower

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rubywoozii · 26 days ago

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record store day —- c.hs

⭑.ᐟ pairing: chwe hansol (vernon) x fem!reader ⭑.ᐟ theme: acquaintances to lovers, idiots to lovers, record store employee!vernon ⭑.ᐟ w/c: 2.7k ⭑.ᐟ warnings: kissing, awkward reader, awkward vernon, lots of instagram dms ⭑.ᐟ a/n: happy record store day babies! this is based off something that happened to me last year hehe (over dramatized of course) shoutout to my lovely betas @lovetaroandtaemin and @seungkw1 ⭑.ᐟ notice: this blog is intended for 18+ ONLY all ageless and minor blogs will be blocked. i do not condone my work being run through ai in any capacity. my work is my own.

“What?!” You shriek at your phone screen. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” You shove your phone into the face of the man sitting behind the counter.

“I can’t see what you’re talking about when the screen is so close to my face,” he deadpans.

“Live Bowie?” You flop back onto the beanbag chair with a grunt. “You’ll get these in?” You mutter, loud enough for him to hear you.

“On Record Store Day, yeah.” He moves to change the record on the turntable behind the counter. 218 Records is where you spend your days off. You can’t remember when it started but it’s been like this for the better part of a year. Vernon, the employee who runs the social media, is always working when you’re here. Sometimes you’re not convinced there are even any other employees here.

“V,” you spring to your feet again, “you have to save me one, I have to work on Saturday!”

“Oh no,” he holds his hands up, “I can’t do that, boss’ll have my ass, heartzvinyl”

V, the single letter he uses to sign off all his comments on the store’s instagram, and heartzvinyl the instagram handle you made when you were still in high school and just starting off your collection. The first names you knew each other by, which seemed to stick. You had thought about changing your username to something less cringey, but the way Vernon’s voice sounds saying it deterred you from that. You might not ever change it at this rate. Once you graduated high school and started buying more vinyl, with your own money, you found 218 Records, and their instagram. The small lowercase v’s started popping up in their comments back to customers around the same time.

You slam your head onto the counter in front of Vernon, and groan loudly. He looked around for other customers to assist, anything to get himself away from your dramatics. You roll your head to the side to look up at him.

“C’mon, V!” You cry, “I’m your most loyal customer! I’m here, like, everyday!”

“Mark is also here most days,” he reminds you, finally changing out the vinyl, filling the store with a new sound.

“Fine!” You stand up straight. “I’ll just come after work, like a normie!”

Your Saturday shifts typically drag, but not like this. Everytime you dare to glance at the clock on the wall opposite of the counter, only five minutes have passed since the last time. You bounce on the balls of your feet as some snooty woman rattles off the worst coffee order you have ever heard.

After she inserts her card into the machine you turn to give the cup with her order on it to the other barista. Just get through this rush and you can rush over to 218 before they close. There are eight more customers in the lobby. The coffee shop doesn’t close for another 45 minutes but 218 is open for another 30 after that, without traffic you’ll get there five minutes before.

“What’s got you in such a hurry?” Your coworker asks you as you rush through the closing routine. You shake your head, trying to evade her line of questioning. “It’s that record store, isn’t it? Today’s some big thing right?”

“Record Store Day, yeah,” you scrub the inside of the blender, “They got an exclusive I really want in my collection, it isn’t about Vernon.”

“I never said anything about him, Y/N.” She smiles widely, thinking she’s found out some juicy gossip. You feel your cheeks heat up, realizing she didn’t say anything about Vernon, just his store.

“Oh, well…”

“Go, I’ll finish up.” She laughs.

“Really?” You perk up. She nods and shoos you toward the door. “I owe you one, oh my God!” You scramble to the back to grab your bag and fly out of the shop.

The parking lot at 218 Records is suspiciously empty when you arrive 25 minutes later. You climb out of your car and immediately spot Vernon sitting in a grassy spot a small ways from the entrance of the store. He sees you soon after and waves you over.

“Hey,” he offers, “You’re earlier than I thought you’d be.”

“But I’m still too late, judging by the fact that Jihoon let you come out and smoke.” You sit down next to him on the grass. He passes you his joint.

“Sorry, heartzvinyl,” you take the joint and take a hit, “the Bowie vinyls went real fast.” He leans back on his hands and watches you smoke. You exhale slowly.

“I figured they would.” Vernon watches the smoke fall from your lips. He thinks it’s pretty. You let the silence hang in the air for a while. You hand the joint back to him. He starts to wonder when he started thinking the way you smoke was prettier than anyone he’s ever seen, or when he started thinking about how risking his job might’ve been worth it if it meant you not moping here on the lawn. He’s not sure if he cares when it started.

“Hey,” he bumps your shoulder with his, “Jihoon said our stock was lower than he expected.” You look over at him with wide eyes, he thinks about kissing you. “We might get late stock, do you want me to keep you updated?”

“You’d do that for me, V?” You whisper. He shrugs.

“Yeah, I guess I would.”

Monday April 14

heartzvinyl [1:46 pm]: hi! just wondering if there has been any additional record store day

stock delivered?

218records.ny [1:55 pm]: nothing yet. -v

Tuesday April 15

heartzvinyl [3:12 pm]: hi me again!! anything new in stock?

218records.ny [3:33 pm]: new ethel cain vinyls (both colors), but no, not the vinyl you’re in search of. -v

Wednesday April 16

218records.ny [10:13 am]: nothing new today. -v

heartzvinyl [11:32 am]: ? i hadn’t even asked yet ???

218records.ny [11:40 am]: yeah but you were going to :) -v

You stare at the smiley face. Has he ever used that before? You scroll up in the conversation, past the messages from this week. There are a few scattered smiley faces, how have you never noticed before? Furthermore, why do these emoticons make you feel a bit giddy? Surely he uses them with everyone, it doesn’t mean anything. Then again, would Vernon keep someone else this up to date on the stock in the store?

Thursday April 17

heartzvinyl [2:19 pm]: hi there! any updates on rsd?

218records.ny [4:45 pm]: Hi! What exactly are you looking for? We haven’t gotten any additional stock, but I can check if what you’re looking for is still here! -Jihoon

heartzvinyl [4:56 pm]: oh hey jihoon !! i’m in search of the live ready set go bowie lp, i think vernon said it sold pretty fast on saturday

218records.ny [6:15 pm]: Yeah unfortunately those did fly off the shelf. Sorry! -Jihoon

You sigh at your phone, you know you’ll be lucky if they get more stock, but that doesn’t stop the empty feeling in your gut at Jihoon’s message. He has never answered your dms to the page before either, where is Vernon?

You toss your phone onto your bed, no use worrying, everyone has their days off. You pad across the floor of your bedroom over to your shelves of vinyl. Running your finger across all the spines you stop at one of the first vinyls Vernon recommended to you – Ginger by Brockhampton. You slide it out of the shelf and carefully place it into the turntable. Placing the needle the guitar intro fills the stillness of the room.

You smile, remembering how uniquely Vernon his recommendation was. Vernon is always himself, especially when people ask him for advice. You like to hang out in the store on your off days because of this, watching him navigate customer requests and questions was interesting to you, almost like doing a character study in a way.

Falling back onto your bed you close your eyes and listen until the music slowly lulls you to sleep.

Friday April 18

218records.ny [9:35 am]: INCOMING CALL

You swatted around your duvet for your phone. The ringtone was unfamiliar. Finally grabbing onto it you realized it was because someone was calling you on Instagram. You didn’t even know you could make phone calls on instagram.

“Um…hello?” You rub your eyes.

“Finally,” Vernon’s voice crackles on the other end, “Get over here, we got it, heartzvinyl.”

“Really?” You jump up. “Are you fucking with me, V?”

“God, no, why would I do that?” You could hear him grinning, “Just get over here before someone else does!”

By 10 am you’re busting through the front door of 218 Records. Your entrance is less than graceful and has everyone in the store looking in your direction. Lucky for you it’s 10 am on a Friday so the only people here are Vernon, Jihoon, and of course Mark. You smile sheepishly as everyone, besides Vernon, goes back to what they were doing. Approaching the counter you try to look casual.

“Hey V,” you lean your arm on the counter.

“What are you doing?” He blinks at you.

“I don’t know,” you drop your hands to your sides. “I didn’t want you to think I only came for Bowie.”

“I told you to come for Bowie.” He points out. Without another word he turns around and retrieves what you have been waiting for all week. “You still want it?”

“Cut the shit, V.” You laugh, pulling out your card.

“Sheesh, heartzvinyl,” he scans the barcode, “I just had to be sure!” You watch as he carefully wraps the vinyl in plastic and places it in the paper bag. He hands it over to you and grins at you. “Enjoy it.” You smile back at him and awkwardly start side stepping toward the door.

“Well…I better go…” You trail off. He nods at you before his eyes grow wide, like he just remembered something.

“Wait,” he pulls a scrap of paper out of his pocket and rummages around the counter until he finds a pen. He scribbles something down and holds the paper out to you. “I, uh, I get outta here at 3 today, if you need someone to listen to the album with.” He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. You take the paper and stare down at the handwriting.

“Vern…online…” You decode his chicken scratch, “is this your personal Instagram?” He nods. “You could just give me your number, you know?”

“Yeah I could,” he chuckles, “but this seems more our speed.” You smile at him.

“I have some errands to run, I’ll let you know.”

“Cool.”

Vernon watches you leave the store, feeling a little bit like an idiot. He has never had a way with words, so he thought that his instagram would be a fun way to be able to talk to you more, but now he feels like you think he’s weird. He chews on his bottom lip.

“Did you give her your Instagram?” Jihoon’s voice from behind him makes him jump. Vernon turns to see his boss casually leafing through the vinyls behind the counter.

“What?” He sputters, “oh..yeah I did.”

“Good, now you can stop flirting on the business account.”

You are laying facedown on your bedroom floor, it is 2:56 pm, and you lied about having errands to run. You have already looked through Vernon’s Instagram three times, which is not a hard feat considering he has four posts and two of them are pictures of the cats that live near the store. You let out a loud groan, trying to convince yourself that he wouldn’t have given you his account if he didn’t want to talk to you.

Friday April 18

heartzvinyl [2:58 pm]: hey v i think i would like if you came over after work :]

vernonline [3:03 pm]: send me the addy lol

You send Vernon your address and throw your phone across the room. Being nervous made no sense, it’s Vernon. But it’s Vernon in your space, the dynamic is bound to change. You jump up and begin to tidy up your room. The Bowie record stays in its brown paper bag.

Thirty minutes later there was a knock at your door. You felt your heartbeat pick up as you went to answer the door. Opening it, there’s Vernon. Headphones around his neck and his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. He gives a small wave when he sees you.

“Hey, come in,” you step aside so he can shuffle past you. He looks around your apartment and nods.

“Very you.” He states simply. For whatever reason this comment has heat settling in your cheeks. You lead him to your bedroom. Vernon walks a single circle around the small room, smiling at Ginger still in your record player. He takes a seat on the floor while you switch out the vinyls, returning Ginger to the shelf and carefully placing Bowie in the turntable. Music fills the room as you sit on the floor next to Vernon.

The two of you sit in silence for the first few songs before Vernon pulls out a small metal case. He opens it and pulls a joint out.

“Do you mind?” He asks. You shake your head. He puts the joint between his lips and brings the flame to the end. You watch him blow the smoke, filling your room with a haze. He passes it to you and you accept it, wanting to calm your nerves.

The last notes fade out and you sit in silence for a few moments. You stretch out your legs and look over at Vernon. His eyes were cloudy and heavy. He looks over at you. You squirm under his gaze.

“Do you want water or something?” You blurt out.

“Oh, uh, sure.” He flashes you a lopsided smile.

You scramble up and grab two glasses of water and return to your room. His hand wraps around the cool glass as you hold it out to him. You turn your attention to your collection, looking for what to put on next. Vernon stands up, knees popping on his way, and wanders toward your desk.

“Hey do you have a coaster, babe?” Vernon asks. Your eyes open wide, without looking at him you can picture the face he’s making. His brow is furrowed, his teeth clenched, he didn’t mean to say that.

“What did you call me?” You turn to him slowly. He has started looking at the ceiling, the glass of water clutched in his hand so tightly that if it was real glass you would be concerned he might break it.

“Nothing.” He muttered. You move past him to grab a coaster from the drawer of your desk and hold it out to him.

“You can call me babe, if you want.” He takes the coaster from your hand and hastily sets the water down on the desk. You stare at him, he stares back at you for several moments before he takes your face between his hands and presses his lips to yours.

It feels like fireworks are exploding in your stomach. He deepens the kiss, swiping his tongue across your bottom lip. You grant access and he licks into your mouth.

“Is this okay?” He breathes, pressing his forehead against your own.

“More than, V.” You chase his lips. He makes a small noise at his nickname and kisses you again. He backs you up until you bump against your bed. Without breaking the kiss you take a fistful of his shirt and pull him down onto the bed, on top of you. He cages you in with his arms and pulls away just slightly.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this?” He dips his head to kiss you again but he stops short, “is it okay that I’ve wanted to do this for a long time?” All you can do is nod. “Awesome.” He smiles boyishly before connecting his lips to yours again. He thinks about why he never told you that you’re pretty when you smoke.

316 notes · View notes

rubywoozii · 27 days ago

Text

svt icons; woozi

227 notes · View notes

rubywoozii · 27 days ago

Text

cherry f(l)avoured

Whatever Seungcheol has, Jeonghan has.

pairing jeonghan x f!reader x seungcheol word count 8K tags idol fic, dom!jeonghan, dom!seungcheol, sub!reader, pwp, multiple smut scenes, reader is seungcheol’s gf, jeonghan is enlisted, svt is touring, tension, jealousy, irritation, accidental cuddling, implied wet dream, dry humping, making out, jeonghan being a menace, shaming, teasing, unprotected sex, breast play, degradation, spanking, cumming on ass, eventual threesome, cucking, blowjob, assisted deepthroating, cumming down throat, licking cum off skin, light choking, biting, spitting on pussy, creampie warnings smut, infidelity, minor angst, mentions of drinking, cursing

a/n god i think this is one of my favs i’ve ever written. pls let me know what u think and like/reblog !

Jeonghan is used to receiving princess treatment. Usually from all of his members, yet one in particular has always been more than adamant on spoiling him. Seungcheol and Jeonghan have always been close friends, each other’s halves, as the people around them would put it.

It wasn’t just gifts he’d regularly receive; expensive clothing and jewelry to match each other, or whatever item the younger one had been talking about wanting at the time— It was also the fact he’d barely have to lift a finger around Seungcheol.

Opened cans of beer were handed to him, shot glasses filled to the brim put on the table before him. His cold noodles pre-cut without a thought, and sometimes, Jeonghan merely had to open his mouth as Seungcheol spoon-fed him—naturally, nothing out of the ordinary for his dear friend.

Seungcheol had always believed in taking care of the people close to him, especially the ones who’d been by his side for nearly half his life, supporting him through his hardest times as a Pledis trainee and now as a leader.

Jeonghan found comfort in their fixed dynamic, which made the sudden appearance of you a significant disruption.

He’d never seen his friend so infatuated with anyone, a soft edge decorating his usual manly exterior. For once, Jeonghan suddenly wasn’t his number one anymore, and the realization irked him.

Sure, you were a genuinely sweet girl—he didn’t doubt his friend's judgement on that. You two seemed happily in love, but no matter how hard Jeonghan tried to tolerate you he felt a twinge of annoyance whenever you were around.

Evident to Jeonghan, you clearly felt the same about him. The air was tense between you, as though you were constantly vying for Seungcheol’s attention.

Maybe it was childish, and he did feel guilty knowing Seungcheol merely wanted the two most prominent people in his life to get along, but he really couldn’t be bothered to make an effort.

“Will you take care of y/n for me?” Seungcheol had asked him prior, their world tour making it so his members would be out of the country for weeks.

Jeonghan’s brows knitted together in confusion.

“Huh?” he blinked, leaning in a bit closer as if he hadn’t heard him properly.

“I mean, will you keep her company here and there while I’m gone? I know you get bored after work.” Seungcheol smiled hopefully, almost seeming unaware of what he was asking of him.

“What, she doesn’t have friends?” Jeonghan half-joked, his lip quirking up.

Seungcheol quietly sighed. “Hannie…” his hooded eyes read his friend doubtfully.

“Kidding, geez!” he laughed, but by his friend’s face he could tell he still expected a real answer.

“I will, I will—don’t worry Coups-ya.” he assured him, knowing he didn’t really have a choice anyway. Seungcheol was right, now that Jeonghan had to complete his service he only has his 9 to 5 opposed to his usual busy schedule as an idol.

Besides, how could he tell his best friend no? He could still remember his big hand on his shoulder, giving him a light squeeze as he smiled at him thankfully.

It was almost a week after the rest of Seventeen had left Korea—sans Jun, who was in China shooting his drama—and Jeonghan still hadn’t made an effort to seek you out. It was starting to gnaw at him a bit, not wanting to disappoint Seungcheol.

So, knowing you’d most likely be in Cheol’s apartment instead of your own, which already kind of irritated him, that’s where he goes.

He hums as he swiftly enters the password combination of the door lock, the door swinging open before he kicks off his shoes. There’s a white take-out bag swinging from his fingers as he walks to the living room, cocking up his eyebrow when he sees you peacefully asleep on the luxurious leather couch.

You wake up clutching your chest when Jeonghan loudly drops the bag with fried chicken on the table. “Jesus!” your eyes are wide with shock seeing the man suddenly standing in front of you.

“Just me,” Jeonghan says casually, plopping down right next to you after you slowly force yourself to sit up straight.

You clear your throat, watching as he opens the two boxes of food before tossing the plastic bag somewhere on the floor. You observe him with a critical eye, trying your best not to roll your eyes at his careless demeanor.

“Why did you come here?” you ask him, rubbing your tired eyes as he nibbles on a boneless piece of mayo chicken.

Jeonghan gets up from his seat again, sucking his finger clean as he walks to the kitchen. “Just dropping by,” he says over his shoulder.

You realize he’s wearing the same expensive hoodie Cheol owns—his dark grey instead of the familiar black one you’ve worn countless of times. He returns carrying a bottle of sprite and two glasses.

“I see,” you note, the quiet noises of the reality show breaking any silence.

“How did you know this is my favorite chicken place?” you look at Jeonghan while grabbing a big piece. You bite off half, a satisfied smile growing on your lips.

“I didn’t.” he shortly meets your eye as he fills your glass, looking away to fill up the second. “It’s my favorite restaurant.” he sighs. He twists the lid back on the bottle, condensation lingering on the thick plastic.

“Ah.” you nod slowly, realizing Seungcheol had introduced you to the place.

There’s a quietness as you’re eating, both of you pretending to be immensely engulfed in the tv show playing. Jeonghan occasionally makes a remark about the ridiculousness of the program, making you feel a bit ashamed for watching a trashy reality show.

Jeonghan huffs about being full once you’ve both nearly finished all the food, the black screen filled with closing credits his cue to leave. He’d made a comment about you having to clean the mess left behind—after all, he was the one who so kindly bought you a meal.

The sudden visit had you feeling a bit iffy, not sure why he’d taken the time to come over if you two obviously didn’t have any connection.

You really didn’t have a reason to not like him. All of your boyfriend’s friends were kind, all fun in their own way. It wasn’t like you knew them well, or for long, but their personalities easily blended with yours. They made it so easy to get along.

Yoon Jeonghan, however, is like a brick wall, one you can’t seem to move or get past. Everything you say is met with a certain look in his big eyes, meeting yours in a way that says nothing yet everything all at once.

It’s like he doesn’t deem you good enough for Seungcheol. For them.

“I miss you…” you pout at the camera, looking at your handsome boyfriend on the screen. He smiles cutely, thick pecs bulging as he supports his head with his hand.

“Me too, pretty,” he sighs, mimicking your pout.

You can tell he’s tired from the way his eyes are glazed over, trying his best not to yawn every minute as he talks to you.

“What have you been up to? Anything fun going on?” he asks. You think for a second before ultimately shaking your head.

“Just work and stuff,” you smile.

Seungcheol chuckles. “I told you to go out! You know you can use my car,” he reminds you, his shiny keys still in place on the kitchen counter.

“I will, Cheol.” you giggle. “I’m just waiting for Nora to come to town this weekend,” you explain. He hums understandingly.

“I’m sad you couldn’t go with me,” he pouts again, making you laugh when he starts experimenting with a silly crying filter.

“I know…” you sigh, rolling over while clutching your phone. “Maybe I can come to one of your shows after all…” you start to think, having to ask your difficult boss for time off.

Seungcheol smiles. “Let me know, baby. I would be very happy to see you. Three more weeks is too long, hm?” he tsks, shaking his head. “Why don’t you invite Jeonghannie over if you’re bored?” Seungcheol then tries, subtly trying to figure out if he’s already been around.

You pause for a second before speaking. “He came over today.” you tell him, your tone telling him everything he needs to know.

“Hmn? Isn’t that good?” Seungcheol tries smiling, somewhat glad to hear his friend listened to his request.

You huff. “No…” you’re quick to say. “He hates me.” you chuckle.

“What?” he frowns, bringing the camera a bit closer to his face. His cheeks are slightly red, a mix of post-concert drinks and exhaustion. “Of course he doesn’t hate you, baby.”

“Yeah he does,” you roll your eyes.

Seungcheol chews on his lip, thinking for a second. “I’ll talk to him, okay? He’s probably just in a mood,” he chuckles, defending his friend.

“He’s always in a mood…” you murmur under your breath, ignoring the next look Seungcheol’s giving you.

“Nevermind. You’re probably right,” you force a smile, making him hum. “Go sleep, okay? I’ll text you tomorrow.” you chuckle at his sleepy face, making him smile knowingly.

“Okay, baby. Talk to you soon,” he kisses the camera, making your stomach feel fuzzy and warm. “Goodluck tomorrow, handsome boy. Sleep tight.” you wave at him, making the same kissy face before you end the call.

There’s a blank look on your face as you approach Seungcheol’s apartment, groggily entering the code before entering the big Hangang view home.

At least there was one good thing about today: not having to go back to your own shitty excuse of an apartment. Your commute home was nearly over an hour, and after the day you had you were in no mood to stand in an overly packed metro for that long. You usually stayed at Seungcheol’s anyway, happy you got to see him so frequently while also being closer to work.

“You’re home late.” the voice startles you, memories of the day before rushing back to you.

Jeonghan’s made himself comfortable on the floor, his hand reaching in a bag of chips as some youtube video plays on the tv in front of him. There’s cans of beer surrounding him, with a thin blanket draped over his lap.

“Great. You live here now?” you murmur under your breath, hanging up your jacket.

“Do you live here?” he bites back, attentively watching you put away your work bag.

You choose to ignore him, sighing before letting yourself fall on the couch. You hug a pillow to your chest, closing your eyes for a second.

Jeonghan watches you, almost sighing remembering Seungcheol telling him off on the phone earlier today after your video call with him.

“Rough day?” he then asks, turning around to face you. You nod wordlessly, nuzzling your face deeper in the soft fabric.

Jeonghan inhales a deep breath as he thinks for a second, unlocking his phone to open a delivery app. “Let’s order something. What are you in the mood for?” he asks, patiently waiting for you to respond.

You open an eye to look at him, surprised by his sudden change.

“‘M not that hungry, Jeonghan.” you say quietly, clearing your throat before sitting up straight. “But thank you,” you offer him a small smile.

“Ayy, come on. You have to eat something,” he presses, throwing his phone in your lap. “I’m going to change into something more comfortable,” Jeonghan pushes himself up with a groan. “And when I’m back you better have placed an order.” he points his finger at you playfully, waltzing away to plunder Seungcheol’s clothing.

You chuckle, shaking your head before scrolling through the long list of restaurants.

Jeonghan seems rather invested in the reality show he was shit-talking only the day before, frowning at the tv as he sits next to you with his legs crossed on the table. An empty pizza box is discarded to the side, another bag of chips open between your bodies.

“Why would she sleep with Diego if she already had a thing with Antonio?” Jeonghan scoffs, eyes glued to the screen.

You hum, surprised you’re agreeing on something for once. “Right? Antonio is solid. He’s perfect.”

“Exactly. He treats her so well,” Jeonghan cocks his head to the side, tsking at what he’s seeing. There’s a pause before he speaks again. “But… I kinda get it,” your eyes meet his in curiosity. “Diego’s tempting, knows right how to lure her in with his pretty words.” he grins.

“I guess that’s the point,” Jeonghan adds, sighing as he grabs a handful of chips.

“What is?” you frown.

Jeonghan looks at you again, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “Sometimes people want what they can’t have. Even if they’ve already got everything they need.”

“Sounds reckless.” you sigh, stealing a chip from his palm as you take in his words.

He shrugs. “Yeah, well… people are.”

The two of you stay up watching the next three episodes until ‘Next episode on Wednesday’ pops up on the screen. “Pfft.” Jeonghan huffs, left in disbelief at some plot twist as you navigate back to the main screen.

“Wednesday’s tomorrow.” you remind him casually, chuckling when he gasps next to you.

You scroll through the large selection of movies, Jeonghan proclaiming his disinterest until you stumble on some early 2010’s romcom. You flick the remote to the side to get comfortable on the couch, instantly feeling comfy engulfed by the thick blanket.

Weirdly enough, the day didn’t turn out to be that bad with Jeonghan around. You almost had… fun. It felt like something had shifted, the usual heavy energy replaced by an easier, comfortable atmosphere. Maybe you were finally starting to get along with Jeonghan now that Seungcheol wasn’t between you.

Movies weren’t usually your thing, evident by the way your eyes instantly start to feel heavier. You catch yourself slowly drifting off, trying to force your eyes open again to keep you up.

Jeonghan’s too engulfed in the movie too notice, and it isn’t until half an hour later he spots your sleeping figure. He takes a quick picture of you, your head at an awkward angle that could only be uncomfortable. He silently laughs as he sends the picture to Seungcheol, tossing the bag of chips on the table and accidentally waking you up in the process.

“Hm?” you frown in confusion, Jeonghan shushing you as he goes to sit directly next to you. “Here,” he whispers, offering his shoulder to sleep on. You rub your face in an attempt to stay awake again, making him roll his eyes as you try to watch the movie you’d already missed over half of.

You barely last a minute before Jeonghan gradually feels the weight of your head pressing against his shoulder, your breathing getting deeper.

“Stubborn girl.” he mutters before turning his attention back to the movie, suppressing a yawn himself.

It doesn’t take long for Jeonghan to follow into your footsteps. He dozes off next to you as the movie keeps playing, and eventually the screen automatically goes black.

A groan slips past your lips. Outside it’s still pitch black, your tired eyes blinking in confusion at where you are. There’s a weight against your body, and you groggily remove yourself from under Jeonghan’s body as inaudible mumbling comes out of him.

He frowns almost angrily being disrupted in his sleep, pushing a hand through his dark locs as he tries to make sense of the situation.

“You woke me up.” he whines, his voice a couple octaves lower. You force yourself up, stretching to relieve your sore muscles. “My back is killing me.” you sigh, rubbing your lower back. Jeonghan sighs in annoyance, covering himself with the tousled blankets. “Whatever. Let’s just go to sleep again,” he mumbles, meeting your eye expectantly.

“No. I want to sleep in bed.” you tell him, his frown deepening before he rolls his eyes and goes to lay down. “Fine. Don’t wanna hear your snoring anyway.” he says, putting two pillows under his head.

“I wasn’t snoring.” you defend yourself as you bend over him, feeling around for your phone under the blanket. “Woah, touchy subject?” he chuckles, swatting away your hand at his side before nodding at the table.

You grab your phone, mumbling a quick ‘good night’ as you stalk towards the bedroom, eager to get under the much warmer comforter. Suddenly you halt, turning around to see Jeonghan bundled up under the thin blanket. It was winter, and you were sure he wouldn’t be able to get a decent night’s sleep like this.

“Jeonghan?” you call him.

“Hm?” he simply hums, not bothering to move from his spot.

“You can…you can just-“ you sigh, interrupting yourself. “Sleep next to me? It’s too cold here.” you finally say, scratching your neck awkwardly.

Jeonghan turns to you, pushing himself up to be able to look at you. He goes to make a snarky comment, but he keeps himself from doing so after seeing the earnest look on your face.

“Yeah, no—okay,” he says casually, following you to the bedroom.

You don’t say much as you both get under the covers, a safe distance between you lying in Seungcheol’s big bed.

“Try to keep your hands to yourself,” Jeonghan sighs, almost chuckling when you only reply with a hum, too tired to respond to another one of his jokes.

Naturally, Jeonghan faces you, his eyes suddenly taking in the expensive gold bracelet around your wrist. The design is intricate, a continuous trail of interlinked logos, each adorned with a tiny red diamond at its center.

He rolls his eyes realizing Seungcheol has the exact same one, as he’d nudged his friend into buying him a matching one after he’d seen his. The jewelry costs well in the ten thousands, a sour feeling in the pit of his stomach at the stupid couple bracelet.

Jeonghan turns his back to you in annoyance, trying to sleep with you easily dozing off again.

A foreign presence wakes Jeonghan with a low, involuntary groan, his hand somehow comfortably resting atop your waist. At some point during the night, you had ended up spooning, though the how was a mystery to him. Not that it mattered much when more… pressing matters demanded his attention—namely, the way your ass presses against his now hard crotch.

To make things even worse, soft, breathy whimpers escaped you as you unconsciously ground back against him, sending his pulse racing.

“God.” Jeonghan curses quietly, instinctively tightening his fingers into your plush skin. He doesn’t feel guilty shifting closer, sighing when he slowly starts grinding his impossibly hard cock against you. This was your fault after all.

He gulps at the friction, inhaling the scent of your shampoo as he keeps moving, biting his lip to keep himself from groaning. Your grip tightens on the comforter, your chest heaving as your panties stick to your wet core.

Eager to relieve himself, Jeonghan slightly picks up the pace, not too worried when your hazy eyes tiredly flutter open.

Before you have a chance to fully wake up he has you pressed flat on your back, rolling on top of your body to zealously rut against your clothed core. Your breath hitches before your lips are caught in a forceful kiss, drowning out any protests as he expertly swipes his tongue against your bottom lip.

Languid fingers find his shoulders, weakly grabbing him as you whimper against his mouth. You know what you’re doing is wrong, yet every touch lulls you further away from the edge of self-control.

Your cunt is pulsing deliciously, hips heedlessly bucking against him. There’s a desperation as you make out, a mess of spit and muffled gasps filling the otherwise quiet room.

“J-jeonghan-“ you whimper, finding enough strength to squeeze his shoulder fruitlessly, the length of his dick rubbing into you with purpose.

You help the hasty hand push down your pajama pants, fingers tugging at your ruined panties, ridding your sopping hole of the suffocating fabric as it clings to your thighs.

He’s hasty, teeth nipping at your bottom lip as you both choose to ignore the consequences of the situation you’d shamelessly gotten yourself into. Jeonghan hikes you up against his thighs, and the next thing you feel is his impossibly thick head pressing against your opening.

Your back arches as he easily slides in, the grip of your cunt inciting a deep groan from his throat. He bottoms out inside of you, wasting no time as he starts fucking you hard and fast, driven by an animalistic kind of lust.

Fingers tangle in his tousled strands, moaning loudly against his swollen lips as he rocks you deeper into the mattress. “God.” your eyes roll back, whimpering when he harshly starts sucking on your neck. “Don’t...” you beg him shamefully. Your hand tightens in his hair to forcefully pull him off, barely able to meet his gaze.

Jeonghan chuckles, tossing your arms above your hands to grip your wrists. “What? Don’t want your boyfriend to find out what you did?” he asks, wetting his lips before grinning cunningly. Your neck prickles at the mention of Seungcheol, breath shuddering when the man on top of you goes even faster.

“Just k-keep going.” you gasp, closing your eyes in pleasure. You can tell you’re not going to last much longer, your stomach burning as his cock reaches deep inside of you.

Jeonghan then suddenly tugs off the expensive bracelet on your wrist, your eyes quickly opening at the sudden intrusion. “I don’t think you really deserve this anymore,” he tsks, hauling it across the room without a care.

It crashes somewhere on the floor, discarded to the side and nearly forgotten again when Jeonghan quickly goes back to kissing you, once again shushing your futile protests with his skillful mouth as if nothing happened.

“Legs.” he mumbles against your lips, simply tapping your thigh. His tone is straightforward, and you choose to oblige. You both moan when you link your legs around his waist. His cock is deeply nestled inside of you as he shallowly fucks you, pelvis grinding into your sensitive clit.

“Fucking hell,” Jeonghan curses at the feeling of your sweet cunt. He yanks your shirt up to knead your tit. “I see why Cheollie likes you so much.” he almost smirks before his mouth encircles your nipple.

His tongue swirls around your pebbled nub, sucking and licking until he has you mewling under him. You squeeze his shoulder, back arching when his teeth drag over the plump skin. “Such pretty tits.” he sighs, giving your nipple a quick peck before suddenly pulling out of you.

He shushes you as he manhandles you on all fours, gripping your ass as he immediately sinks his length back inside of you again. Your toes curl as you tighten around him, gripping the mattress to ground yourself while a cry spills past your lips.

“C-cheol’s gonna kill you.” you then suddenly blurt out, cursing at a particular deep thrust. Jeonghan lets out a breathy laugh. “I wouldn’t be so sure, y/n.” he kneads your ass. “Whatever’s Cheol’s is mine anyway.” he smacks your ass as if to emphasize his point, groaning at the way you tighten around him upon hearing his words.

“Cum with me.” Jeonghan tells you, his lithe finger finding your wet clit. You bite your lip as he expertly plays with you, closing your eyes as he gets you closer and closer to the edge.

Your orgasm hits you hard, legs shaking as you cry out into the pillow. Jeonghan groans feeling your cunt pulsing around him, quickly pulling out to watch his cum make a mess of your ass.

He watches you ride out your high, stroking your twitching leg as you both catch your breath.

“Fuck.” Jeonghan curses, pushing a hand through his hair before getting up. “Wait here,” he tells you, putting on his boxers as you tiredly lie down. He comes back with a towel, carefully cleaning up the mess he’s left you before fully taking off the panties bunched above your knees.

“You should probably go to the bathroom,” Jeonghan says, opening Seungcheol’s closet to find you some clean underwear.

“I will in a minute.” you tell him, hugging the pillow as he easily slides on your panties for you. Jeonghan hums. “Then I’ll go take a shower.” he briefly pats your butt, tucking you in before disappearing into the bathroom.

You spot your bracelet lying on the floor, the post-orgasmic haze fading fast as you take in what you’d just done. Your thoughts spiral, the sound of the showerhead a cruel reminder of the moment you just shared with your boyfriend’s best friend.

“Do I keep having to tell you to watch that big mouth of yours?” you hiss at Jeonghan, elbowing him after you’re finally seated on the Japan airlines plane.

Jeonghan only laughs as if it’s all a big joke to him, obviously not worried about your constant fear of the idol being discovered traveling together with some girl.

“Probably.” he grins under his mask, cunningly eyeing you in amusement.

Anyone could tell you were nervous— not just because of the whole traveling situation, but there was obviously a much bigger issue taking up space in your head. You were getting closer and closer to seeing Seungcheol again. Your mind was running overtime.

Seungcheol had kindly offered to book you a plane ticket after you’d told him you got the green light to leave work early, excited you were able to spend some time together.

Naturally, Jeonghan tagged along—the short two-hour flight a perfect chance to reunite with his members before they were headed off to Singapore again.

It had only been two days since what had happened, and you hadn’t seen Jeonghan up until meeting him at the airport some hours prior.

“I know all the hot spots in Osaka. I can be your translator, you know—since Cheollie is pretty shit at Japanese.” Jeonghan goes on after take off, his body fully turned to you. You were happy there were only two seats next to each other in business class, offering some privacy as he kept talking to you.

“Can’t you just listen to music and leave me alone?” you huff, crossing your arms as you look out the airplane window. You kept thinking about Seungcheol, about what he’d do if he found out. You knew you had to tell him eventually, and the mere thought left you riddled with anxiety.

“You’re awfully tense today.” Jeonghan chuckles. You sigh in defeat when he leans in even more, lowering his mask while trying not to grin. “I can think of a few ways to help you with that,” he starts, his minty breath hitting your ear as you feel his hand on your thigh.

You only side eye him.

“Come meet me in the bathroom?” he whispers, his fingers furtively brushing the inside of your leg.

Your head quickly turns to him, taking in the amused look on his face. “Are you crazy?” you hiss, pushing his hand away. Jeonghan quietly laughs, shrugging before grabbing his phone. “Forget it,” he sings, idly clicking his tongue whilst busying himself on his screen.

You sigh quietly, annoyed by the fact he’s out here joking while you’re contemplating the future of your relationship.

You owed it to Seungcheol to tell him what had happened, and you finally settle on telling him as soon as possible—after the tour, for obvious reasons.

“Watch, he’s gonna be standing there.” Jeonghan murmurs to you right as the elevator door slides open. Just as predicted you’re met by a smiling Seungcheol, thick arms warmly engulfing you while lovingly pecking your cheek.

“Hi there baby.” he whispers while smoothing his hand over your head. You can’t stop smiling, watching him happily greet his friend before grabbing both your luggages.

“How was the show today?” Jeonghan asks as you pass the big collection of suitcases lined up in the hallway. The whole floor consisted of only Seventeen and their staff, giving them as much privacy as possible.

“I’m so tired.” Seungcheol laughs as he unlocks his door, putting down all your stuff before dramatically letting himself fall down on the bed. You chuckle when he pouts while making grabby hands at you, pulling you on top of him when you get close enough.

“Did you two have fun?” Cheol asks, tightening his arms around you.

The sudden question makes you a bit tense, and you’re painfully aware of Jeonghan taking a seat on the bed right next to you and Seungcheol.

“Oh, of course. We had a lot of fun, right y/n?” Jeonghan smiles at you knowingly, amused at the situation.

“Yeah… Jeonghan’s not too bad.” you only say, nuzzling your head against his firm chest to avoid looking at your poor unsuspecting boyfriend.

Seungcheol kisses your head, stroking your back while a sudden knock on the door has him looking up with a frown.

“Jeonghannie hyung?!” Mingyu calls from the other side.

“Ah, Kim Mingyu!” Jeonghan almost shouts, pushing himself up to open the door for his younger member.

You give Seungcheol a quick kiss before sitting up, your boyfriend mimicking you and watching the tall boy hugging Jeonghan as he dramatically wails about missing him in a high pitched crying voice.

Jeonghan giggles. “I know, I know,” he sighs while patting his back.

Mingyu flashes you a toothy smile once he’s done greeting Jeonghan. “y/nnie, you made it!”

“I know…” you pout, patting Cheol’s knee. “Can’t wait to see you guys perform tomorrow,” you smile, making the boy next to you gleam boyishly.

Mingyu chuckles. “This hyung will definitely try to show off with you there.” he teases Seungcheol, making the older one roll his eyes playfully. “So what…” he sulks, hugging your arm before putting his head on your shoulder.

“Anyway. You’re all hungry, right? Hoshi hyung, Dino, and I were talking about having sashimi and beer on the way back from the concert,” Mingyu looks around expectantly.

“Good idea, I’m starving.” Jeonghan rubs his belly.

Seungcheol looks at you. “I think we’ll pass.” he says, sitting up straight.

“Noo…” Mingyu pouts, giving Jeonghan a look as if to ask for backup.

Jeonghan chuckles. “Let’s give the lovebirds some time to themselves, Mingyu.” he pats his friend’s shoulder.

“Alright...” Mingyu sighs, pouting before waving at you with a smile. “See you tomorrow, y/n!” he then says, everyone saying their goodbyes before the two leave.

“Finally.” Cheol grins, making you laugh when he pins you to the bed to kiss you. “I missed you, baby.” he says before kissing you again, pecking you all over your face. You giggle, putting your arms around his neck. “Me too, Cheollie,” you sigh, stroking his thick hair.

“Cuddle with me…” Seungcheol whispers, pressing his forehead against yours. You smile. “Let me take a shower and we can cuddle the whole night.” you tell him, making him pout. “Alright… only if you hurry,” he chuckles.

“Promise.” you give him a kiss before getting up, zipping open your suitcase for some fresh clothes.

“You’re not hungry? I can order room service and It’ll be here once you’re done,” Cheol watches you grab your things, big eyes following you attentively.

“I’m not hungry, baby. Thank you.” you wink at him before disappearing into the bathroom, making him smile before he makes himself comfortable waiting for you to get back.

Seungcheol might’ve been more tired than you thought—you find him fast asleep once you walk back into the room, his phone barely clutched in his hand.

He mumbles when the mattress dips next to him, instinctively finding your warmth and putting his arm around you to keep you close. You kiss his cheek, taking in his handsome face with an odd feeling brewing in the pit of your stomach before you allow yourself to finally drift off.

—It’s the next morning. Breathy, deep groans still echo in your mind, the scene from before freshly burned into your vision after the sudden intrusion—the threat from behind the door not-too-kindly warning your boyfriend he’d be late to today’s practice if he didn’t leave.

God, how you’d missed Seungcheol’s presence. You had almost forgotten how easily he triggered this primal urge inside of you, the taste and feel of his veiny cock on your tongue a necessity most mornings. You riled each other up easily—equally as engrossed, willing to take and keep taking until ultimately one ends up winning your little game.

Needless to say the interruption had left you quite worked up.

Practice could go on for hours if you’re unlucky, cutting your afternoon together short before they had to perform again. You don’t know how much longer Seungcheol would be, and every minute felt like too long at this point.

You’d boxed up the remains of your breakfast, taken a bath until the water got too cold for you to bear, cleaned up the discarded items lying around, and you were still waiting.

Osaka seemed like a fun city with loads of places to explore, but you’d missed your boyfriend and the only thing you wanted was to be with him as soon as possible (and get your back blown out, obviously).

The sound of the heavy door closing catches your attention, eyebrows twitching when Jeonghan walks in. Now how did he get a keycard?

Jeonghan takes in your indifferent face. “I’m good, thank you for asking.” he chuckles, shrugging off his coat before crawling on the bed next to you. He kicks off his shoes, feet dangling from the side as he yawns while unlocking his phone.

“Did you go somewhere?” you sigh, fingers toying with the bracelet the man next to you had thrown around only days before.

Jeonghan hums. “Are you upset I didn’t ask you along?” he asks in a kindergarten teacher’s voice, making you roll your eyes.

“No.” you say flatly. “I didn’t even think of you today.”

“Ouch.” Jeonghan chuckles, eyes darting to you with a knowing glint. “Did Seungcheollie do something?” he asks, suddenly invested in where the conversation is headed. You give him a pointed look before exhaling a long sigh.

“No, just…” you pause. “It’s nothing.” you roll your eyes again.

He keeps looking at you—almost observing, and for some reason you can’t seem to read his motives. You never know what’s gonna come out of his mouth, and frankly it’s making you a bit nervous.

“I like it when you’re angry.” Jeonghan bites his lip, fully expecting you to scold him again.

You’re hesitant instead. “Not today, please.” you breathe, avoiding fully looking at him. You’re not sure what will happen if you do.

Jeonghan cocks up his eyebrows curiously, a silent challenge woven in his gaze as he shifts on his side to close the distance between you.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, frustrated at how horny you still are. He’s not making this any easier for you, especially with those long eyelashes blinking at you, as if you can’t tell this is one of his games.

“Practice is dragging out.” Jeonghan tells you as if he’s simply informing you, yet a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Sit down.” you almost whisper, but Jeonghan hears you loud and clear, fully grinning as he does just that.

You kneel on the floor before him. “Don’t fucking smile.” you warn him as you hastily unbutton his jeans. You eagerly push down both his pants and boxers, cock resting in his lap as you start to press open mouthed kisses all over his length.

Jeonghan exhales a breath, closing his eyes when you grab his cock to lick the top. You collect your spit, letting it messily dribble down before spreading it all over him, sucking on the top as you pump him until he’s fully hard.

“Fuck.” he exhales, hand finding your hair. His eyes shoot open when you suddenly take him down your throat, lewd sucking sounds filling the room as you try to take as much of him as you can. “Jesus, you’re crazy.” Jeonghan groans, tightening his grip on your hair.

He relishes in the way your throat constricts around him, gagging as you try to take even more. Your eyes water, vision glazed over when you meet his sultry gaze again. Jeonghan lazily grins at you. “You’re really shameless, huh?” he says, urging you to keep going with his hand.

You go faster, switching between sucking on his tip and licking around the head before taking the whole length down your throat again. You grip his legs, and Jeonghan whines when you swallow around him.

“Don’t do that if you don’t want me to cum already.” he hisses, fingers tightening in your hair. You ignore him, so cockhungry the only thing you want is to swallow his cum. You can already taste the salty flavor on your tongue, humming as you keep bobbing your head.

You almost don’t hear the door opening, too engrossed in sucking Jeonghan’s cock to notice.

“Oh Coups-ya, you’re back.” Jeonghan grins at his friend, your eyes widening while the secure hand in your hair keeps you pressed on his cock. The hairs of his happy trail tickle your nose, the skin pressing directly into his pelvis as a panicked, muffled sound escapes you.

“You’re really doing this without me?” Seungcheol sighs in annoyance. The question catches you off guard, Jeonghan chuckling at his friend. He looks down at you choking on his cock, teary eyed as you squeeze his thigh fruitlessly as a silent plea for him to ease up.

Jeonghan finally pulls you off him, a string of saliva connecting you as the two men look at you. You catch your breath, guilt written on your face when your gaze meets your boyfriend’s.

Seungcheol chuckles, leaning in to wipe your glossy lips with his thumb before grabbing your chin. “Are you not gonna finish Hannie off?” he asks, giving his friend a quick look. You gulp, confused by what’s happening.

You don’t say anything for a moment as you take it all in, realizing maybe it wasn’t a coincidence Jeonghan had access to the hotel room—after all, whatever’s Seungcheol’s is Jeonghan’s.

“Come on. Don’t be rude, baby.” Cheol says, guiding your face back to his friend’s crotch. Jeonghan leans back on his hand, the other caressing your cheek while you hesitantly grab his wet cock again.

“What’s wrong y/nnie? You were so eager right before Cheollie came.” Jeonghan smiles, his hand moving to your nape to urge you on his length again. Your face heats up, shamelessly avoiding their eyes as your lips encircle his head.

“There you go,” Cheol praises you, his big eyes watching you suck Jeonghan’s cock. Jeonghan wets his lips, humming at you slowly sucking him off.

“Faster.” Jeonghan tsks after only a few seconds, patting your head. “Just like before.” he adds, grinning when you roll your eyes at him.

“She always this bratty?” Jeonghan asks Seungcheol, his eyes zoned in on the sight of your lips stretched around his length.

You shriek when you’re suddenly forced to take all of him, squeezing your eyes shut as a stern hand moves your head up and down. “You just have to be strict when that happens.” your boyfriend says, his presence looming above you.

Jeonghan wipes at a stray tear in the corner of your eye, softly groaning as his friend makes you go even faster. “God…” he breathes, throwing his head back. The sounds you make are dirty, a mix of spit and muffled whimpers of resistance turning both boys on even more.

You drag your tongue against his protruding vein, sucking harder to trigger his orgasm. “Fuck… g-gonna cum.” Jeonghan moans, looking at you through his long eyelashes. He moans even harder when Seungcheol makes you take every inch, keeping you there like Jeonghan had before.

“Suck.” Cheol’s deep voice eggs you on, and you try your best before ultimately gagging, struggling to take all of him.

Jeonghan groans, gripping the sheets as his cum shoots down your throat. Seungcheol keeps you there for another second before finally pulling you off his cock, fingers tangled in your hair to watch you swallow down his friend’s cum.

You cough up some droplets on Jeonghan’s thigh, still catching your breath as Cheol wordlessly makes you lap up the mess you’ve made off Jeonghan’s skin with your tongue.

“Good girl.” your boyfriend smiles proudly, fixing the messy strands of your hair after pulling you up. His arm encircles your waist, tugging you closer until your front presses against his. “My turn.” he whispers in your ear, his plump lips tugging up in a subtle grin.

You can feel his hardness pressing into your stomach, the rough hand palming your ass possessively.

“You-you’re not mad?” you stutter, sighing when he nips at your earlobe. “Mad?” he smiles. The pads of his fingers stroke the skin under your shirt gently, lingering right above your sweatpants.

Seungcheol chuckles at you, giving you a quick peck before spinning you around to press his front to your back now.

“Why would I be, baby? Didn’t Jeonghannie take good care of you while I was away?” he whispers in your ear, toying with the strings of your sweatpants. You make the mistake of meeting Jeonghan’s heavy gaze, the boy clothed again and sitting on the foot of the bed in front of you with a big grin plastered on his face. He cocks up his eyebrow at you, lazily leaning back supporting his weight with his palms.

Hesitantly, you nod, looking back at Seungcheol who hums almost mockingly. His fingers glide into your panties, finding your wetness.

“So why aren’t you thanking him?” he says lowly, his thumb pressing into your clit. You exhale a breath, his deep voice sending a wave of heat through your stomach.

Your face feels hot, embarrassed as you look at Jeonghan. “Thank you, Jeonghan.” you say shyly, his big eyes watching what's happening in front of him brazenly.

Jeonghan hums, wetting his lips as he relishes in your apprehension.

Your boyfriend teases your entrance, fingers dipping against your hole as he slowly circles your clit. “Good girl.” he praises you, pecking your cheek. His lips drag down your jaw, two of his fingers pressing against your slit as if he’s going to enter, only to stop and tease your entrance again.

“Cheol…” you breathe, grabbing his wrist. Seungcheol chuckles, swiftly removing his hand from your pants. Before you can complain again he manhandles you down on the bed, giving Jeonghan a signal his friend immediately understands.

Jeonghan sits down against the headboard, putting an arm around you when Seungcheol has you lay against his friend’s chest. Jeonghan removes your shirt while your boyfriend busies himself taking off your sweatpants and panties, leaving you bare for them to feast off what they’re seeing.

“You ready, sweetheart?” Jeonghan toys with your nipples, rolling the hardening buds between his fingers. “I think this pussy’s forgotten all about Cheollie’s cock after obsessing over mine...” Jeonghan chuckles, earning a glare from his friend while you just gasp at the way he’s playing with your tits.

“See? She’s not even denying it.” he continues, giving your cheek a kiss while groping the swell of your chest.

Seungcheol ignores him, taking off his shirt to reveal his toned body. You unapologetically gawk at his meaty arms, the muscles flexing as he takes off his jeans. You squirm against Jeonghan’s body a little, getting impatient at the way Seungcheol is making such a show of taking off his clothes while looking down at you.

He finally takes off his boxers, his hard cock slapping against his stomach lewdly. He doesn’t waste much time, tossing your legs open to settle between them, spitting on your cunt before rubbing the bulbous tip all over your wetness. Seungcheol hums, pumping his length a few times before pressing the head against your messy entrance.

A whimper leaves your sore throat when he starts pushing inside, slowly, to make you feel every very inch. He’s stretching you, the painful yet delicious burn making you gasp and squirm again. Jeonghan grabs your throat, keeping you still as Cheol bottoms out. You moan weakly, feeling him nuzzled in the deepest parts of you.

“Missed this tight pussy.” Cheol sighs, leaning in to kiss you. He licks a stripe on your bottom lip, nibbling on the skin before licking into your mouth messily. You groan in each other’s mouths when he starts moving, your hands finding his thick head of hair.

Jeonghan kisses your neck, licking and sucking on the skin as he applies pressure on your throat. His teeth graze the skin, your breathy moans muffled by Seungcheol when he bites you.

“One cock isn’t enough for you, huh?” Cheol says, going faster again. He gives you another chase kiss before licking a broad stripe on your nipple, sucking your tit in his mouth and making you moan loudly.

Jeonghan uses his free hand to grip one of your thighs, opening you further for Seungcheol. “Fuck...” you sigh, pressing your head back against Jeonghan’s chest.

“Such a good slut…” Jeonghan hums, surprising you by suddenly tightening his grip on your throat painfully tight. “Come one, say you like Hannie’s cock best and I’ll let you breathe again.” he grins in amusement.

“Jeonghan.” Seungcheol warns his friend, giving him a pointed look.

Jeonghan chuckles, loosening his grip again. “Alright, alright, geez.” he smiles cruelly as you catch your breath, your chest heaving. He removes his hand all together, fingers finding your wet clit instead. You buck your hips in pleasure, moaning fruitlessly as the two play with your body.

“Shit, keep doing that Hannie, she gets so fucking tight when you play with her clit.” Cheol groans, fucking you even harder to chase his release. The sound of skin slapping fills the room, your body squirming and moving as pleasure overtakes you.

Cheol slaps your thigh roughly, making you gasp at the sting. “Be good.” he reminds you. Jeonghan’s arm encircles your waist to keep you still, his other hand pinching your clit to incite another loud cry from you.

“Are you gonna cum? Gonna—shit. Gonna make a mess of this pretty pussy.” Seungcheol moans. He hastily puts your legs over his shoulder, leaning in until his chest presses against yours, almost bending you as he rests his forehead against yours.

“Go on, baby. Cum on my cock.” he breathes, groaning at the way you’re tightening around him. Your thighs burn at the angle you’re being pressed, shaking as you moan at the pleasure you’re receiving. Jeonghan presses tentative kisses in your neck, fingers rubbing you faster and faster until your release washes over you.

It hits you hard, tears in your eyes as your body shakes, whimpering at the feeling of Seungcheol cumming inside of you with a guttural moan, warmth flooding your walls as he keeps thrusting until he’s filled you completely. “Fuck.” Seungcheol sighs, slowing down until he stills inside of you, giving a few more shallow thrusts to stir the mess of cum inside of you.

“Our good girl…” Jeonghan strokes your sides, kissing your temple.

Seungcheol slowly helps you put down your legs, massaging your sore thighs for a moment before slowly pulling out of you, smiling at your soft whimper.

“You must be tired, huh baby?” Cheol gives the inside of your knee a kiss, watching you nod soundlessly. They both chuckle, and Jeonghan slowly helps you sit up again.

Seungcheol gives you a long kiss, stroking your cheek sweetly before getting up. “Do you want Hannie and me to help you shower, baby?” he asks. You nod again. “Yes, please.” you answer.

Jeonghan hums. “Let’s get you showered then, y/nnie.” Jeonghan tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before pushing himself up, standing next to your boyfriend with his arms crossed.

You look at them standing in front of you, and something tells you this is going to be your new normal. The mere thought has you excited for what’s to come.

1K notes · View notes

rubywoozii · 27 days ago

Text

the one with mingyu and the twin bed

summary: you brought your boyfriend to your parents’ house for christmas dinner. he can’t get a grip because you can’t keep yours to yourself. pairing: kim mingyu x f!reader type: drabble (smut) | rating: 18+ | wc: 3.5k au: est. relationship, home for the holidays cw: teasing, teasing, teasing; unprotected sex; mingyu is a pouty lil simp; multiple orgasms; reader rides it like she stole it and has to keep him quiet in the process :’) a/n: nobody asked, i just have mingyu brain rot 🥲 🚨 MINORS OR AGELESS BLOGS WHO INTERACT WITH MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED. MY WORK IS NOT FOR YOU.

You might kill him. And really, if that’s not your goal, it’s still the most likely result. This road you’ve chosen starts with a squeeze of his knee under the table, travels up his thigh and — well, Mingyu can imagine how it ends, but not when or where. That’s the problem.

Well, that’s the primary problem.

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

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

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

“— feeling okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your father smirks, “That’s my girl.”

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

Fuck.

Is he about to faint? He really might faint.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Attempted murder,” Mingyu mumbles helplessly.

God, he’s pathetic.

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

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

Are you there, God? It’s me, Mingyu.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

How is he supposed to fuck you under these conditions?

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

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

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

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

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

Mingyu is many things, but he is not quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right out of the gate, he trips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, he really might cum on the spot.

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

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

“What do you want, baby?”

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

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

“My mouth?”

Oh god.

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

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

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

Mingyu is so hard that it hurts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, he’s going to be so good for you.

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

“Fuuuuck.”

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

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

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

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

Any distance is too much.

“But you feel so fucking good —”

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

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

It’s torture.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The only thing louder than the playful smack you land on his bicep is your laugh, straight from the bottom of your chest.

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rubywoozii · 28 days ago

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06:43pm | kim mingyu

SYNOPSIS. in which you ask your sleepy husband the *most* important question in the world. PAIRING. husband!kim mingyu x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, tiny bit suggestive at the end, established relationship WARNINGS. kissing, terms of endearment, implied that he’s um shirtless WORD COUNT. 916

"Gyu?"

Mingyu stirs slightly right next to you, and you would think he would open his eyes up to his name, but he doesn't. You see the way he falls back into his napping state, and it makes you chuckle softly. Reaching a careful finger out, you faintly trace the line of his cheekbone, mapping out to the mole to his cheek, while relishing the soft warmth of his skin beneath your touch.

You notice a faint smile quivering of his lips from your feather-light touch. It's a heartwarming sight, knowing that even in his dreams, he seems content, peaceful. However, your gentle touch eventually awakens him from his slumber, and he shifts once more, this time more noticeably.

With a soft groan, his eyes slowly flutter open, gaze meeting yours, and he manages a tired, yet affectionate smile, hands coming to grab at the sheets to cover over his bare upper body. Your finger is still tracing down his jawline, and he shivers with a pleasant shudder at your touch.

"Hi," You greet him softly.

"Hey," he mumbles with half-lidded eyes, voice still husky from the long nap.

"I have a question for you," You tell him, keeping your tone serious. "It's very important, and I want you to be fully, one-hundred percent honest with me right now."

He yawns, letting his arms stretch as he lets out a deep breath, before encircling back around you and pulling you closer to him. You watch the way his sleepy grin transforms into a contented smile as he holds you close, feeling the way his chest rises and falls with each breath that left those pretty lips of his.

"M’kay," he responds quietly.

There's a playful glint in your eyes that he swears he sees, but he's too tired to fully register it and way too comfortable to say anything more, so he just watches you in anticipation.

You lean in closer, voice dropping to a whisper.

"Do you think I'm pretty?"

Mingyu's drowsy gaze meets yours, and he blinks slowly and furrows his brows together, as if he's processing the question like he's hearing it for the first time, or like a puzzle he has to put together in his sleepy mind. You swear you could see the way the question bounces around in his half-awake thoughts, playing in his brain like a delightful riddle.

"Sweetheart," he murmurs. "we're married."

He's right, of course. His words hang in the air for a moment, and then a knowing smile spreads across your face, realising how absurd it may seem to ask such a question after all this time together, but you know you just asked for his reaction. You can't help but burst into a fit of giggles at his groggy yet utterly adorable state. Mingyu only blinks at your laughter, looking momentarily puzzled before a small smile crosses his lips.

"Oops," You quip teasingly. "I guess I forgot."

He pouts exaggeratingly at this, and not just a pout, but a pout pout. "How could you forget that?"

His sulky expression tugs endearingly at your heartstrings. You reach out to gently cup his cheek apologetically, your thumb brushing over his lower lip.

"Aw, my sweet baby," You coo amusingly. "I didn't forget, I promise. I'm just teasing, and I love hearing it from you."

Even if you've been married for years now, the way his cheeks flush a soft pink at your words, and the way his eyes light up with adoration, makes your heart flutter just as it did when you were just young, dumb, and in love. There's something about hearing those reminders that yes, you are married𑁋you married the love of your life, the same man who you've been pining for since the moment you laid eyes on him and who still makes your heart skip a beat after all these years.

The journey from strangers to friends, to dating, to finally saying "I do" had been filled with ups and downs, but it was a journey you wouldn't trade a single second of it for anything in the world, all because it led you to this exact moment.

"Hmm, you better not forget ever," he warns, letting out a faux grumble, but you notice the corners of his lips are fighting back a smile. You know he can never stay mad for long, especially when you tease him like this. "or I'd have to remind you every day."

I wouldn't mind that, You think, chuckling softly before leaning in to plant a loving kiss on his pouty lips, which seems to melt away any lingering sleepiness surrounding him instantly. I wouldn't mind that at all.

When you press another kiss to his lips, he responds by deepening it almost naturally, his strong arms coming to wrap around you more tightly. You feel the way he smiles under the kiss, the warmth of his body enveloping you completely. And when you feel his fingers start to dance along your back, you let out let out a soft, breathy sigh against his lips, and there's a smirk that forms at his mouth from the response he elicits from you.

His lips part from yours, and he trails a line of soft kisses along your jawline, each one causing your heartbeat to quicken. He nuzzles his face against your neck, peppering it with affectionate kisses that make you lightly giggle, before coming to the sensitive spot behind your ear.

"And you're not just pretty, honey," he whispers between kisses, warm breath caressing against your skin, and you tilt your head back slightly to grant him more access. "You're goddamn breathtaking."

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo

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rubywoozii · 28 days ago

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pieces of heaven ; kwon soonyoung

summary: soonyoung may be chaos personified himself, but he finds a little piece of comfort in the haven that turns out to be the cozy bookstore you work at.

pairing: kwon soonyoung x gn!reader

contains: comedy (i tried), tiger agenda, swearing, dk's allergies, booseoksoon as roomies shenanigans, reader and seungkwan are masters students, seungkwan being a key player, wonu cameo, CAT !!!

word count: 4.87k

a/n: here's a wholesome little piece before i go back to college ; also let it be known i know nothing about bookstores or being a masters student so let me know if i got anything wrong!

tags: @mochacoda @imujings

Kwon Soonyoung, for all of his chaos and his tendency to skew the average decibel reading higher wherever he is, can be shockingly bashful at times.

Which is why when he follows Seungkwan into a rickety old building, and his eyes fall on you, all he does is silently appreciate how cute you look, with the glasses perched on your nose and the stack of books you’re holding as you converse with his friend. Seungkwan is only here to drop off some notes — he has a class with you, he mentioned — but he gets roped into an in depth conversation about some dude named Daws-toe-yef-ski.

Whatever, Soonyoung thinks. He’s not much of a reader, and hasn’t been for years.

Once you’ve safely put the notebook away, you glance over at him curiously.

“Anything for your friend?” you ask politely.

Friend? Oh, that’s me, Soonyoung realizes, but Seungkwan butts in before he can utter a single word.

“No way! I don’t even think he’s picked up a book since high school,” he jokes, eliciting a pretty laugh out of you. “You would never catch him dead in here unless I dragged him. I think he’s allergic to words.”

“Oh, dear,” you say, very amused.

Seungkwan should be awarded a trophy for being the Worst Wingman Ever (On Accident), Soonyoung thinks, now that you’ve possibly branded him as an illiterate idiot in your mind.

“Your friend probably thinks I’m stupid,” he whines as he follows Seungkwan out onto the street. “Why’d you have to do me like that?”

“Did I lie?”

“...No. But still!”

“Don’t sweat it, dude. Why are you so stressed? You’re probably never gonna see them again.”

But Seungkwan is quite smart, especially when it comes to his friends, so his head snaps back up to gawk at Soonyoung in surprise.

“You want to see them again,” he says slowly.

“Hopefully. Ideally.”

“This is either going to go really well, or it’ll end up being the worst fumble of your life.”

“I should have just stayed home with Seokmin,” Soonyoung says accusingly. “At least he has some level of faith in me.”

Seungkwan just sighs, pushing his glasses up with all the exhaustion a twenty-four year old could possibly muster.

“I suppose you can tag along next time,” he decides graciously. “Although I have no idea when ‘next time’ would even be, but —”

“Really? You’re the best,” Soonyoung beams. “I’ll do all the dishes for the next month, I swear.”

Seungkwan just smiles, internally grateful for the reprieve from spending so much time in the kitchen. Seokmin, for one, can’t go a day without accidentally breaking a glass or plate, so this is the next best option.

“Alright,” he says gleefully. “Suit yourself.”

The next time Soonyoung sees you, it’s purely by accident.

It’s a small restaurant in the neighborhood, one especially beloved by Seungkwan for its kalguksu, so he and Seokmin accompany him for lunch. Neither of them have much going on, anyways, and they haven’t been able to have a meal together for quite a while.

But when he holds the door open for the person behind him, it doesn’t really hit him at first that it’s you. Not until he hears you, at least, saying hello to the owner in that clear voice that he recognizes instantly.

Yet again, Seungkwan beats him to it, calling your name out excitedly. “What are you doing here?”

“Just getting some food before my next shift.” You look a little tired, even as you greet them all cordially. “Are these your roommates?”

“Right, this is Seokmin,” he points out, “and this is Soonyoung. You met him a few days ago at the store, remember?”

“I do remember,” you say with a faint smile. “The one who’s ‘allergic to reading’.”

Seokmin disguises the laugh that escapes him as a snort, and then a coughing fit. Soonyoung wants to strangle Seungkwan then and there, lunch be damned.

“Nice to see you again,” he manages instead, face heating up in embarrassment. You look so good under the lighting that he can’t even maintain eye contact, and your gentle gaze isn’t really helping either.

“You should come sit with us,” Seungkwan offers, “I promise we’re better company than eating alone.”

“I also promise Soonie won’t say anything stupid,” Seokmin cuts in.

“I’m going to kill you both later,” Soonyoung mutters under his breath.

The friendly fire doesn’t seem to deter you at all; you accept the offer gladly and end up right across the table from him. At first, you don’t really say much — he knows, the three of them on their own are loud enough as is — but he senses you coming out of your shell a little bit more the longer the meal goes.

“Oh, by the way,” Seokmin starts, reaching for his water. “You go to school with Seungkwan, right?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I think the first time we met was in a marketing management class last year.”

“I’m so sorry for you.”

Seungkwan frowns at him. “Are you even my friend or not?”

“To be honest, I didn’t really speak to him that much,” you clarify. “It was a huge class. But we did our final presentation in the same group.”

“Are you also in school for an MBA?” Seokmin asks curiously.

“Yes, but I’m focusing more on business economics and public policy,” you explain. “While Seungkwan is on more of a finance track.”

Soonyoung doesn’t say anything at all. He’s a little starstruck, and he just can’t help but hang onto your every word. You are so well-spoken, so smart; he barely even knows you, but he’s so proud of the things he’s learning that you’ve accomplished in life.

And then, in the middle of a story Seokmin is telling from when they were in college together, you check the time.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I really do have to go,” you apologize genuinely. “My shift starts soon, and I don’t want to be late.”

“Don’t be sorry! This was really nice,” Seungkwan says, also rising. “We should get together more often, since we’re in the same neighborhood a lot. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“For sure.” You smile at them warmly, and Soonyoung feels his heart skip a beat. “And feel free to drop by the store anytime, guys. You’re always welcome.”

All of you say your goodbyes at the door, and now he’s wishing he said something, anything earlier, because he’s not sure when he’s going to have the time to see you again. His unnatural silence definitely hasn’t gone unnoticed by his friends, and as always, they don’t cease their pestering until he spits it out.

“Did something happen?” Seokmin asks, genuinely concerned. “You promised you wouldn’t be mad if I told them about when you were drunk and actually thought you were a tiger!”

“No, no, it’s not that.”

“Kwannie, I think we broke him.”

“We didn’t break him,” Seungkwan corrects with a sly smile. “Someone else did.”

“Huh? Oh,” Seokmin’s mouth actually forms a capital O, his eyes going comically wide. “Oh, my god.”

“Okay, I know this is news to you, but I didn’t think it was that shocking,” Soonyoung grumbles.

“It’s just the first time in a while that you’ve been interested in somebody. Like, we all kind of assumed you weren’t trying to look for anything for a few years.”

Soonyoung knows the answer to that was just that there was never enough time — between graduating, the job hunt, and now trying to achieve a sane level of work-life balance, it was hard to make time, and he hadn’t quite met the right person.

But you pique his curiosity, and he wants to get to know you more. Slowly, but surely. Baby steps.

“Boo Seungkwan,” he says finally, voice determined, “you’re gonna have to wingman so hard your wings fall off!”

“… That one didn’t work at all.”

“Yep, sounded much better in my head.”

Days where you end up by yourself at work are your least favorite. It gets lonely in the small building, just you and the books lined up on shelves. Between assignments and the occasional customer, you do love to peruse the stories on the walls, but even that gets old sometimes.

You love talking to people. You love telling them stories, giving the recommendations when they ask, you love interacting with those who just drop by out of curiosity —

The little bell rings, and you turn eagerly to the door before stopping short with surprise. It’s Seungkwan’s friend, from the day he lent you his econ notes.

Right, you recall. Soonyoung.

“Hi,” he says nervously. He’s got a backpack slung over his shoulders, and he’s wearing a button down shirt with slacks, employee ID still around his neck. “Sorry, you must be wondering why someone like me is here.”

“No! Not at all,” you rush, closing your textbook. “Come in, please. I haven’t really had company all evening.”

Soonyoung smiles, understanding. “Slow day so far?”

“Yeah.”

He approaches your table carefully so he doesn’t knock over any of the stacks, setting his backpack on one of the stools. You emerge from behind your table, brushing some dust off of your jeans.

“Were you looking for something in particular?”

“Not really,” he says sheepishly, dark hair falling over his forehead. “I was kind of hoping you could, um, help me find something I’d enjoy reading.”

“Trying to get back into it?” you dare to tease, just slightly. You’re not sure if you’ve crossed a line, especially with someone you’ve only met twice, but Soonyoung just laughs with you, eyes forming happy crescents.

“I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have something to do after work to rewind,” he explains.

“Right, it is nice to relax. Well, unless you’ve picked up a thriller or something like that.” You beckon for him to follow you, and he does. It’s kind of cute, the way he stares at the tall shelves in awe. “What kinds of things do you like to watch? You know — shows, movies, stuff like that.”

“I’m not much of a thriller guy,” he admits, rolling his sleeves up amidst the cozy heat of the store. “I like when the main characters get their happy ending, it’s so wholesome.”

You throw an amused smile over your shoulder. “A hopeless romantic?”

“I can’t help it, okay? I love love!”

“Nothing wrong with that,” you remark, compartmentalizing how adorable you think he is and putting it away in some corner of your brain. Never mind that. You finally find the shelf you were looking for, and pull out the book you had in mind. “I think you should give this a try, for starters, and depending on how you like it, we can go from there.”

Soonyoung glances at the title, flipping the book to read the back cover. “Pride and Prejudice?”

“A classic,” you tell him, tapping the cover. “Perfect for a romantic like you. It’s quite comedic, too, if you really understand Austen’s sense of humor.”

“Austen?”

“The author. One of my favorites,” you muse. “You’ll understand, when you read it. She has a very interesting way of narrating things.”

He nods, listening to your every word. “I guess I’ll find out for myself soon enough.”

The bell rings again, faintly, before you can say anything else. Soonyoung just looks at you with those expressive eyes, waiting.

“I should probably go help,” you say, a bit awkwardly.

“Yeah, you should,” he agrees.

“Well, if you want to take it home, I’ll be at the counter,” you inform him, “but if you want to read for a bit, there’s a couple of bean bags at the back. We close at seven-thirty.”

“Okay,” he says simply, fingers tracing the title on the cover. He looks very intrigued, and you smile to yourself. This is what you love about working here.

It takes you a little longer than expected at the counter; you wish Wonwoo was here, at the rate customers start filing in one after another. However, you know he’s taken the day off to study for a major exam, so you handle the steady flow alone.

By the time you’ve sent them all on their way, it’s nearly seven o’clock, and it’s now completely dark outside. Rearranging your things on the small table, you decide to head to the back and check on Soonyoung, since you haven’t seen him in a minute.

“Soonyoung?” you call, making your way through the shelves, and dodging the occasional book on the floor. No answer. Huh. Your brows furrow — has he fallen asleep? — as you turn the last corner.

Soonyoung is not reading; in fact, the book you gave him has been abandoned in favor of the cat on his lap he’s currently showering with attention. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but he’s talking softly to her, and what is most surprising is she’s completely still, curled up on his thighs. In the many months you’ve worked here, you’ve never seen her willing to be in such close proximity with someone before.

“I see you’ve met Koala,” you say gently, crouching down beside them. He looks up at you, and you swear he looks like he’s about to cry.

“Her name is Koala?”

“Yeah.” You point to the gray splotches on her body as she tucks her paws in closer to herself. “I came up with it, and she seemed to like it, so it stuck.”

“That’s the cutest thing ever,” he says, almost tearing up as he reaches to scratch her under her chin. “Does she just come in whenever? Like, is she anyone’s, or?”

You shake your head, stroking her head softly. “Not officially, but she spends most of her time in here, so we leave food and water out for her when we can. She’s good company on days where nobody comes in.”

“She’s so adorable,” he whispers in awe. “I would have adopted a cat a while ago, but Seokmin is very allergic, and we still live together, so…”

You hum in agreement, just watching the two of them coexist peacefully. Koala is fully loafing in his lap, eyes drooping closed and purring ever so softly.

“She likes you,” you observe. Soonyoung just laughs quietly, petting her back gingerly.

“Maybe I just have a way with animals,” he muses. “One time, I was walking back to my car after work and a sparrow just randomly perched on my shoulder. I didn’t even realize until I got in and started hearing chirping. I thought I was going crazy!”

“So Disney prince -esque,” you giggle.

“Ah, you flatter me too much.”

The moment feels like a little bubble, and you are so encased in the warmth of it that you almost forget to check the time.

“Shit,” you mutter, glancing at your watch and standing back up. “I’m so sorry to cut your time short, but I should probably get to closing up right now.”

“Don’t apologize, I’ve probably overstayed my welcome, anyways,” Soonyoung says, a little abashed. He carefully picks Koala up and plops her down again, and she scampers away the moment her paws hit the floor. “Here, I’ll help you clean up.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” you tell him, heat rising to your cheeks. “There’s not much to do, anyways —”

“I insist,” he says simply, giving you that adorable, contagious smile. It’s hard to say no to a smile like that. “It’s the least I can do after I sat here for an hour playing with your cat instead of actually reading the book you took the time to pick out for me.”

You purse your lips stubbornly. “Fine, but you’re only in charge of the stuff at the counter and nothing else.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

And honestly, time seems to go by a lot faster when it’s not just you cleaning up and preparing for tomorrow. You sweep the floors while Soonyoung re-shelves the books left on the table up front, and you listen to his anecdotes as you get the work done.

He likes talking, and you like listening, you realize. But even more nuanced than that, is the fact that you like listening to him.

He approaches you again when you’re at the counter going through the signed receipts you told him to leave alone so you could organize them accordingly, book in hand.

“Sorry I didn’t get through much of it today,” he apologizes, passing you the copy of Pride and Prejudice. “But I’d like to take it home to read. I did enjoy the part of it that I got through, so you really hit the nail on the head with that one.”

“Really? That’s good to hear, I’m really glad,” you say, scanning the barcode and logging the ISBN number before you hand it back to him. “This one’s on the house. Think of it as a little gift to start your reading journey.”

“What? No, you don’t need —”

“Soonyoung,” you interrupt gently, “Please. I insist.”

He doesn’t refute that, face morphing into a shy smile as he accepts your gesture. “Thank you.”

At the end of the day, when all is said and done, you slip your books back into your bag, grabbing your jacket off of its hook. Soonyoung just waits patiently as you get ready to lock up, absentmindedly toying with his lanyard as he stands by the door.

“I’m sorry that took a while,” you tell him. It’s nearly half past eight now, and you feel a little guilty for letting him stay. “I know you dropped by after a work day, too, it must have been tiring.”

“Not at all. I had fun, and I’m really glad I got to meet Koala.” His hair is a little tousled now. You find it cute.

“Still,” you say, “thanks for sticking around until closing. You really didn’t have to.”

He just beams back at you. “I wanted to.”

Those honest words put butterflies in your stomach. You don’t know where to look, so your eyes fall everywhere, anywhere but him.

Quietly, you follow him out the doors, shivering slightly as you turn to lock them. It’s a little windy out, and the breeze sends a chill through your whole body, but Soonyoung seems to exude some type of warmth, the kind that makes you feel at peace and safe.

The two of you follow the same sidewalk for a few minutes, but your street arrives a little faster than you would have liked.

“I live down this way,” you break the calm silence, gesturing vaguely to the road.

“It’s not too far, right? It’s really dark out,” Soonyoung asks, his tone laced with concern.

“It’s not too long of a walk. I’ll be alright.” You pull your jacket tighter around yourself, like a shield from the cold and all of the thoughts you shouldn’t be having for a man you’ve only met a couple of times.

“I’ll see you around,” you add, but it comes out sounding more like a hopeful question.

Soonyoung just smiles. “Yeah,” he says in that honeyed voice of his.

(It sounds more like an answer than anything else.)

“See you around.”

There are a lot of notifications Kwon Soonyoung receives on his phone — the work group chat, his roommates, his family — but his favorite ones are the texts from you.

He loves it when you send him pictures of Koala while he’s at work, or the occasional update on how your assignments are going, but most of all, he loves when you start talking about your favorite stories and how much they mean to you.

Over the past couple weeks, he’s dropped by the store at least a couple of times every week, always making sure to help you close up before leaving. Sometimes you joke that you’ll need to hire him as a part-timer, and honestly, if he wasn’t already employed he doesn’t think he’d mind it. It’s become a safe haven for him; he likes how cozy the atmosphere is in there, and he likes getting to spend time with you.

You are so smart, and you never think any less of him, even when he cringes a little bit after a particularly dumb question leaves his mouth. But you never mind it, always explaining it to him with ease. Always so patient, always willing to hear his silly thoughts out.

Being with you is like being bathed in the first ray of sunlight after winter. He thinks he could relive that feeling forever.

“I think you should just ask them out,” Seungkwan always says. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“They could ghost me forever and never speak to me again?”

“Oh, that’d be bad,” Seungkwan muses, “but I don’t think they’d do that. Honestly, Soonie, they seem as into you as you are into them. I don’t think you have a lot to worry about.”

Soonyoung looks up, in the middle of typing up a response to you, and pauses.

“I don’t even know if they’re looking for something right now,” he says slowly. “What if they’re not ready for a relationship?”

“How do you know that?” Seungkwan asks, mildly irritated at just how dense his friend is being. “Isn’t that a question you should ask them before you jump to conclusions?”

“Yeah, you are leaping,” Seokmin adds, not looking up from the video game he’s playing. “With a long jump medal on the horizon.”

Soonyoung purses his lips, sinking back into the couch. They’re both right, he knows that, but his current situation is so precarious it feels like a step in any direction will lead to unintentional self sabotage. At the same time, even the slight chance that you’ll look at him the same way makes him want to take the risk.

“Okay,” he mumbles, very aware of Seungkwan’s sharp eyes on him while his own are glued to his phone screen. “We’ll see.”

Except nobody does see, because all the courage in Soonyoung’s body immediately evaporates at the sight of your bright smile, asking if he’s had a good day while Koala tries crawling up your shoulder. How is he supposed to ask you something so important when he can barely manage a hello?

He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to formulate thoughts when you’re looking at him like this. He thinks he could get lost in the warmth of your gaze.

“Soonyoung, are you okay?”

“Huh?” He blinks, brain rebooting. “Sorry, uh — where was I?”

“You were telling me about Seokmin’s dog,” you say patiently, though the amused grin on your face doesn’t go unnoticed. Not by him, and certainly not by Wonwoo, who just barely conceals a laugh at the entire situation.

“Oh, right,” Soonyoung nods, embarrassed. God, get a grip, dude. “Coco. Yes. We all really love Coco.”

Wonwoo doesn’t manage to hide the snort that escapes him this time. You level a glare at him and he quiets down.

“I’m sure you do,” is all you say, and Soonyoung sends a prayer up to whatever higher power exists that you aren’t calling him out on how awkward he’s being right now. He hasn’t really been able to function normally since he walked in, anyways. “Doesn’t Seungkwan’s family have a dog, too? I feel like he mentioned it at some point.”

“Right, yeah, they do.”

You sigh, hands on your hips. “They’ve got a couple of parakeets, right?” you ask, testing him with a lie.

“Mhm.”

“And a horse in their backyard?”

“Yeah, for sure.”

“Soonyoung.”

The sharpness of your voice and the sound of his name jolt him back to his senses. Your expression is firm now, and Wonwoo is nowhere to be seen, leaving the two of you alone under the dim light. He scrambles for something, anything, to say in response.

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

“Is something up?” You frown, folding your arms. “You’ve been weird since you walked in, and you won’t tell me what’s going on either.”

A caption this: of his face right now would read ‘Deer in Headlights’. “What? I’m not being weird!”

“Soon—”

“Go out with me?”

His mouth immediately drops open at listening to himself blurt out the words he’d been thinking for some time now. He hears a stack of books drop at the back and internally kicks himself, realizing Wonwoo was likely eavesdropping.

“Sorry,” he rushes to say, anxious. “That — Shit, I wasn’t supposed to say that, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Your previously stunned face falls a little bit. “You weren’t?”

“What — you’re not mad?”

“No?” You’re staring at him in disbelief. “Should I be?”

Soonyoung feels a little tug at the bottom of his jeans, followed by a dainty meow, and he reaches down to scoop Koala up and let her get comfortable on his lap.

“I’m glad you’re not,” he says, scratching her chin gently, “but I really thought you would be.”

“Oh.” You don’t know what to say next, fingers tracing and retracing the embossed letters on one of the hard copies on your desk. “So…”

It’s now or never, Soonyoung thinks, and he’s already gone too far for him to backtrack and choose never.

“I like you,” he starts, a bit awkwardly. Eye contact is suddenly the hardest thing ever. “I know you always feel bad, but I like staying until closing and helping you clean up. I like listening to you talk about books I’ve never heard of before, and I like letting you practice your presentations on me when nobody comes in some days, even if you think they’re really boring.”

“Econ is pretty boring,” you point out, ignoring the heat that creeps up in your cheeks.

“Not if it’s you,” he insists. “I could sit through an entire lecture if you were teaching it, and you know I can’t sit still at all.”

This draws a laugh out of you. “That is true,” you concede.

“You’re so smart, so hardworking,” Soonyoung takes a tentative step towards you, heart absolutely pounding in his ears, “and I’d really like to take you out. A proper date, somewhere nice.” He pauses, clearing his throat. “Only if you want to, of course.”

“If I tell you that I like you back, I think you’ll get even redder, and I don’t know if that’s physically possible,” you tease, before saying gently, “Of course I want to, Soonyoung. A date with you sounds lovely.”

From her cozy spot on his lap, Koala stretches her head up and lets out a loud meow.

“See, she agrees too,” you laugh, reaching over to pat her head. Soonyoung, though, is still stuck in a moment from a couple of seconds ago.

“You like me back?”

“I thought we already established that when I said I wasn’t mad!”

“Just feels kind of unreal now that you’ve said it,” he mumbles in disbelief. “I didn’t anticipate this going so well, honestly, but… I knew I’d regret it forever if I never asked.”

“I’m glad you did, though. I was too scared to say anything,” you admit.

Wonwoo chooses to emerge from the stacks once again, before Soonyoung can say anything. He glances between the two of you, the grin on his face giving his eavesdropping away.

“Am I allowed to say I told you so?” he asks proudly, then, “Okay, okay, please don’t fire me,” as he backs away, wincing at the stern look you give him.

“Do you have to be so harsh on him?”

“We’ll never hear the end of it from him if I’m not,” you say, eyes narrowed. “One time, I almost fell off of one of the stools and he called me vertically challenged for a week.”

Stifling a laugh, Soonyoung points out, “You know Seungkwan won’t let us live this down for ages, right? I think he and Seokmin are tired of hearing me worry about this for the past few weeks.”

“I took care of Wonwoo, so those two are your domain,” you chuckle, “but I have a feeling you’re going to get the short end of the stick with them rather than me.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Dusk falls after your part-timer clocks out for the day, leaving just you and Soonyoung in the store. There’s an unspoken tension in the air, but the good kind, that blankets you like a cloak on a winter’s day. It feels cozy, like it was always meant to be that way. It just feels right.

“Do you want to close up with me?” you ask shyly, watching Koala scurry away. It’s almost time to go home, but you want to end your day with him by your side.

Soonyoung just beams back at you warmly. “I thought you’d never ask.”

And no matter what Seungkwan’s teasing words might be later, this feels like everything he’s wanted. This moment couldn’t be more perfect, he thinks as he gazes out the window.

The stars shine like well-wishers from the sky, the moon like a blessing, and you are next to him, head just barely leaning on his shoulder. Little pieces of heaven, existing on earth as memories.

Soonyoung’s heart is full, and his hand is in yours. Life is good.

thank u sm for reading! feedback always appreciated :) and, stay tuned for a drabble following this couple coming soon! much love, ashi xx

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rubywoozii · 28 days ago

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WHAT THE FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

551 notes · View notes

rubywoozii · 1 month ago

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Even Dumbasses Deserve Love

Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x reader

Genre: Fluff, f2l, angst if you squint, smut !MDNI!

Warnings: Jeonghan being an idiot, oral (f receiving), dry humping, unprotected sex (don't do it yall), multiple orgasms, let me know if I missed anything

Summary: Yoon Jeonghan, your beautiful, wonderful, amazing, dumb-ass of a best friend who somehow doesn't see how hopelessly in love with him you are.

Until he does.

Banner by @orngejuic Beta Readers: @gyubakeries @sanaxo-o @mylovesstuffs ily guys <3

Taglist: @syluslittlecrows @cynthbee

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Jeonghan prides himself in being two steps ahead of everyone. It’s just how he is—how he operates. He reads people easily, anticipates what they’ll do before they can even think it themselves. It’s why he always wins petty bets, why he always manages to dodge responsibility, why he can talk his way out of anything with nothing more than a lazy smile. He sees the signs before they become obvious, notices the smallest shifts in expression, the tiniest changes in behavior.

That’s why, after knowing you for years, Jeonghan finds himself baffled. The first time he notices something is when you sit in your normal seat next to him before your lecture starts, sliding a coffee in front of him. It’s something you do so often that it barely registers—until Seokmin starts to complain.

“Where’s mine?” Seokmin whines, dramatically slumping against the table. “Why does Jeonghan always get special treatment? I like coffee too, you know.”

You scoff, sipping from your own cup without a second thought. “You have two legs, Kyeom, use them.”

Seokmin pouts, muttering something about Jeonghan’s legs and injustice, but Jeonghan barely hears him. Because for the first time, he’s thinking about what Seokmin had said. You always bring him coffee. Always. Even when you’re running late, even when you don’t get one for yourself. Even when you grumble about how he doesn’t deserve it.

He lifts the cup, staring at the little details he’s never bothered to notice before. The way his name is scrawled across the side in your handwriting instead of the barista’s. The way you always get it exactly how he likes—two sugars, just enough milk to take the edge off the bitterness. The way you don’t even wait for a thank you.

Like it’s second nature. Like it’s just… what you do.

And now, he can’t stop thinking about it.

He starts noticing other things during the lecture.

How you always roll your eyes when he leans against you, but never actually push him away. How you scold him for doodling on the margins of your notebook, but still let him get away with it every time. How you look at him when you think he isn’t paying attention.

It makes something shift in his brain—tilting, twisting, catching on a thought he’s somehow never had before.

And maybe that should be the end of it.

But it isn’t.

Not yet.

Because a week later, it happens again.

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It’s late—too late for you to be waiting around for him, but you do anyway. The library is nearly empty, the last stragglers packing up as Jeonghan stretches his arms over his head with a groan.

“Finally done?” you ask, voice amused as you glance up from your phone. You’re already leaning against the table, your bag slung over your shoulder, like you’ve been waiting for him this whole time.

Because you have.

Jeonghan blinks. He hadn’t asked you to. Hadn’t even considered it. He just assumed you’d gone home when you finished hours ago. But you didn’t—you stayed.

“Why are you still here?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. “I thought you said you were leaving at nine.”

You shrug. “Changed my mind.”

Changed your mind.

Jeonghan frowns but doesn’t push further. Because now, he’s thinking about it again.

About the way you always are there whenever he needs you, about how you never actually leave until he does. About how, even when you complain about him, you’re still here.

Always here, waiting for him.

His stomach twists with something unfamiliar. Something that feels a little too warm, a little too close to something he isn’t ready to name. He follows you into the cold night air, his hands stuffed in his pockets. His thoughts are too loud, too disorganized, for him to focus.

And when you shiver beside him, he doesn’t even think—he just shrugs off his hoodie and tugs it over your head before you can protest.

You freeze, blinking up at him. “What—”

“Just wear it,” Jeonghan mutters, looking away.

And maybe, if he let himself think too hard about why he did that—why the sight of you in his hoodie makes something tighten in his chest—he’d realize he’s in way more trouble than he thought.

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The next time, it’s at a party.

Jeonghan isn’t even sure why he came—probably because Mingyu wouldn’t stop nagging him about needing to ‘go out and touch grass,’ whatever that means. The music is loud, the room packed with people, and Jeonghan, as usual, is lounging in the corner with a drink in hand, thoroughly entertained by the mess unfolding around him.

Then he sees you.

You’re talking to someone—some guy he doesn’t recognize, who’s standing a little too close, leaning in a little too much. You don’t seem bothered at a glance, but Jeonghan notices the way your fingers tighten around your cup, the slight shift in your stance. It’s subtle, something no one else would catch. But he does. He sees the tightness in your smile and the way you recoil when the man touches your arm.

Before Jeonghan can think twice, he’s already moving.

He slides up next to you easily, arm slinging around your shoulders like it belongs there, like it’s second nature. “There you are,” he drawls, flashing his most infuriating smile as he pointedly ignores the guy in front of you. “Been looking for you everywhere.”

You blink up at him, startled for only a second before you relax against him, leaning into his hold like it’s instinct.

The guy shifts awkwardly. “Oh, I didn’t realize you were—”

Jeonghan tilts his head, still smiling. He doesn’t say anything, just lets the weight of unspoken words hang in the air until the guy gets the message and quickly excuses himself.

Once he’s gone, Jeonghan glances down at you, raising a brow. “You okay?”

You let out a breath, rolling your eyes. “I was handling it.”

“I know.” He shrugs, arm still around you, still holding you close. “Felt like bothering you anyway.”

You huff, but you don’t pull away.

And then it hits him again.

The way you always let him do this—let him close, let him linger. The way you lean into him, like you belong there. The way it feels so natural that he doesn’t realize he's still holding onto you until his fingers tighten slightly on your shoulder.

Something warm twists in his chest.

He should let go. He should step back.

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Another day, it’s at lunch.

Jeonghan doesn’t think much when you slide into the seat across from him, tray in hand, like you always do. He barely glances up from his phone as you start picking at your food, the conversation around you blending into background noise.

Then you do something that makes his fingers still over his screen. You push the cucumbers off his plate. It’s so natural, so absentminded, that you don’t even seem to notice yourself doing it. Just a quick movement, the same way you always do.

Jeonghan stares at his plate, where the cucumbers had been only seconds ago, now neatly placed onto yours without a word. He glances up at you, but you’re still focused on your meal, completely unbothered, like this is just… normal.

He thinks back—tries to remember when this started. When you figured out he didn’t like cucumbers. When you decided, without being asked, to take them off his plate every single time.

Jeonghan swallows.

“Are you gonna eat that?” you ask suddenly, pointing at the bread roll on his tray.

He blinks, momentarily caught off guard before scoffing. “At least let me offer before you start eyeing my food.”

You roll your eyes, reaching over to grab it anyway. “Please, you were gonna give it to me either way.”

He doesn’t argue. Because you’re right. He always does.

And now, as you tear off a piece of the bread and pop it into your mouth without thinking, Jeonghan can’t help but notice the way this has all become a habit. The way there are things you do for him without question. The way there are things he does for you, too.

Jeonghan exhales, poking at the rest of his food, but suddenly, it doesn’t taste the same.

Because now, he’s thinking about it again.

Thinking about what makes you act like this.

But he doesn’t ask.

Not yet.

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The next instance is in the rain.

Jeonghan had told you to go home before the storm hit, rolled his eyes when you stubbornly refused– insisting you’d be fine– until he finally managed to convince you. And now, standing under the awning of a closed convenience store, watching the rain pour down in sheets, he’s debating whether he should call you just to say, “I told you so.”

Then his phone buzzes.

You: are you still at the library?

Jeonghan frowns, quickly typing back.

Jeonghan: no, at the convenience store across from it, dorm ran out of soju You: don’t leave yet. I’m coming to get you.

He stares at the screen, brow furrowing. You’re coming to get him?

It takes you fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes of Jeonghan watching the rain fall, of tapping his fingers against his phone, of wondering—really wondering—why you’re doing this.

And then you’re there, pulling up to the curb with your hazard lights flashing, hair slightly damp from the short sprint to your car. You barely give him a chance to react before you’re unlocking the door, waving him in.

“Hurry up,” you say, like this is normal. Like it’s nothing. Like you haven’t just driven across town in the middle of a downpour for him.

Jeonghan slides into the passenger seat, dripping water onto your floor mats. He doesn’t speak at first, just watches you as you reach into the backseat and pull out a towel.

You toss it at him without looking, focused on pulling back into traffic. “Dry your hair before you get sick.”

Jeonghan stares at the towel, then at you. “Did you—”

“I always keep one in my car,” you interrupt, as if reading his mind. “For emergencies.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh, rubbing the towel over his damp hair. “So, I’m an emergency now?”

“You’re definitely something.” You shake your head, smiling to yourself. “I don’t know why I bother with you.”

But you do.

You do, every single time.

You didn’t have to come get him. You didn’t have to wait for him at the library, or bring him coffee every morning, or let him cling to you at parties without question.

And yet, here you are.

Jeonghan exhales, pressing his lips together, fingers tightening around the towel in his lap.

His chest feels warm again. Too warm.

He should say something. Should tease you, should make some dumb joke to brush this off like he always does.

But for the first time, he doesn’t.

For the first time, he just sits there, watching you drive, heart pounding against his ribs.

But he doesn’t want to think about how you make him feel.

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The worst time is when he’s sick.

Jeonghan rarely gets sick. He prides himself on that, actually—on having an immune system strong enough to withstand whatever hell Mingyu’s cooking experiments unleash upon their friend group. But now, he’s curled up in bed, utterly miserable, his head pounding and his throat raw.

He doesn’t remember texting you. He’s not even sure if he did. But somehow, you’re there.

The knock on his door barely registers, his brain foggy with fever, but then you’re pushing it open, arms full—plastic bags rustling, a familiar frown on your lips.

“Yah,” you scold immediately, setting everything down on his desk before walking over to him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were dying?”

Jeonghan groans, burying his face in his pillow. “Not dying.”

“You sound like you swallowed glass.” You reach out, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead before he can stop you. Your skin is cool against his overheated skin, and it makes him shiver.

You frown deeper. “You’re burning up.”

“I’ll live,” he mutters, voice hoarse.

You click your tongue but don’t argue, instead moving back to the desk, unpacking the bags you brought. Jeonghan watches through half-lidded eyes as you pull out medicine, a bottle of his favorite drink, a container of porridge, and— he freezes, heart stuttering.

You brought the exact brand of honey lemon lozenges he likes. The ones he always complains are overpriced but still buys anyway. His fingers twitch where they rest against his blanket.

“How’d you—” He stops to clear his throat. “You remembered?”

You glance at him, raising a brow. “Of course I did.”

You say it like it’s obvious, as if he’s the weird one for even questioning it. Jeonghan doesn’t know what to say to that, so he stays quiet, watching as you pour medicine into the cap and hold it out expectantly.

He doesn’t complain. Doesn’t make a fuss like he normally would.

He just sits up, takes the medicine, and lets you take care of him.

And this time, he doesn’t try to push the warmth in his chest away, choosing instead to bask in your care, pretending it means more than it does.

But he doesn’t admit that.

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The next time Jeonghan notices it, really notices it, is a week later.

You don’t know it’s happening (not that you ever do). Don’t notice that he’s staring at you from across the table, barely registering Seungcheol’s story about some girl who ghosted him after three dates. Don’t know that something in his brain is shifting—catching on a thought that’s finally fully formed.

He watches the way you laugh at something Mingyu says, how your nose scrunches slightly when you sip your too-sweet drink. Watches the way you lean back in your chair, rolling your eyes at something dumb he said earlier.

He thinks about how easily you fit next to him. How you always have.

And then it hits him.

A slow-burning realization that should’ve hit him years ago.

The reason you always let him steal your food even when you pretend to be annoyed. The reason you text him good morning when you know he won’t wake up until noon. The reason you never let him get away with his bullshit but still let him stay, no matter how insufferable he is.

The reason you look at him sometimes like he’s the only person in the room, like you’d give him the world if he just asked.

The reason you always have.

His stomach flips.

Oh.

Jeonghan blinks. Swallows hard. Tries to ignore the sudden, inexplicable rush of warmth crawling up his neck. Because this—this—should not be happening. He’s Jeonghan. You’re you. His best friend. The one person who never falls for his tricks, never gets caught up in his nonsense.

Except… you do, don’t you?

And he’s been too blind—too stupid—to see it.

“Oh, shit,” Jeonghan mutters under his breath.

Mingyu pauses mid-bite, looking up. “Huh?”

Jeonghan forces a lazy smile, shaking his head. “Nothing.”

But it isn’t nothing.

It’s everything.

And Jeonghan—who has always prided himself on being two steps ahead of everyone else—has never been more terrified in his life because now, he can’t stop noticing.

It’s in the way you always save him a seat, even when the lecture hall is packed. The way you complain about his bad habits but never actually stop him. The way your fingers brush against his when you pass him something, lingering just a second longer than necessary.

It’s in the way he finds himself looking for you first in a crowded room, in the way his teasing has softened without him realizing, in the way his heart stumbles over itself when you laugh at something he says.

It’s in the way you listen to him—even when he’s talking absolute nonsense—nodding along like his words actually matter. The way you remember the smallest things, like how he hates cucumbers or how he always picks the sesame bagel first. The way you instinctively move closer when he nudges you, like it’s second nature, like you don’t even think about it.

And Jeonghan—who has always prided himself on knowing things before anyone else, on seeing things before they happen—is suddenly drowning in a realization that has been staring him in the face for years.

Because it’s not just you.

It’s him, too.

It’s the way he always shifts closer to you on instinct, the way his gaze flickers toward you the second you walk into a room. The way he lets his guard down without thinking, lets you see the parts of him that no one else does. The way he keeps finding excuses to be near you, even when he tells himself he’s not.

It’s the way his hoodie still hangs in your closet because you never gave it back—and he never asked for it. The way he’s memorized the exact rhythm of your footsteps when you walk beside him. The way he never thinks twice about sharing his food with you, even when he swats Seokmin’s hand away for trying the same thing.

The way his heart is racing right now, loud enough that he swears someone else must hear it.

He swallows hard, fingers tightening around his drink.

Because if all of this is true—if he’s been feeling this way without even knowing it—then that means everything has already changed. And he has no idea what to do about it.

Jeonghan feels like he can’t breathe. The noise of the hole-in-the-wall restaurant, the laughter, the clatter of plates—it all feels too loud, too much. His skin is buzzing, his thoughts spiraling, and before he can stop himself, he’s pushing back his chair and standing up.

No one really notices—Seungcheol is too caught up in his story, Mingyu is still chewing—but you do. Of course you do.

Jeonghan mutters something about fresh air and slips outside before anyone thinks to ask questions. The cool evening air hits him like a slap, sharp and grounding, but it does nothing to quiet the way his chest is tightening. He leans against the brick wall, pressing his palms against his eyes, trying to steady himself.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.

The door swings open behind him.

“Jeonghan?”

Your voice is gentle, cautious.

He forces himself to relax, dropping his hands and looking at you with the most neutral expression he can manage. “What’s up?”

You step closer, studying him, your brows furrowing. “Are you okay?”

Jeonghan scoffs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You give him a look—the one that tells him you know he’s full of shit. “You just got up and walked out in the middle of a conversation. That’s not normal.”

He shrugs, shifting his weight. “I just needed some air.”

You don’t move. Don’t buy it for a second.

“Jeonghan.” Your voice is softer this time, almost hesitant. “What’s wrong?”

And he could lie– brush it off, smirk, make some dumb joke to change the subject. That’s what he always does. But for some reason, with you standing there, looking at him like that—like you care, like you’re waiting for the truth—he finds that he can’t.

So instead, Jeonghan exhales sharply, shakes his head and looks away. “I think I just realized something really, really big.”

You tilt your head. “What?”

He hesitates– opens his mouth, closes it.

Then—

“It’s nothing,” he says, too quickly. Forces a smirk, even though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Come on, let’s go back before Mingyu eats all my fries.”

You watch him for a moment longer, and he wonders if you can see through him, if you can hear all the things he isn’t saying.

But then, finally, you sigh. “You’re acting weird.”

Jeonghan laughs, bumping his shoulder against yours as he steers you back inside. “I’m always weird.”

You roll your eyes but let him pull you along. And Jeonghan?

Jeonghan wonders if he’s just made the biggest mistake of his life.

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He tells himself it’s fine. Tells himself it was just a weird moment, a fleeting thought, something he can push down and forget about if he just acts normal.

So that’s what he does.

For the next few days, he’s careful– not staring too long when you talk, not lingering when you walk beside him. He keeps things exactly the same—laughs at your complaints, steals your food, teases you like he always has.

But he can’t unsee it now.

Can’t unfeel the way his heart stutters when you smile at him. The way his skin burns when your arm brushes his. He finds himself watching you when you aren’t looking, cataloging all the little things about you that he somehow never realized were his favorite things.

Worst of all—he can’t unsee the way you look at him.

Because now that he’s noticed, he knows.

You’ve always been looking at him like that.

And now it’s killing him.

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It all comes to a head one night when you’re at Seungcheol’s place for a movie night. The room is dim, the couch too crowded, so you end up sitting on the floor between Jeonghan’s legs. It’s normal. You’ve done it a hundred times before.

But tonight, Jeonghan feels every shift, every time you lean against him. Your shoulder against his knee. Your head tilted back against his leg when you laugh at something on the screen. The warmth of you, right there, so close, so easy.

And then—because the universe is cruel—you grab his hand absentmindedly, just to play with his fingers like you always do when you’re fidgeting. But this time, Jeonghan’s entire world tilts on its axis. His breath catches, heart lurches.

And suddenly, all he can think is—I’m so fucked.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring at your hand in his, feeling the slow, absentminded way your fingers trace along his knuckles. It’s nothing.

Except it isn’t because now he knows, and knowing makes it unbearable. So he does the only thing he can think of: he pulls his hand away and stands up.

Too fast. Too abrupt.

You blink, looking up at him in confusion as he mumbles something—some excuse that even he knows doesn’t make sense—and makes a beeline for the door. He barely hears the others calling after him, barely registers the cool night air as he steps outside, pressing a hand to his chest like he can physically push down whatever the hell is clawing its way up his throat.

This can’t be happening.

He can’t be acting like this.

But it is, he is.

And then—

The door creaks open behind him.

“Jeonghan?”

Your voice. Soft, uncertain.

He squeezes his eyes shut for a second before forcing a smile and turning around. “Yeah?”

You step closer, arms crossed against the cold. “You’ve been… off these last few days. Seriously, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Too quick. Too easy. A lie, and you know it.

You frown, chastising him, “Jeonghan.”

And the way you say his name—like you know him too well, like you can see straight through him—makes his stomach flip. He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I just needed some space.”

You study him, searching his face like you’re piecing together a puzzle only he knows the answer to. “Did I do something?” Your voice is quiet, hesitant, like the idea of hurting him actually hurts you. It almost makes him want to laugh because God, you have no idea.

“No,” he says, too soft, too real. “You didn’t do anything.”

You don’t look convinced, but you don’t push. Instead, you step closer, tilting your head. “Then what is it? I’m worried about you.”

Jeonghan looks at you—the way your brows furrow, the way your lips press together, the way you’re always standing too close but it never mattered until now. He opens his mouth to say something—anything—to push this moment away, to pretend like it’s just another weird, fleeting feeling. But then he looks at you, really looks at you.

Your eyes, wide and trusting, waiting for him to say something that will make sense of whatever the hell happened in there. He takes a step forward, slowly, almost reluctantly, like his body is moving on its own. His arms wrap around you on instinct, like muscle memory, like habit. But when his face finds the crook of your neck and you rub soothing circles into his back, it doesn’t feel like a habit at all. It feels like something else entirely.

Jeonghan pulls back slightly, his hands still lingering on your arms, as if trying to ground himself. The air between you is thick with unspoken words, and he knows he can’t run from it any longer. His heart is beating fast, and he finally asks, his voice tentative, “Do you... do you like me?”

You blink, the question catching you off guard. He’s asked you this before, often asking “what about me” whenever anyone compliments another person. For a moment, it feels like time has paused. He’s looking at you with this vulnerability, this rawness, and it’s both terrifying and comforting at the same time.

“Of course I like you, you’re my best friend.”

Jeonghan’s chest tightens at your words, and his breath catches in his throat. It’s not the answer he was hoping for, not exactly, but he’s not sure what he was expecting either. His heart sinks a little. He didn’t know what kind of answer he wanted, but this... wasn’t it.

“I—yeah, I know,” he says quickly, rubbing a hand over his face, clearly frustrated with himself. He doesn’t know why he feels so nervous now, why it’s suddenly harder to breathe. “But I mean... do you like me more than that? Like, in a way that’s not just... like that?”

There’s a pause as you look at him, and he can’t read your expression, can’t tell if you’re confused or just processing. But your eyes soften as you take in the question.

You tilt your head, trying to make sense of it. “Wait... are you asking if I like you like you?”

Jeonghan nods, a bit sheepish, unable to hide the vulnerability on his face now. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Have I been reading the signals wrong? Am I more than just...do you see me the way I see you?”

For a moment, you don’t say anything. The silence stretches, and Jeonghan feels his heart racing, anxiety curling in his stomach. He regrets even asking, but he can’t bring himself to back out now. Finally, you take a step closer, a smile tugging at your lips, though it’s a little teasing. “And what if I do?”

The words hit him harder than he expected, and for a moment, Jeonghan just stands there, blinking at you, his mind scrambling to catch up. He wasn’t ready for that answer. He wasn’t prepared for the shift in the air between you.

“Well,” he says, frowning. “Do you?”

You laugh softly, but there’s no mocking in it, just warmth. “I think you’re a little slow, Jeonghan. I don’t know how much more obvious I could’ve been. I’ve liked you for years.”

Jeonghan’s breath catches, and for a split second, he feels lightheaded, overwhelmed by the sudden clarity. His heart thuds in his chest as you step closer, and there’s a quiet intensity in your gaze that makes everything feel like it’s falling into place.

“You...” He’s still struggling to get the words out, his mind still spinning, but this time, it’s not confusion that’s holding him back. It’s something else entirely. “I didn’t know.”

You smile again, shaking your head and stepping just a little closer until there’s barely any space between you. “Well, I wasn’t exactly going to say it first, was I?” you tease, but there’s something deeper in your voice now. “You’ve been my best friend for how long now? I’ve seen you turn down hundreds of women.”

Jeonghan reaches out, his hands trembling just slightly as he gently cups your face in his palms, searching your eyes for any hint of doubt. “But... you’re different.” He whispers, his voice low but steady.

You lean into his touch, your eyes never leaving his. “Am I?”

He nods and you smile, causing warmth to spread across his chest. “What does this mean?” He asks hesitantly. Sure he’s been in plenty of relationships before, but he didn’t care about any of them like he cares about you because, like he said, you’re different.

“It means you’re an idiot for taking this long,” you say with a grin. “But it also means I don’t have to wait anymore.”

Before he can say another word, you close the space between you, your lips meeting his in a soft, slow kiss. It wasn’t urgent. There’s no rush, no pushing– just the slow pull of two people who had been waiting for this moment for far too long. Your lips are gentle, testing at first, as if asking for permission. And he gives it, deepening the kiss with a quiet intensity as your fingers thread through his hair, pulling him closer.

The kiss feels like a quiet promise, an unspoken exchange of everything you’ve never said. Your lips part, and he follows, the kiss turning softer, more tender as he tries to memorize every inch of you. He cups your cheek as if you’re something delicate, something worth protecting. Because you are.

It feels like time is suspended, like there's nothing else but the warmth of your mouths, the softness of your hands. Every part of him is alive with sensation, heart racing faster with each passing moment. He can feel your pulse, too—faster now, matching his.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads rest together, both of you smiling, hearts racing.

“How did you put up with me? I was such an idiot.” Jeonghan says softly, his voice full of affection, but also amusement.

You laugh, your fingers tracing his jawline. “Nothing out of the ordinary. And hey, even dumbasses deserve love.” You say, giving him a peck on the lips.

The sound of a door creaking open behind you breaks the moment, and you pull away reluctantly, both of you still close, but now acutely aware that you’re no longer alone. The sound of Seungcheol’s voice filters through the hallway. “Hey! You two coming back in or what? We need someone to help pick the next movie!”

You glance at Jeonghan, both of you smiling, the weight of the world feeling just a little lighter now. He laughs quietly, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks at you, a bit sheepish.

“Guess we should probably... go back,” you say with a grin.

He nods, still unable to wipe the smile off his face. “Probably, yeah. Or we could go over to my place instead?”

You just laugh, shaking your head, “Maybe next time, loverboy,” you say, dragging him back to the living room, this time snuggling up next to him under a blanket. Your hand rests on his thigh, trancing slow patterns absentmindedly onto the skin and making a shiver go down his back. It’s not the first time you’ve done this–heck you were fidgeting with his hand before he left–but this time is different. Because now you both know. Jeonghan tries his best to focus on the movie, he really does, but all he can think about is the softness of your lips on his, the way you tugged at his hair when he licked into your mouth, the way your hand feels so good as it squeezes his thigh.

Nope.

Nope nope nope nope nope.

He grabs your hand, flipping it up to interlock his fingers with yours because he is not about to get hard. You gently squeeze his hand, resting your head on his shoulder. He’s hyper-aware of how your hand slots perfectly with his, how you fling your legs over his own. When he glances over at you and sees a mischievous glint in your eye so often found in his, he knows he’s screwed.

And god does he love it.

It’s a running joke between your friends that Jeonghan can never last more than two hours, whether it’s drinking, socializing, or partying, after two hours Jeonghan will clock out. He manages to make it through three hours of your teasing as the movie plays in the background. He doesn’t know what's happening in the movie, and quite frankly, couldn’t give any less of a fuck. Not when he’s endured your breath ghosting over his neck, your weight shifting on him slightly too much for it to be innocent, for three. Whole. Hours.

Yawning and pretending to stretch when the movie is paused for a bathroom break, he stands up, allowing the blanket to fall from his lap and enjoying your complaint at the sudden cold.

“Alright,” Jeonghan announces, rubbing at his eyes dramatically. “I think that’s my cue to head out.”

A chorus of groans follows. “Dude, the movie isn’t even over,” Minghao complains, arms crossed.

“You do this every time,” Jihoon adds, unimpressed.

Jeonghan sighs. “It’s not even that good.”

“Bro, it’s nominated for like, five academy awards.” Vernon guffaws.

Jeonghan shrugs, entirely unbothered.

You roll your eyes but don’t move from your spot on the couch. “You’re so predictable.”

He hums, tilting his head at you. “I’m consistent, there’s a difference.” He grabs your hand, attempting to tug you up. “Come on, let’s go.”

You blink at him, feigning innocence. “Where am I going?”

“Home. With me. So we can escape these idiots. Duh.”

A pillow flies in Jeonghan’s direction, courtesy of Seungkwan. “We can still hear you, dipshit.”

Jeonghan easily dodges it before turning back to you with a grin. “Come on.”

You stretch your arms over your head and settle deeper into the couch, smirking at him. “I think I’ll stay.”

Jeonghan stares at you like you’ve just betrayed him. “But who’s going to drive me home?” He pulls his lips into a pout.

“I guess you’ll have to take the bus,” you drag out, watching the way his face scrunches in displeasure, “I want to finish the movie.”

Jeonghan narrows his eyes at you, crouching slightly to be level with your gaze. “But you don’t even care about the movie.”

You shrug. “Apparently it’s nominated for whatever Vernon said. Very interesting stuff.”

“Unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath. He drops onto his knees in front of you, leaning against the couch as he complains. “But I wanna go home.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Then go?”

His hand wraps around your wrist, tugging you slightly forward. “Not without you.”

“Jeonghan,” you warn, but it holds no real bite.

He whines, a real, genuine whine that has Jihoon groaning in disgust in the background before tugging you forward to whisper in your ear. “I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to be with you. Alone. Where I don’t have to share you with all these people.”

You fight a smile. “Wow, I never knew you were so clingy.”

He glares up at you, pout still prominent. “Only for you.”

There’s a beat of silence before you sigh dramatically, running a hand through your hair. “Ugh, fine.”

Jeonghan perks up immediately, eyes glimmering with victory. “Nice!”

You shove at his forehead lightly. “God, you’re so annoying.”

“And yet, you’re still coming with me,” he sing-songs, standing up and holding out a hand.

You take it begrudgingly, rolling your eyes when he laces your fingers together smugly.

“Bye, quitters,” Seungkwan calls out, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Jeonghan doesn’t even spare him a glance, tugging you toward the door with a satisfied grin.

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Jeonghan is not used to being the one squirming, yet here he is, sitting in your passenger seat, fingers twitching against his knee, fighting the urge to run his tongue over his bottom lip, needing something to do.

He’s been watching you for the past fifteen minutes, the way your hands flex on the wheel, the way your brows furrow slightly whenever he shifts in his seat. You’re pretending to be unaffected, as if his presence this close—his breath practically in your space, his eyes raking over you like he’s memorizing every detail—does nothing to you.

It’s almost convincing. Almost.

But Jeonghan knows you too well.

He wonders if you can feel the weight of his gaze as he studies you, cataloging every flicker of your expression, every little movement. The way your lips part slightly when you exhale, the way you press your tongue to the inside of your cheek when the traffic slows.

You’re gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary. It makes him smirk.

“You’re staring,” you say, voice clipped.

“Am I not allowed?” he asks, all feigned innocence. He props his chin up on his hand, leaning toward you just slightly, just enough to feel the tension coil even tighter between you.

He watches your fingers tighten just a little more. You don’t look at him. He grins.

“Thought so,” he murmurs, just to be annoying.

You exhale sharply through your nose. “Maybe if you weren’t looking at me like that, it’d be easier.”

“Like what? I’m just looking at my beautiful best friend who happens to be madly in love with me.”

You scoff, shooting him a pointed look, but he just smiles at you, that cute smile he always does when he’s being the picture perfect image of innocence.

He shifts in his seat, lets his hand fall casually onto your thigh. The reaction is instant—your muscles tense, just for a second, but he notices. He always does.

You don’t shove him off. You don’t even flinch. He lets his thumb move, tracing small, slow circles against the fabric of your jeans. Not enough to be obvious, but enough to be felt. Enough to make you react.

“Jeonghan,” you warn.

He hums, fingers pressing just a little firmer. “What?”

“You’re distracting me.”

He exhales a quiet laugh. “Wonder what that must be like.” He muses.

The car slows to a stop at a red light, and for the first time, you turn to face him fully. Your eyes meet his, and god, it’s enough to make his stomach twist. There’s a challenge there, a silent push and pull that makes Jeonghan wonder who’s going to break first.

Just as he’s about to push further, you grab his wrist.For a brief moment he worries that he’s gone too far, made you uncomfortable enough to shove him off, but you don’t. Instead you just turn his hand upwards to intertwine your fingers the way he did before.

“Behave,” you say simply.

And then you’re driving again, like nothing happened.

Jeonghan blinks. His mouth parts slightly, caught somewhere between shock and amusement, and he lets out a quiet chuckle, leaning back into his seat. His knee bounces slightly—he hates how much you affect him. (No, he doesn’t.)"

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As soon as his apartment door closes, your mouth is on Jeonghan’s. Your lips move urgently against his as he smiles into the kiss. When you tilt his chin to deepen it, pushing your tongue into his mouth, he makes a sound he didn’t know he was capable of– something between a whimper and a groan that screamed neediness.

“Angel,” He whines against your lips, hands running up and down your body as he pushes you harder against the door, slotting a leg between your thighs. Your fingers tug at his hair deliciously, soft lips contrasting the way they devour him. You grind against his thigh, sighing at the friction,your hands trailing down his body to tug at his shirt. You break apart so he can tug his shirt off, your hands leaving goosebumps as they trail across the newly exposed skin.

You break the kiss, trailing kisses across his jaw and down his neck, sucking marks onto his collarbone that have his mind reeling, “Please,” His hands squeeze your waist tighter, he doesn’t even know what he’s asking for anymore, all he knows is that he needs more; more of your touch, your lips, your smell, you, you, you.

You smile against his skin, your breath making him shiver as it fans across the wet patch of skin you had been ravishing, “Aww, Hannie,” you coo, “are you getting impatient baby?” Your hips grind into his thigh again and he lets out a shaky breath.

Witchcraft, he decides, is the only explanation to whatever spell you have him under. He nods frantically, hips involuntarily thrusting forward when you chuckle, lifting your face back up to his. The look in your eyes is a cross between adoring and down right evil as you kiss his lips languidly before moving towards his ear, “Think about how I’ve felt all this time.”

The whispered words get lost in his soft groans as you continue to kiss him, grinding harder on him and whimpering against his skin. Suddenly you’re pushing him, not separating your lips as you force him to walk backwards. You know his apartment like the back of your hand– even helped him unpack his moving boxes when he first bought it– so it’s no surprise that you lead him to the bedroom without a hitch, clothes falling off somewhere along the way until you’re standing in front of him, clad in a white set that-

Wow.

If Aphrodite exists, you must be blessed by her, he thinks (not wanting to eternally damn you by saying you rival her beauty—although he definitely wouldn’t say you don’t). The lace hugs your curves perfectly, small bows accentuating every beautiful—fuck, he doesn’t even know what he’s thinking anymore because you just look that good. Jeonghan doesn’t even realize he’s reaching for you, hands hovering in the air between you as if he's scared you’ll disappear if he touches you.

You reach out your hand to intertwine your fingers with his, pushing until he falls back onto the bed before climbing on top of him. You thread your fingers through his hair as you straddle him, kissing him slowly, grinding against his hardness through his boxers. The feeling has his eyes closing, needy groans escaping his lips before he can stop them.

“My pretty baby,” you whisper against his lips, hands tugging in his hair to give you access to his throat again, licking and sucking marks in ways that have his back arching off the bed. Your hands run up and down his torso, hips grinding harder against his prompting a string of curses to escape him as he grabs your hips—to stop you or push you against him more, he doesn’t know. “So needy for me, huh? Who knew that behind your teasing facade you were really just a brat?”

Does Jeonghan have a degradation kink? He didn’t think so until this moment, when his hips buck into yours involuntarily with a whine. “Angel, please, I—I need you.” He practically sobs when you start to climb off him, settling yourself on the bed and spreading your legs open. Jeonghan rushes towards you, breath catching in his throat at the sight of a damp spot in the center of your panties.

He settles himself between your legs, leaving marks on your inner thigh before nuzzling himself against your covered core. The sound of your breath hitching makes him chuckle as he presses a wet kiss directly over the damp fabric, “And you said I was needy.” He mutters, bringing a hand up to slide your panties to the side of your corce, practically drooling at the clear string of liquid that connects them. Unable to help himself, he licks at your entrance lightly, humming at the taste and the way your legs quiver next to him.

“You’re lucky I love you because if there’s one thing you were right about, it's that I am a tease. But tonight?” Jeonghan starts rubbing slow circles over your clit, “Tonight, I’m going to have you shaking under me.” With that, he rids you of your underwear completely before diving into your heat. Your hands once again shoot to his hair, pushing his face further against you as he eats your pussy like it’s his last meal on death row.

“Shit, Hannie, nggh.” You whine above him, moans getting higher in pitch as he takes your clit into his mouth, sucking harshly, “Fingers, please– fuck, please.” He isn’t one to deny you when you beg so cutely for him, reveling in the way your pussy practically sucks his finger in. He can feel how tight your walls are, slipping another finger in with ease because of how wet you’ve gotten. All for him. He curves his fingers into a spongy spot that has your back arching off the bed, proceeding to target the spot while attacking your clit with his tongue. The sounds coming from above him is music to his ears, all of his senses taken over by you as he feels you break around him. He doesn’t stop, drinking your juices and bringing you to another high just as quickly, until you’re quivering around him.

He slows down, not stopping but giving you time to catch your breath when you pull him away, bringing his lips back up to yours, not caring that you can taste yourself on his lips. You make quick work of your bra, throwing it to the side somewhere and Jeonghan can’t help but ogle. He sits up, dragging his hands up your bare body and resting them just below the swell of your chest. Slowly, he connects his lips to the skin, closing his eyes as one hand goes to fondle the other. Your hips start moving against his again, sweet moans coming from both of you. Eventually you push him back to the bed so you can appreciate the sight of Jeonghan, face flushed, hair splayed across the pillow behind him, lips parted.

With each rock of your hips, Jeonghan moans louder. Your movements get faster and faster, and so do Jeonghan's moans, the whimpers only making you need him more.

He can hardly stand it, gripping your hips as tight as he can, trying to hold himself back, but the pressure feels so good, and you look so angelic as you rub your bare pussy against him.

You grab his hair and pull his head back. "Fuck," he chokes, looking down at where you're grinding against him. You feel his cock twitch inside his pants, and switch your pace to a quicker rhythm, grinding harder as Jeonghan's eyes darken under you.

He grabs your hips tightly, goes still, and lets out a low whine. You feel his hips jolt beneath you, and you pause. His face is flushed a deep pink all the way to his neck.

You stare in disbelief. Jeonghan hides his face in your neck, holding your body close. You look beneath you, a dark spot forming in Jeonghan's boxers.

"Aw, Hannie," you pull his face from your neck, looking him in the eyes. "My sweet, sweet Hannie." You smile and kiss him slowly, full of adoration and love. You kiss down his neck, making way towards his dick before finally sliding onto your knees on the floor between Jeonghan's legs. You press a kiss to the wet spot in his boxers, looking him directly in the eyes as you do, and feeling him twitch against your lips.

You gently pull his cock out of his underwear, shocked to see him covered in his own cum. He twitches at the contact, sensitive.

"Fuck, you’re perfect."

You teasingly stroke his length and watch him twitch when your thumb runs over the tip. “Please,” he looks up at you through his lashes, pleading, "I need you."

Those words are all you need to hear before planting your legs on either side of him, reaching between your bodies and wrapping your hand around Jeonghan's length. You glide the tip along your entrance, soaking him in your arousal before lowering your hips to slide him inside you. Loud moans escape both of you at the sensation of him filling you. He says your name like a prayer, hands rubbing circles on your hips, not knowing if it’s to ground you or himself. You slowly lift yourself up before sitting back down quickly, loving the way Jeonghan’s head falls to the side. "Shit, pretty. So perfect for me, god."

His grip on your hips gets tighter as you pick up speed, your pussy squeezing around him as if it never wants to let him go. All thoughts are wiped from his brain when you start kissing him through moans, whispering in his ear about how good it feels, how much you love him. He can feel you getting closer, your cunt pulsating with every roll of your hips. He brings a hand to your clit, starting to rub circles when you break, bringing him over the edge with you.

Your body collapses over Jeonghan's, shaking slightly as you come down from your high. Although he’s not in a much better state, he flips you onto your back, slipping out of you despite your protests and appreciating the way his cum drips out of your hole. He makes his way to the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth to clean you up a little until he notices you awkwardly waddling in after him. He’s unable to stop the laugh that bubbles in his chest, making you pout as you sit on the toilet to let the cum drain out of you.

Jeonghan leans over, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, and he can’t help but notice how beautiful your smile is—how it lights up your face and his days.

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Epilogue:

Jeonghan doesn’t change. He still steals your food, still drapes himself over you like a cat when he’s tired, nuzzles into your shoulder and complains that you’re too warm when it’s his fault for climbing all over you in the first place. He still teases you mercilessly, grinning that lazy, adorable infuriating smile whenever you roll your eyes at him.

What’s changed is that now, you kiss him to shut him up. And Jeonghan—who spent so long hiding behind his charm, his easy confidence—doesn’t even try to stop you. If anything, he leans into it. Leans into you.

Now, on mornings before class, he walks in with you through the doors of the coffee shop, one arm wrapped around your shoulder as he complains about how early it is, burying his face in the side of your neck. He picks you up in the rain, stays late at the library with you, and drives you home—like it's second nature.

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