#Seventeen Hoshi

[sevsevteen]

he's so MY boyfriend coded it hurts

[clownprincehoeshi]

Well I am a sucker for a good Soonyoung fic <3

The Tiger & The Moon

Pairing: Circus performer! Kwon Soonyoung x Artist! F. Reader

Themes: Smut | Angst | Found Family | Forbidden Love | Slow burn | T.W.: mentions of violence, trauma, panic attacks, prostitution, infertility and miscarriage.

Wordcount: 12.7K

Playlist: 'Rescue' - Lauren Daigle | 'Colors - Stripped' - Halsey | 'Terrible Love' - Birdy | 'I Found' - Amber Run | 'Youth' - Daughter | 'War Of Hearts' - Ruelle

Smut Warnings: Explicit sexual acts - Foreplay (F. receiving) - Slight Bodyworship - PIV - Unprotected intercourse - Use of petnames - Reassurances and clear consent (this is incredibly soft lovemaking)

This story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors do not interact.

It’s the sound of drums that draws you in.

Not hunger, though that gnaws in your stomach like it always does. Not the wind, though it hisses cold through the hem of your tattered skirt. Not even the need for safety—because that’s something you stopped believing in the moment your legs carried you across the city’s edge, away from the suffocating perfume and filthy hands of the brothel.

It’s the drums. Low. Rhythmic. Hypnotic.

You stumble across a dew-drenched field just past midnight, led only by the flickering glow of distant lanterns and the echo of music that feels like something ancient. It beats like a second heart inside you. Ahead, the tents bloom like massive, sleeping flowers—red and gold, navy and cream—sprawling beneath the stars in messy rows.

A travelling circus.

You’ve heard stories, of course. Dancers who bend like willow trees, men who swallow swords, tigers that leap through hoops of fire. But in the city, in the brothel, dreams were things beaten out of you with the back of a hand. Here, dreams seem to shimmer above the grass like fireflies.

You hover at the edge of the makeshift grounds, wrapped in a stolen cloak two sizes too big, fingers curled into the sleeves. You don’t belong here. You know that.

But then the drumbeat quickens, and something else begins—something theatrical and alive. A cheer from the crowd. The hush of anticipation. And the metallic snap of spotlights flooding the massive tent’s entrance.

You slip through the shadows, heart racing, eyes darting. No one sees you. No one cares to. But that’s the trick, isn’t it? Be small. Be quiet. Be nothing.

You crouch behind crates stacked near the back of the tent—costumes, ropes, props—and peer through a narrow flap left ajar. The scent of sawdust and sweat curls in the air, but it’s not unpleasant. Not like the sweet, rotting perfume they used to force on your skin.

Inside, the ringmaster stands in the centre, announcing acts with a booming voice and a sharp smile, cracking his whip-like punctuation. The audience roars as a woman juggles knives on horseback, her braid flying behind her. A man in glittering blue dives through a column of fire.

You watch, wide-eyed, breathless.

But then he appears.

Not from the center. No. From the shadows. From the ceiling. He swings down from a rope like gravity never applied to him at all—legs bent, body twisting midair, tiger stripes painted onto his chest in glittering gold and black.

You forget to breathe.

He’s wearing nothing but loose black pants, his shoulders flexing with each spin. His movements are sharp, primal, choreographed to the beat of the drums. When he lands, the entire tent goes silent, as if waiting for him to roar.

And he does. Not with sound. With movement.

A flip. A clawing gesture. A slide across the floor that ends with him kneeling, hand outstretched toward the crowd. They erupt.

Your pencil is in your hand before you realise it.

You pull a crumpled sheet of paper from your pocket and begin to sketch, hands working almost on instinct. Curves. Angles. His shoulders. The grace. You don’t think. You just draw.

And then his gaze flicks sideways, right to where you are hidden.

Your fingers still. Your chest goes tight. You convince yourself he doesn’t see you through the curtain of crates and outfits.

His eyes are impossibly warm and impossibly dark. And for a second—just a second—he doesn’t smile. He doesn’t grin. He just looks.

But then he’s gone again, dancing, spinning, leaping into the air as if the moment never happened. You watch him until the lights dim, the applause roars, and the ringmaster calls for the next act.

You don’t realise your drawing is finished until your pencil slips out of your grip.

Hours pass. You stay hidden.

When the crowd finally disperses and the lights begin to dim, you sneak through the back of the grounds—quiet as a shadow—until you find an empty wagon stacked with boxes. You curl into it, pulling your knees to your chest, using the cloak as a blanket. Your fingers still smell like pencil lead. You close your eyes.

And then a voice startles you. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

It’s his voice. Rough. Low. Accented in something lazy and teasing.

Your eyes fly open. He stands at the opening of the wagon, still shirtless, a towel around his shoulders and a smirk on his lips. His hair is damp.

“You know that, right?”

You sit up sharply, preparing to bolt. But he raises his hands in surrender.

“Hey—hey. Relax. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He tilts his head. “You were watching me earlier.”

You stay silent. He saw you? He steps closer.

“You’re not a thief, are you? You don’t look like the type to steal. Except maybe hearts. But that’s a performer thing, too.” His grin widens. “Unless you’re here to audition. In that case, great hiding spot. But we don’t usually hire ghosts.”

You speak for the first time in what feels like days. “I’m not a ghost.” He pauses. Cocks his head, like a tiger curious about a mouse.

“No. I don’t think you are.” You glance at the door. He follows your gaze.

“If I was going to turn you in, I would’ve done it already. The ringmaster doesn’t like strays. But me? I’m a sucker for sad eyes and good timing.” You don’t answer.

He hops up into the wagon without asking. You flinch. He notices. The grin falters for just a moment.

“Sorry. I’ll stay over here.” He drops onto a crate across from you, towel still looped around his neck, eyes scanning you with less mischief now and more curiosity. “What’s your name?”

You shake your head.

“No name? Mysterious. I like it.” He leans back and stretches his arms behind him. “Alright, no-name. You look cold. And like you haven’t eaten in a while. You planning on sleeping out here all night?”

You blink. “I have nowhere else to go.”

He studies you for a long time. “Fine. You can stay in my wagon. Just for tonight. I won’t touch you. I talk a lot, but I’m not a creep.” He scratches the back of his neck. “You’re probably better off there than out here, where Rigo might see you.”

You hesitate.

“You trust me?” he asks. You shake your head.

He laughs. Loud and unashamed. It startles you. “Good. That’s smart. But I’ll still offer.” He hops down and gestures. “Come on, Moon.”

“Moon?”

“You didn’t give me a name, so I gave you one.” His eyes soften. “You look like the moon tonight. Pale. Quiet. Far away from all of us.”

You say nothing, but you follow him.

You tell yourself it’s because anything is better than the cold.

The inside of his wagon smells like lemon oil and dust.

Not in a bad way—just lived-in, like someone’s been here too long without changing anything. Crumpled shirts hang from hooks, performance pants tossed over a stool, and a tiny mirror edged with fairy lights blinks at you from the wall. There’s a faded photo stuck in one corner—him as a boy, maybe fifteen, grinning with his arm around a tiger statue.

You hover at the threshold.

“It’s not much, but it’s warmer than outside,” he says, flicking the light on with a sharp click. “You can take the bed.”

You shake your head immediately.

“Come on. I’ve slept in worse places. The hay pile behind the giraffe cart? Unbelievable back support.” He grins again. He does that a lot, it seems—too easily. Too brightly. You don’t trust it.

You settle into the corner farthest from the door, your cloak pulled tight. He doesn’t push. He just throws himself onto the small bench under the window and crosses his arms behind his head like he hasn’t just invited a total stranger into his home.

“I’m Soonyoung, by the way,” he says. “But everyone calls me Hoshi.”

You don’t reply.

“‘Hoshi’ means ‘star’ in Japanese. My mom called me that when I was little.” He lifts a shoulder. “Thought it sounded cooler on posters than ‘Kwon Soonyoung the dancing idiot,’ so I kept it.”

Still, you don’t speak. You don’t owe him anything—not your voice, not your name, not your trust.

He shifts, observing you. His tone changes—softens.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I know what it’s like to… want to disappear for a while.”

You watch the way he fiddles with a gold ring on his pinky finger. It’s shaped like tiger fangs. Sharp. Delicate. Probably fake.

“Everyone here’s running from something. That’s kind of the circus’s thing, isn’t it?” He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You run away, you join the show, and suddenly you’re someone else. Someone shinier. Safer.”

He lays back again with a sigh that sounds too tired for someone who laughs so much.

“I’m happy here.”

The words hit the floor between you with a dull thud. You don’t believe him.

The next few nights pass in a hush of repetition.

You wake in silence, hide during the day, and slip out only when it’s dark enough not to be seen. Hoshi smuggles you small pieces of fruit, leftover meat pies, and, once, a package of coloured pencils he claims he “borrowed indefinitely.” You nod your thanks, never quite sure what to do with his kindness.

He talks a lot.

About the time he tried tightrope walking and fell into the cotton candy machine. About the fire-breather who accidentally singed her own eyebrows. About the night a tiger escaped its cage and wandered into his wagon like it owned the place.

“I offered it my dinner. We’ve been cool ever since.”

You don’t laugh, but your mouth twitches. He notices. He always notices.

You stay hidden, but he never questions it. Never asks you to explain. And each night, when the music starts and the big top floods with light, you creep to your place behind the crates and watch him come alive.

He moves like he’s been set on fire and only the rhythm can put him out. Like if he stops dancing, he’ll vanish.

You draw him every time. The curve of his spine, the snap of his arms, the wildness in his grin when he lands a perfect flip.

You sketch until your fingers ache.

Until you know him by lines alone.

It happens five nights in.

You can’t sleep. The roof drips, the blankets itch, and something inside you is restless. Hoshi had told you he’d be late—extra rehearsals, he said. You slip from the wagon quietly, boots soft in the mud, coat pulled tight around your frame. The circus grounds are mostly dark—tents closed, wagons locked, fire pits reduced to embers.

You walk past a row of cages—empty now—and head toward the supply wagons when you hear it.

“You said it’d be done by now.”

It’s Hoshi’s voice. You freeze and duck behind a barrel.

“And I said the debt doesn’t clear just because you’re popular,” replies another voice—older, crueller. “You still owe me three hundred thousand. You want to leave, Soonyoung? Pay up. Until then, I own your name. Your act. Your body.”

"I’m trying. I’m performing every damn night—”

"And drinking away your cut by morning.”

"That’s not—”

"Don’t lie to me.”

You peer around the edge. Rigo—the ringmaster—stands with his back to you. Hoshi is in front of him, shirtless again, glitter smeared down his jawline. He looks smaller. Angrier.

“You said I’d be free by the Paris tour,” Hoshi mutters.

“And maybe you will be. If you keep earning.” Rigo steps closer. “But if you try to leave early, if you even think about running—I’ll find you. And I’ll break every bone you use to dance.”

Silence.

“Don’t forget who gave you a stage when the world laughed you off it.”

The ringmaster walks away. Hoshi stays still for a long time, fists clenched, chest heaving. When he finally turns, you’re already gone.

Hoshi comes back late that night, humming some off-key melody, sweat dripping from the nape of his neck.

“Moon, I brought—hey, you okay?”

You’re sitting on the floor, paper and pencils scattered around you. One sketch lies in your lap, the most detailed one yet.

You don’t answer. You just hand it to him. He looks down.

A tiger in a cage.

Its shoulders are hunched, not in fear, but in exhaustion. Its paws are bruised. Its tail is curled tight against the bars. But its eyes… its eyes are still burning.

He blinks. “Is this… me?”

You look up at him. And for once, you don’t hide the sadness in your face. “You’re not happy here.”

He doesn’t smile this time. He just kneels down slowly beside you, gaze never leaving the drawing. He places it gently on the bench, then leans back on his heels.

“No,” he says quietly. “I’m not.”

One morning, without warning, he throws a scarf at your face.

“You need air,” Hoshi says, grinning as he pulls on his boots. “And you’re gonna get it.”

You flinch when the scarf hits your cheek, even though it doesn’t hurt. He notices. His grin falters but doesn’t fade completely.

“You’ll come with me. I’ll show you around. Just don’t tell anyone you’ve been living in my wagon rent-free.”

You hesitate. Fear creeps into your stomach like spoiled wine. If they find out what you are—who you were—there’s no telling what Rigo will do. Or worse, who he might call.

Hoshi holds out his hand. Open. Steady.

“I’ll tell them you’re the new sketch artist. That the boss approved it. No one questions my mouth anymore. Too loud to argue with.”

You don’t take his hand, but you follow him anyway.

The circus in the daylight is nothing like the spectacle at night.

The glitter is dulled. The costumes hang in long rows on wires, limp and sequined. Elephants bathe lazily near buckets of water, and smoke curls from frying pans where breakfast burns on open fires.

You walk closely behind Hoshi, the scarf clutched tight around your neck, chin tucked low into the fabric. He’s all motion and brightness—waving, laughing, tossing casual greetings around.

“Morning, Andrei!”

"Hey, Mira! Save me a biscuit this time!”

People nod. Smile. Some glare. He doesn’t seem to care.

When he finally introduces you, it’s with a flippant gesture and a wink. “This is Moon. She’s our new sketch artist. Bit shy, but brilliant. Like a raccoon with talent.”

You keep your eyes down. Offer a small nod. Most people nod back with vague disinterest—too tired or too wary to care. Some squint.

A few notice the tension in your shoulders.

One of the acrobats—a tall, wiry man named Luca with sharp cheekbones and a cruel smile—lingers. He steps close. Too close.

“Didn’t know we were letting in strays now,” he says, eyeing you like a spider eyes a fly. “You get her off the street, Hoshi? Or also into your bed?”

The words land sharp and cold. You stiffen. Hoshi goes quiet.

Then he steps between you and Luca, shoulders squared. His voice loses its brightness.

“Watch your mouth.”

Luca raises an eyebrow, smirking, as he walks off.

“I’m just saying—Rigo won’t like it when he finds out you’re hiding runaways. You know how he feels about… damaged goods.”

That word—damaged—splits something open inside your chest.

You turn away, hands shaking, throat closing around the ache that’s been building since you stepped out of the shadows.

“He’s got the personality of spoiled cabbage,” Hoshi mutters as he catches up to you. “Ignore him.”

But you’re already spiralling.

As the tour continues, a juggler brushes too close behind you. A fire breather claps a hand on your shoulder in greeting, and your whole body jolts like you’ve been burned. Hoshi sees it. Every time.

When you finally slip away after dinner, you think no one notices.

You sit behind the main tent, knees drawn up to your chest, arms wrapped around your ribs like you’re trying to keep your bones from shattering. The sounds of rehearsal echo nearby—drums, whip cracks, the creak of wires overhead—but they feel far away.

Your breathing’s shallow. Your cheeks are damp with fallen tears. You hate how familiar this feeling is.

Powerless. Exposed. Vulnerable.

You thought you were past this. Thought the circus would be different.

A shadow moves in the corner of your vision.

You tense, expecting harsh words, maybe worse—but it’s just Hoshi.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t joke. Doesn’t ask what happened.

He just sits cross-legged beside you, arms resting on his knees, not touching. Not pressing. Just breathing beside you like it’s the easiest thing in the world to share the same air with someone breaking.

You wait for questions. There are none. The minutes pass in silence, broken only by the occasional shout from the tent or the distant bray of a donkey.

Eventually, your tears slow. Your breath evens out.

And then—“I hate his guts.”

Hoshi’s voice is low. You glance at him.

“Luca,” he adds, as if it needs clarification. “Always sniffing around like he’s the ringleader’s favourite pet. I’m gonna replace his shampoo with glue one of these days.”

Your laugh comes unexpectedly. A real one. Crooked. Barely there. But it’s enough. He grins, but not in a triumphant way. In a relieved one.

“Better. That suits you more than silence, Moon.”

You don’t reply.

But when he rises and offers his hand again, you take it.

And when the two of you curl up that night in opposite corners of the wagon—backs to each other—there’s something binding in the silence.

And you sleep. For the first time in years.

You’ve never had someone bring you gifts before.

Not ones that weren’t dripping in expectation. Not ones that didn’t come with strings wrapped around your throat.

But Hoshi doesn’t tie bows around his kindness. He just… offers.

First, it’s a bundle of dried flowers—pressed and quirky, the kind that only bloom in colder months. He drops them beside your sketchpad one morning with a wink and a shrug.

“Found them near the trapeze wagon. Figured you might like dead things that look pretty.”

You don’t react. But you take them.

Then it’s a tin of coloured charcoal blocks—half-used, dull at the tips, but vibrant in your hands. The reds are bright, the blues deep. You don’t ask where he got them.

“Artist tools for my artistic shadow,” he says. “Now you can sketch me with proper flair. Make me taller, okay?”

Later, two perfectly peeled oranges, tucked in a napkin.

“You don’t eat enough,” he says, plopping beside you on the wagon step, his shoulder close but not touching. “You’re gonna float away at this rate. Then who’ll sketch my dramatic death leaps?”

You split one in half and hand it back to him without a word. He grins. Like he always does.

That night, he lights a candle in the middle of the wagon and sets it between you. The wax pools golden, flickering against the walls, throwing soft shadows across his face.

He talks while you draw. He always talks.

About his tiger routine, and how he once landed wrong and cracked two ribs but didn’t tell anyone. About a show in Prague where the audience threw roses—and one pair of underwear—onto the stage. About the time the tightrope snapped mid-performance and the crowd thought it was part of the act.

“I stuck the landing, though. Obviously.”

You glance at him.

“Barely broke my ankle. Ten out of ten.” He winks.

Your hand pauses on the page. A laugh itches in your throat but doesn’t come out.

“You’re hard to crack, Moon,” he says eventually, voice softer now. “I’m trying not to pry, I swear. But sometimes I look at you, and it’s like... I dunno. Like you’re made of glass, but all the sharp parts are turned inward.”

The candle flickers. So do you. He doesn’t ask anything else that night. Just hums while you sketch.

You don’t show him the drawing, but he smiles like you did.

You start watching him at night.

When the circus sleeps, and only the stars keep time, you slip out barefoot and perch behind the tent. He practices long after the others have stopped. Moves with a fever in his body, like he’s chasing something no one else can see.

Tonight, his shirt is discarded in a heap on the floor, and sweat slicks his spine as he flips, lands, stretches—again and again. No music. Just the beat of his breath and the slap of his feet against the pallet floors.

He stumbles. Not hard, but enough that he swears under his breath. You hear it—“Shit.”—followed by the dull sound of him sitting heavily on the edge of the platform.

He doesn’t notice you at first.

Then—“Moon?”

You freeze. He turns toward your hiding place, wiping his face with the hem of his shirt.

“You always watch from the dark, don’t you?”

You don’t move. But he doesn’t seem upset.

“I don’t mind,” he says, softer now. “Just wish I knew what you saw when you looked at me.”

You step into the candlelight. Not fully. Just enough to be seen.

He smiles, but it’s tired. Raw.

“Do you ever think about leaving?” he asks suddenly. “Not running. Just… stepping out. Free. New city. New name.”

You say nothing.

He looks down at his hands.

“I wanted Paris.”

The words are quieter now. Less Hoshi, more Soonyoung.

“I used to dream about it every night. Dancing in Montmartre. On a stage that mattered. I wanted to be someone people wrote about. Someone remembered.”

He chuckles bitterly. “Instead, I sold my soul to a man who locks animals in cages and calls it art.”

You take another step forward. He doesn’t look at you. Just continues to stare at his palms.

“I owe him too much. Money. Time. My best years. I perform, and he lets me breathe. That’s the deal. That’s the cage.”

Your heart twists. Because you understand. More than he knows.

“Sometimes,” he murmurs, “I think I could just disappear. Walk out into the night and never stop walking. But then I remember—no one would come looking.” He says it with a crooked smile.

Your voice is rough when you speak. Barely a whisper. But it slices through the night like a thread of silver.

“I would.”

He freezes. His head lifts. Eyes wide. Lips parted.

You’re not sure why you said it. Or maybe you are. Perhaps you’ve known since the first time he called you Moon and smiled like he meant it.

The silence that follows is the kind that lands heavily on your skin.

“Say that again,” he breathes.

You shake your head. He doesn’t ask again.

Instead, he stands. Walks over. Stops a step away. You brace—but he doesn’t touch you. He sits down beside you. Cross-legged in the dirt.

Like he did the other night. No questions. No explanations.

Just two lonely things pretending—for a moment—that they are not alone.

They call it The Velvet Night.

Once a month, the circus throws a masquerade for its wealthiest patrons—aristocrats in velvet, merchants with too many rings and not enough kindness, and strangers with mouths that never smile unless they’re closing a deal. The ringmaster loves them, of course. Their wallets are heavier than their morals, and they pay for illusions like addicts pay for Nirvana.

Tonight, the tents are lined with gold silk. Wine flows like water. Lanterns flicker from every beam and rope. The world smells like roses, sweat, and something sour beneath.

You spend the day in the costuming wagon, where Mira and the others chatter and laugh around you, unaware—or uncaring—that your hands shake every time you touch lace or ribbon. The feel of silk between your fingers makes your stomach turn. It reminds you of curtains. Of rooms that locked from the outside.

You sew quietly. You keep your head down.

Hoshi pops in at one point, barefoot and smiling. “Moon,” he says, eyes lighting up. “Come watch tonight. I’ve got a new finish. It’s dramatic as hell. Might pull a muscle for it.”

You nod. He winks and disappears.

Night falls; the masquerade begins.

You don’t risk going near the centre tent where the patrons gather, but from a side flap, you catch glimpses. Silk gowns. Flashing jewelry. Glasses filled with golden liquid. Painted lips and empty laughter.

You know this kind of party. The kind where you aren’t a person—just something to look at, to own, to touch if no one’s watching. Your stomach turns.

Still, you stay. Because Hoshi is in there. And for reasons you can’t name, you need to see him. You lean against a pole, hidden in the dark, mask in your hand, breath held.

And then he steps into the ring.

He wears black tonight. A fitted, sleeveless top that sparkles under the lights and tight pants that hug the strength in his legs. His face is hidden behind a white and gold mask that glints with each movement.

Every turn, every snap of his limbs is poetry. He spins for them. Leaps for them. Smiles for them. And none of them know how much it costs him.

You know. You see it in the way his shoulders dip just a fraction too low when the music fades. How his chest rises with effort, not excitement.

And then— It happens.

A woman in red—older, tall, with lips the colour of blood—pulls him in with her fingertips. She slips folded bills into the waistband of his pants. Laughs. Says something you can’t hear.

And he—He kisses her hand. Grinning. Flashing that perfect, practised smile.

You stagger back as if struck. The breath leaves you in a rush.

You turn before you can see anything else and walk—fast—into the darkness behind the wagons.

You don’t stop walking until your legs shake.

You end up behind the animal cages, near the row of hay bales where the fire breathers warm up in the mornings. No one comes here at night. It’s too quiet, too far from the music and the masks.

You sit. And the tears come.

You don’t mean to cry. Not like this. Not because of him. Not because he kissed someone’s hand and smiled like it meant something. But it pulls at a memory buried so deep inside you, you had almost forgotten about it.

You curl your knees up. Bury your face in your arms. Try to pretend you’re somewhere else. But the memory creeps in anyway.

Men with cold rings and even colder hands. A room that smelled like wine and roses. The sharp click of heels. The way they’d touch your face like you weren’t even there.

Used. Brushed aside. Forgotten. Always forgotten.

You thought it might be different here. And that makes you hate yourself more.

“Moon?”

Your body jolts, instinct screaming hide—but it’s too late. He’s already seen you. Hoshi approaches slowly, carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal.

“I saw you leave. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says softly. “Can I… sit?”

You nod without looking up. He lowers himself onto the hay beside you, hands between his knees, gaze turned away. Silence stretches.

Then, in a voice you barely recognize as your own—“They used to make us smile, too.”

He stills.

You don’t look at him. You can’t. But the words keep spilling out, hoarse and thin, like something cracked inside you and finally let loose.

“At the brothel. We were supposed to laugh. Greet them like old friends. Let them touch us. Call it work. Call it love.”

You swallow hard. “They paid for what they took. That made it okay, they said.”

The air grows heavier with every word you whisper.

“Some of them liked it when we cried. Said it made us look real.” You feel your hands shake in your lap.

“I learned not to cry. Not to move. Not to exist, if I could help it.”

You finally look up. And he’s watching you. Not with pity. Not even with shock. Just quiet, fierce grief. Tears fill his eyes but don’t quite fall.

“Moon,” he whispers.

You flinch when he reaches out. His hand hovers near yours. But he stops.

“Can I hold you?” he asks.

Your throat closes. Your nod is barely a twitch. But he sees it.

He wraps his arms around you. Not tightly. Not hungrily. Just… safely. You don’t know the last time someone held you like this. Not to use. Not to consume. Just to be there.

He doesn’t fill the silence with apologies or, promises or empty words.

He just breathes. You feel his chest rise and fall. Feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your cheek. His hand rubs gentle, slow circles across your back—no pressure. Just presence.

You cry again. This time, without shame.

And he stays.

The circus rolls into another town. Another foggy field. Another string of faceless patrons with fat wallets and vacant eyes. You’ve stopped caring where you are. All that matters is the tent. The rope lights. The sketches you leave scattered across Hoshi’s wagon table.

You sketch him constantly now. Not just onstage.

As he braids Mira’s hair between acts. As he sleeps curled on his side, hand under his cheek. As he rubs ointment onto his bruised knees.

Your pencils know the shape of his body like religion.

One night, you wait behind the curtain as the show ends.

He finishes his routine, glittering and breathless, but tonight, he’s a half-second off. His landings are sharp, but not as sharp as they should be. His final pose holds less punch, like his mind is somewhere else.

And Rigo notices.

As the crowd erupts into applause, the ringmaster stalks over to him like a storm cloud.

“What the hell was that?” Rigo snaps, grabbing Hoshi’s arm before he’s fully off-stage.

“It was fine,” Hoshi mutters, panting slightly.

“No. It was distracted. Sloppy. You’re better than that—so what’s got your head up your ass lately?”

Hoshi wrenches his arm free, jaw clenched. He sees you, just over Rigo’s shoulder, and his eyes soften for half a second.

“Maybe I’m just tired,” he offers.

“Then wake up,” Rigo growls. “You don’t get tired. You get perfect. That’s the deal.”

He walks off before Hoshi can reply.

You slip back into the shadows, heart hammering. The guilt feels sudden. Sharp. You wonder if you’re the reason his landings aren’t clean anymore.

You wonder if you’re unravelling him.

That night, you sit together outside the wagon.

The stars are unusually bright—clear for once, not clouded by fog or smoke. Hoshi sits beside you, hands clasped in front of his knees, chin resting on them. You watch the wind curl through his hair.

“We’re going to Paris next month,” he says suddenly.

You glance at him.

“It’s our biggest show. Rigo’s been hyping it for years. We’ll be at the Palais Garnier, if you can believe it.” He laughs once. “Me. In a building with gold ceilings. What a joke.”

You nudge your shoulder against his gently. He sighs.

“I’ve been thinking about leaving.”

He doesn’t look at you when he says it.

“After the Paris show. Slipping out during the night. Starting over. No more debt. No more cages. Just a train. A map. A backpack. I’ve saved enough. Barely, but enough.” He finally turns his head toward you. His voice is quieter now. More vulnerable. “I want you to come with me.”

You freeze.

His eyes search yours—not pleading, but open.

“I know you’re scared. I know you don’t trust easily. But I trust you.” A beat. “You’re the first real thing I’ve found in years, Moon.”

You stare at him, and your heart twists.

Because you want to say yes. You want to leave.

But part of you still believes you’re a shadow. Something cursed. You don’t want to ruin whatever light he has left.

So you lower your gaze.

He just whispers, “Think about it.”

You don’t sleep that night.

And by morning, everything has changed.

Hoshi bursts into the wagon, jaw tight, eyes furious.

“He knows.”

The words are like ice in your veins.

“Rigo. He knows about you.”

You rise slowly, heart pounding. “How?”

"Luca.” His mouth twists. “Little bastard must’ve told him last night. He told Rigo everything. That you’re not crew. That you’ve been staying in my wagon.”

You swallow hard. He sees your fear. Tries to soften it.

“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. I’ll—”

A voice cuts through the air like a whip.

“So this is the little stray.”

Rigo stands at the entrance, dressed in dark green and gold, his ringmaster cane tapping ominously against the threshold.

You shrink back. Rigo steps into the wagon like he owns it. Because he does.

“No name. No papers. No protection. You know what that makes you, sweetheart?” His voice drips like poison. “Sellable.”

Hoshi steps between you, blocking Rigo’s path.

“Touch her, and I’ll kill you.”

Rigo lifts a brow.

“Brave words for someone still owing me two hundred grand.”

"Take me instead,” Hoshi spits. “Whatever it is you want from her, I’ll do it. I’ll clean cages. Dance double. Fucking wear a leash if you want—just don’t touch her.”

You’re trembling.

Rigo narrows his eyes. Then—without warning—he strikes.

A backhand. Brutal. Fast.

Hoshi stumbles back with a choked sound, blood already blooming at the corner of his mouth.

You scream. Instinct. Terror. Rage.

You move forward, but Hoshi lifts a hand, even through the pain.

“Stay back.”

"You want to keep her?” Rigo sneers. “Fine. She’s your debt now. Double it. Four hundred grand. Pay it, or I send her back to the brothel myself.”

He turns, storming out as the door slams shut behind him.

And the silence that follows is deafening.

You wait until Hoshi falls asleep in his bunk—after you’ve cleaned the blood from his lip and kissed his forehead so softly he doesn’t stir—to leave. You pack nothing. Take nothing.

Just your cloak, your boots, and a sketchbook filled with drawings of him.

You run. To protect him. To protect yourself.

He might hate you for leaving, but that’s a price you’re willing to pay.

You don’t know the name of the city you end up in.

The circus had stopped on the edge of somewhere cold, grey, faceless—one of those in-between places that no one dreams about and no one stays in unless they have nowhere else to go.

You walk around with your cloak pulled tight, eyes darting with every step you take. No one notices you. That’s good. That’s the goal.

Disappear. Blend in. Be nothing again.

It’s easier than it should be.

By mid-afternoon, your stomach is growling with hunger.

You pass a street market where vendors shout over one another, hands waving, eyes hawk-sharp. You linger near a bread stall. Time it. When the seller turns his back to argue with a customer, you slide a roll off the edge of the cart and disappear into the crowd.

You do the same with an apple not long after. Your hands still shake when you tuck it into your pocket. But your feet don’t stop moving.

You’ve learned that survival means guilt becomes background noise.

That night, it rains.

You find shelter beneath a wide stone bridge, its arch stretching over a river that smells of metal and sewage. You press your back to the cold wall, knees drawn up, the stolen bread long gone. The apple you save for tomorrow.

You watch the raindrops trace lines across the river’s surface and pretend you’re okay. You’re not. You miss the wagon. The scent of lemon oil and warm blankets. The candle he lit each night—flickering against wood-panelled walls. You miss him.

The way he called you Moon like it was sacred. The way he let you be quiet without demanding answers. The way he looked at you like you weren’t broken.

You don’t allow yourself to cry.

You just press your forehead to your knees and breathe through the ache of everything.

The next morning, you wake soaked, sore, and starving.

You spend the day trying to find a way out.

You walk into a café, asking if they need help in the back. They glance at your dirty clothes and shake their heads.

You try a laundry service. A florist. A small bookshop with dusty windows.

Every time:

“We’re not hiring.”

"No experience?”

"Come back another day.”

You leave each time with your head lower than before.

By sundown, your apple is gone, and your coin purse is empty. You can feel the panic start to creep in again—sharp, familiar, suffocating.

You turn a corner, not even sure where you’re going, and walk faster.

You’re trying to think, trying to plan, when you hear it.

“Angel?”

The name slices through the air like a whip. You haven’t heard that in a long time.

“Angel, is that you?”

Across the street, under a flickering lamp post, stands a man in a long coat with a hat pulled low around his eyes. Older. Heavy. His mouth curls into a grin you know too well.

“Thought I’d recognise that little walk anywhere. Been years, but damn. You haven’t changed a bit.”

Your heart launches itself into your throat. You turn and keep walking.

“Don’t be like that, Angel!” he calls louder. “Come say hi to an old friend!”

You walk faster.

“Come on, you remember me, don’t you? You used to like me. Said I was your favourite.”

That sets you off. Your feet slam against the pavement. Your eyes scan for an escape. Shops are closed. The street is empty. You don’t dare look back.

“ANGEL!”

The shout becomes a bark. A threat. You start running.

Your breath comes out sharp and ragged. Your boots slip on the slick stones. You round a corner, then another. Behind you, footsteps thunder.

He’s chasing you.

And this time, it’s not for a transaction. You stumble past an alley and are about to keep going when a hand grabs your arm.

You scream—but another hand clamps over your mouth, and you’re yanked into the shadows and dragged underneath a rusted fire escape.

Your body thrashes until you hear the voice.

“Shh. It’s me.” Your blood stills.

“Moon. It’s me.” The voice presses against your ear like a balm. “It’s me. It’s Hoshi.”

You don’t believe it—not for a second—until you turn your head and see his eyes in the dark. Wide. Familiar.

And then footsteps pass.

“Angel! Where the fuck did you go?”

You go rigid. Hoshi’s arm around your waist tightens just a little. His other hand stays over your mouth, steady but gentle. You both breathe as silently as you can.

“I know you’re out here!” the man shouts, voice slurring now. “You can run, but I will find you. You’re mine, you little—”

The words cut off as his footsteps fade down the street.

You wait. Long after he’s gone. Until the only sound left is the wind shaking loose a gutter pipe above you.

Hoshi finally lowers his hand. You suck in a breath like you haven’t in hours. Your heart is hammering inside your chest. Your fingers tremble as you look at him—really look at him.

He’s soaked. Panting. His shirt is half untucked. Eyes brimming with worry.

“You—how—what are you doing here?” you whisper.

He exhales through a shaky laugh.

“Looking for you, obviously.”

You stare, stunned. “How did you find me?”

"You’re not exactly subtle when you run away in the middle of the night with nothing but your coat.”

He reaches into his jacket and pulls out the sketch you made the first night you saw him. The one you left behind.

“I figured you wouldn’t go far.” His voice is softer now. “And I couldn’t—” He breaks off. Looks down. “I couldn’t let you leave like that.”

Your throat is thick. Your hands curl at your sides.

“But Rigo—he’ll kill you if you keep protecting me. He said—”

"I don’t care what he said.” His voice sharpens. “I’ll figure it out. I’ll work twice as hard. I’ll sell my ring, my shoes, I don’t care. I’ll dance until my legs break.” He steps closer. “But I’m not letting you disappear again.”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. He keeps going.

“You said once that you would come looking for me.” His hand brushes your sleeve. “So now I’ve come looking for you.”

You don’t mean to. You don’t plan it.

But you step forward, fists balling into his shirt, and you crash into him like the sky’s falling.

“Thank you,” you whisper against his chest.

He melts around you instantly. His arms wrap around you, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other gripping your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish again.

“I’ve got you now,” he breathes. “I’ve got you, Moon.”

The wagon looks exactly as you left it.

Your coat drapes over the corner of the bench, the coloured charcoals still lay scattered across the table beside a stack of half-finished sketches. The candle is fresh now, a new stub melting quietly in the jar you used to stare at every night.

You sit down in the same spot you slept in for weeks, staring at the flame until your hands stop shaking.

Hoshi hovers like he’s afraid you might vanish again. He doesn’t touch you—but he doesn’t take his eyes off you either. You don’t mind. For once, it’s comforting. A tether instead of a chain.

“You’re safe,” he murmurs, more to himself than you. “You’re safe. That’s what matters.”

The circus moves two days later.

Another town. Another dirt lot. Another field where fog clings low and the ringmaster’s voice cuts through the morning like a cleaver.

No one knows you’re back except for Mira and the twins from the rigging crew, who catch glimpses of you slipping into Hoshi’s wagon at odd hours. They don’t say anything.

Hoshi’s return, however, doesn’t go unnoticed.

The moment he sets foot near the main tent, Rigo is on him.

“Gone two nights,” the ringmaster growls through gritted teeth. “Two full shows missed without a word.”

"I was scouting a location. Spoke to the fire-breather about it weeks ago,” Hoshi lies smoothly, with just enough annoyance in his tone to pass for truth.

You listen from behind a canvas divider, heart in your throat.

Luca stands nearby, arms crossed, trying not to look smug.

Rigo eyes Hoshi but doesn’t press.

“If it happens again,” he says, voice dropping, “I’ll have another very interesting conversation with a friend of mine back in the city. Runs a brothel. Says he’s been looking for one of his girls. Thought she’d vanished. Sad story.”

Your blood runs cold.

“You leave again without permission,” Rigo continues, “and I’ll be sure to point him in the direction of our last stop. That would be a shame, wouldn’t it?”

Hoshi says nothing. But his fists are clenched. You can see it even from here. The trap is set.

And there is nothing either of you can do.

Because if he leaves, you’ll be taken back.

And if he stays, he’ll be ruined.

When he finds you later, you act as if you haven’t heard anything. You reassure him, a smile gracing your lips that doesn’t reach your eyes. “All good. Nothing to worry about.”

On your way to the next stop, Hoshi tells you he wants to debut something new.

“A solo,” he explains, eyes lit up. “But not just me. I want it to be our piece.”

You stare at him, confused.

“Your sketches,” he explains, stepping closer. “You capture me better than any mirror ever could. I want to bring that version of me to the stage.”

You hesitate, he notices.

“Come on, Moon. We’ll choreograph it together. In secret. It’ll be just ours.”

You nod. Because how could you not?

You spend nights in empty tents and behind curtains, moving with him. Not dancing, not really—but guiding. Sketchbook in hand, you draw each frame. Each leap. Each reach. He watches your eyes more than your lines, and listens when you say “Again”. It becomes something else. Something that belongs to both of you. Not the circus. Not Rigo. Just you.

The night of the performance, he doesn’t tell anyone what he’s doing.

He steps into the center ring in silence, no music at first. The crowd murmurs. Rigo frowns from his usual spot near the edge of the tent but says nothing.

Then the lights dim. A spotlight blooms. And Hoshi begins to move.

It’s slower than his usual routines. Less about spectacle, more about story. Every line of his body carries emotion—grief, yearning, rage, release. He uses space like it’s water, shifting in and out of it with the grace of something both wild and controlled.

You watch from the shadows, breath caught. Because this—this is not a cage.

This is art. This is flight. This is freedom.

He ends on his knees, back arched, chest heaving, arms thrown wide like he’s asking to be struck by lightning.

And for the first time in months, the audience is silent.

Then—Thunderous applause. They stand. They shout.

Yet, Rigo doesn’t smile.

While you help Mira gather some of the costume bins behind the dressing tent, you hear voices again.

You duck behind a rack of sequined jackets, crouching low.

“What was that tonight?” Rigo snaps. “That wasn’t the act we approved.”

"You said as long as he performs, you don’t care what it looks like,” Luca mutters.

“I said I want obedience. That little stunt was defiance dressed up in glitter.”

A pause. Then—

“How much does he owe you again?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Rigo growls. “I’ll change the amount however I want. Interest, late shows, fines. He’ll never pay it off. That’s the point.”

“And if he tries to leave again?”

"We remind him what happens to little strays who don’t know their place.”

You don’t hear the rest. You’re already slipping away, eyes wide, chest tight.

Hoshi doesn’t know. He thinks the debt is manageable. That there’s an end to it. But there isn’t. There never was.

The next city is louder than the last.

Cobbled streets overflow with carriages and clamour. Street performers clog every corner. Posters for the circus flutter on every lamppost.

You help him dress backstage that evening, hands tightening the clasps of his costume as he stretches his arms above his head. He hums off-key, as usual, pretending not to wince when his shoulder cracks.

“Nervous?” you ask, voice barely audible.

“Always,” he says with a grin, though the tremor beneath it betrays him. “But it helps that I know you’ll be watching.”

You smile. It’s faint. But real.

He cups your chin with one gloved hand, eyes searching your face like he’s trying to memorise you again. You lean into his palm before he can pull it away.

“Come back to me after,” you murmur.

“Always.”

You don’t see the man in the suit approach him.

You don’t hear the words exchanged at the edge of the ring after the show when the lights are dimming, and the crowd is dispersing.

You don’t see the glint of a silver card passed from one palm to another.

But Luca does. And that’s enough.

Hoshi returns later than usual that night.

You’re in the wagon, seated cross-legged on the bench, one of his shirts in your lap. Mending it. Or pretending to. Every sound outside sends your heart leaping.

When the door finally creaks open, you look up—and freeze.

He’s pale. His mouth is drawn tight. He walks like he’s trying not to breathe too deep.

“You’re late,” you whisper, rising quickly.

“Got caught in the crowd,” he replies, his voice hoarse.

You cross the floor in two strides and reach for his arm. He jerks it back instinctively. Your heart drops.

“What happened?”

"Nothing, Moon. Really. I’m just tired.”

You narrow your eyes, and you step closer.

He won’t meet your gaze.

“Take off your shirt.”

"What? No, I—”

"Take. It. Off.”

His jaw tightens.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” you add, softer now. “Not here.”

He exhales slowly through his nose.

Then, without a word, he reaches for the hem and pulls the shirt over his head.

Bruises bloom like dark petals across his ribs and chest. Long, red welts streak across his back—angry, raised, and recent. Some are still bleeding. Others already begin to purple.

“Rigo,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Hoshi says nothing. Just stands there, eyes closed, like he’s waiting for you to flinch away.

Instead, you reach out. Your fingers brush gently across one of the bruises, barely touching. He hisses softly—but not from pain.

“He beat you.”

"It’s not the first time.”

"Because of me?”

"No.” His eyes flash open, fierce. “Not because of you. Because I might’ve had a way out. Because someone else saw what I could be, and he can’t stand that.”

"A scout?”

He nods.

“Asked if I was under contract. Told me he’d seen my last two performances. Said I had something rare.” He swallows. “I didn’t even say yes. I just took his card.”

You don’t need to ask what happened next.

Your stomach churns. Rage bubbles in your throat, bitter and thick.

“I’ll kill him,” you whisper. “I swear to god, I’ll kill him.”

"It’s nothing.”

"Don’t say that.”

He finally looks up.

And it’s you he sees now—not the artist, not the runaway—but the woman who’s watched him from the shadows every night since he met her.

“This place will kill you before it frees you,” you say.

“Then what do we do?"

Your hands reach for his.

“We burn it down.”

It begins with Mira.

You approach her first. The seamstress with needles tucked into her bun and burns on her fingers. You show her Hoshi’s bruises. You don’t say a word. Just let her see. She doesn’t speak for a long time. Then she nods.

“It’s about time.”

Then Andrei.

The tall, silent strongman with eyes like storm clouds and a permanent frown. He’d always been kind to Hoshi. Had once given you half a sandwich without asking why you were hiding behind crates.

He listens. He nods once. Then he spits on the ground.

“I’ll handle the locks.”

Then, the twins—Illya and Ivan.

Aerialists with matching red hair and scars on their ankles from the silk ropes. They’d grown up in the circus. Their parents hadn’t been as lucky.

When Hoshi tells them the plan, they glance at each other—then smile, cold and sharp.

“We’ll give them a show they’ll never forget,” Illya says.

“And if Rigo ends up gagged in a lion cage, well…” Ivan shrugs. “Oops.”

It becomes something more than revenge. It becomes a rebellion.

One by one, performers start pulling their weight for Hoshi, stalling for him, hiding you in plain sight.

You and Hoshi begin mapping out everything.

You sketch the grounds, mark the weak points, the tent poles soaked in oil, the ropes fraying after years of neglect.

Hoshi studies fire escapes like choreography. Practices his flips in silence. His eyes burn with purpose again.

And every night on your way to Paris, before the candle goes out, you sleep with your hand in his.

The Palais Garnier gleams like a dream—its chandeliers sparkle, marble stairs echo with polished footsteps, and every guest inside wears something that costs more than your entire life.

It is Paris. And tonight, the circus burns.

You stand just outside the main tent, your body cloaked in dark rain-slick fabric, the matchbox clenched in your hand.

The performers pass around each other like whispers—disguised in their roles, eyes meeting in split seconds of silent code. Tonight isn’t a performance. It’s a war.

Mira helped you lace your boots extra tight. Andrei handed you the rope soaked in kerosene. Illya gave you a pocket knife, “just in case.”

No one says goodbye.

You’re not sure if that’s superstition, or fear.

Across the field, on the opposite end of the canvas, Hoshi slips into the beast tent. You catch one last glimpse of him. His white and silver costume shimmers against the lighting. No mask. Just his face, taut with focus, damp hair clinging to his temples.

He looks back once. His eyes find yours. And you nod.

Then, he vanishes into the shadows.

Inside the ring, the final act is about to begin.

The guests—drunk on champagne and artificial wonder—roar in their seats. Rigo stands just behind the curtain, adjusting his cuffs and sipping dark liquor from a cut-crystal glass. His cane, tiger-head-topped and gold-plated, rests against his thigh.

“They think they’ve seen a show already,” he smirks to Luca. “Wait ‘til the beast steps out. Solomon’s presence raises the price of the ticket by tenfold.”

"Are you sure it’s wise?” Luca murmurs. “He was twitchy this morning.”

“They’re all twitchy before a crowd.” Rigo scoffs. “That’s what makes them pliable. And Soonyoung knows better than to disappoint me again.”

He chuckles, cruel and smug. “Besides, the tiger knows who owns him.”

You circle the outer rim of the tent now, fingers trembling as you reach the section Mira marked in chalk—just behind the main structure, near a weak seam in the canvas wall. It’s here you strike the match.

The sulfur flares with a hiss, gold against the grey.

The flame eats the rope greedily.

The wind carries the flames faster than expected, wrapping around the edge of the tent. The fire is elegant at first—just a shimmer. A flickering glow.

Then, the fuel kicks in. And the tent goes up like a furnace.

Inside, Rigo freezes mid-sip.

The crowd begins to murmur—then shout.

“What the—” he barks, turning toward the entrance. The smoke has reached the curtains. Flames curl upward in waves.

“Someone put that out! What’s happening?!”

Luca runs out with two other crew members. Chaos explodes like firecrackers. Chairs overturn. Guests push toward exits, masks slipping from sweat-soaked faces.

Then, a roar splits the air, but it doesn’t come from the crowd.

It’s deeper. Wilder. Rigo pales.

“That’s not possible.”

He turns— and sees the gate of Solomon’s cage wide open.

The chain lies coiled on the ground.

“No. No, no, no—WHERE IS HE?! WHO LET HIM OUT?!”

He stumbles back as the tiger emerges.

Solomon moves slowly at first, padding across the ring with terrifying grace. He is not panicked. He is not afraid. He is free.

The audience flees. Performers scatter.

And in the centre of the smoke and madness, Rigo stands—frozen. His cane shakes in his grip.

“Easy now,” he whispers, stepping backwards. “You’re trained. You know me. You know your master.”

But Solomon does not stop.

He snarls low as his eyes gleam with something cold. You watch from outside the tent, unable to move, unable to breathe.

Rigo lifts his cane like it’s a sword.

“You obey me!”

And then Solomon pounces.

The cane flies from Rigo’s hand as claws tear through his coat and skin. Rigo screams—a high, broken sound that echoes like a death rattle inside the inferno. He stumbles to the floor, arms flailing, trying to crawl, trying to beg, but Solomon bites down.

The tent is fully ablaze now.

A final scream is lost in the roar of collapsing canvas and shattering beams.

And just like that—Rigo is gone.

There’s only one last thing left to do.

You reach his wagon on the far edge of the circus grounds.

It’s massive—more like a carriage fit for royalty than a travelling performer’s quarters. The door, somehow, is unlocked.

Of course, it is. Overconfidence always did follow arrogance.

You slip inside and close the door silently behind you. The air smells like whiskey, sweat, and expensive cologne. The velvet drapes are half-drawn.

You move quickly.

The room is cluttered—brass fixtures, crystal glasses, boxes of cigars. But your eyes are sharp now, your purpose clearer than fear. You open drawers. Tear through desk cabinets. Rifling past letters, ledgers, and a pile of guest receipts.

Nothing.

Then—you find it.

A narrow cabinet beneath the liquor shelf. Locked. You pry it open with the tip of your knife.

Inside, you find a thick stack of bound papers, folders, and cash.

You search quickly until your fingers close around one with a name written in thick black ink across the top.

Kwon Soonyoung.

You grab it. Beneath it is a yellowed envelope, fat with bills—more than you’ve ever seen in one place.

You shove both into a satchel, sling it over your shoulder and turn toward the door.

“Going somewhere, Angel?”

Luca stands in the doorway, his face dirty with ash and smoke, eyes wide with fury.

“You stupid, stupid bitch.”

Meanwhile, Hoshi is running.

Rain pelts down in sharp slashes. His chest heaves as he pushes through the brush and out toward the clearing.

The rendezvous point, where you should already be.

He drops the bags—his and yours—by the base of the tree where you promised to meet.

“Moon?” he calls. Nothing.

“Moon!” Still nothing.

He turns, scanning the tree line, frantic.

Mira appears first, drenched and panting, dragging a case of costumes behind her. Then Andrei, carrying one of the twins—Illya, maybe—with blood on his shirt. Ivan stumbles in next, singed and coughing.

One by one, they arrive. Except you.

Back in the wagon, Luca steps inside and slams the door behind him. “You think you can just destroy us and walk away?” He bellows. “You think he’s free? He’ll never be free. Not from this. Not from what he is.”

You stand your ground even though your body is already coiled like a spring.

“Rigo owned that tiger,” Luca spits. “He made all of this. You think you’re better than us? You think you’re something because Hoshi likes you?”

He spits the words like it’s poison.

“You’re still just a broken whore who’s good at looking sad.”

You don’t have time to answer.

He lunges.

His hand strikes your face first—hard, open-palmed, knocking you into the desk. Pain blooms across your cheekbone.

Before you can recover, he kicks you in the side. You cry out and crumple against the cabinet.

“You ruined everything,” he growls, dragging you up by your hair. “He could have had a future. We all could. But no—you had to make it about you.”

You thrash, kicking. Your elbow connects with his ribs, but he punches you in the stomach. Air flies out of your lungs. Your vision swims.

You hit the floor hard.

Then—you see it. The brass tiger paperweight on the edge of the desk.

You lunge for it.

“You think you can beat me?” he snarls, dragging you once more. “You can’t even fight.”

You close your fingers around the cold metal.

And without thinking, you swing.

The sound of impact is dull and sickening. Bone cracks. Luca stumbles backward, stunned, blood pouring from his temple.

He sways, then crashes to the floor.

The smoke is crawling into the wagon now. The wood slowly engulfing into flames.

You grab the satchel, stagger to your feet, your ribs screaming in protest. The velvet curtains are alight.

You throw open the door, choking, stumbling into the open air. And run.

Hoshi is pacing.

“She should be here.”

"Maybe she went a different way,” Mira suggests gently.

“No. We had a plan.”

Then—movement.

You burst through the trees, soaked in blood and soot, your dress torn, your lip split.

Hoshi turns and runs to you.

“Moon—Moon, what the hell happened?”

He cups your face, frantic, hands shaking.

“Are you okay? What—did someone—”

"I’m okay.” You gasp. “I’m okay. But we have to go. Now.”

You hold up the satchel. “I have it. Your contract. The money. Everything.”

His eyes widen.

“You went back.”

You nod once. Then: “Train. Now.”

You run.

The entire company—burned, bruised, breathless—runs together through the wet fields, dragging bags and trunks and instruments and cages. You help Andrei lift Illya. Hoshi carries your satchel when your arms give out. Mira wraps a scarf around your bleeding arm without a word.

In the distance, you hear a whistle.

The tracks shimmer in the dark.

An old freight train rumbles past, slow and moaning.

You run faster.

Hoshi helps Mira up. You push Illya into the cart. Andrei hoists Ivan. Hoshi jumps up next, then turns and grabs you.

Your knees almost buckle from exhaustion—but his arms are around you, pulling you in.

The doors close. The train rolls on.

And as the last glow of the fire dies behind you—you are free.

The train groans against the tracks, the kind of sound that settles into your bones like an old ache. It’s been three days since the fire. Three days since the circus ceased to exist. Three days since Rigo’s scream was swallowed by a blaze you lit with your own hands.

You haven’t spoken about it.

Not with Hoshi. Not with anyone.

The others are gone now, scattering like embers from a dying flame. Andrei leapt off at a sleepy station near the border, chasing rumours of a woman who once promised him she would wait. The twins disappeared into fog-cloaked hills, saying something about a cousin’s vineyard and never setting foot in a tent again. Mira kissed you both goodbye, said Paris was too heavy and lacework was lighter.

Now, it’s just the two of you in an empty freight car, rocking slowly toward the south. The sea, maybe. Or some small town with cheap rent and no haunting past for either of you.

The silence between you grows louder with every mile.

Hoshi crouches in front of you, his hands gently pressing a warm cloth to your cheek. The swelling has gone down, but the purple bruising still blooms over your ribs, your jaw, and your hip. He’s been nursing you like this every day, his fingers careful, his voice low.

But tonight, you’re both too tired to pretend it doesn’t hurt.

“Stop fidgeting,” he mutters, dipping the cloth in a tin cup of boiled water.

“I’m not.”

“You say that right before you wince.”

"That’s because you’re hurting me.”

He sighs, but there’s a flicker of something under the breath—something sharp and coiled.

“I’m trying to help, Moon.”

"I didn’t ask you to.”

It slips out colder than you intend, and the moment you say it, you regret it. His hand stills on your skin.

You flinch, not from pain but from the look in his eyes.

He stands slowly, tossing the cloth aside.

“You don’t have to bite me every time I get too close.”

"I’m not—”

"Yes, you are.”

He steps back, the space between you stretching like a chasm.

“Every time I try to touch you, really touch you, you act like I’m going to burn you alive.”

"That’s not fair.”

"Neither is the fact that I haven’t slept in three nights wondering if you’ll be gone when I wake up.”

That stuns you.

The candlelight flickers. Rain begins to tap softly on the metal roof above.

He runs a hand through his hair, jaw tightening.

“I know you’re scared, Moon. God, I know. But I’m scared, too. I don’t know what comes next. I don’t know what this is.”

You want to say something. You do. But the words are stuck in your throat.

He turns away slightly, his voice quieter now.

“And I’m starting to think you’ll leave now that I’m not something to fix.”

That breaks something in you.

“So that’s what you think this is?” you whisper. “That I stayed because you were broken?”

His silence says enough.

You stand, even though your ribs scream. You move closer until there are only inches between you and the man in front of you.

“I’ve never stayed for anyone, Soonyoung. Not once.”

He doesn’t answer.

You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. Your voice shakes when you speak next.

“But I want to stay with you. Every day.”

The words hang in the air between you, trembling like your breath.

Hoshi’s eyes search yours—wide, stunned, reverent. Like you just handed him a whole galaxy and asked him to hold it.

Then, slowly, carefully, he steps toward you, his hand lifting to your cheek.

And his lips finally meet yours.

His mouth moves against yours like he’s afraid you’ll vanish, but you don’t. You melt.

The kiss deepens, slow and aching. Your fingers twist in his shirt, pulling him closer as he backs you gently toward the soft pile of blankets laid out on the freight car floor.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he whispers, resting his forehead against yours.

“Don’t,” you breathe, voice small. “Please. Just—don’t.”

Soonyoung kisses you again, slower this time. Fuller. Like he’s learning the shape of your mouth from scratch. His hands stay at your waist, not roaming, not demanding. You press your chest into his, heart pounding like a drum against his ribs.

You whimper when he grazes your lip with his teeth.

His thumb strokes over your hip.

“Still okay?”

"Yes.”

He unbuttons your shirt slowly, each pop of a button a small act of worship. He kisses your shoulder as it slips off, trailing warmth in his wake. You’re trembling—but not from fear.

His eyes drink you in as he pushes the fabric down your arms.

“You’re so—” he swallows. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

You flush, chest tightening.

You’re not used to this. Not this kind of looking. Not this kind of wanting.

He kneels in front of you like one would at an altar, before his hands softly remove your pants.

When you’re bare in front of him, shivering in only your underwear, he leans forward—pressing his lips gently to the bruises on your ribs. Your stomach. The cut on your collarbone.

“You survived so much,” he murmurs. “And you’re still here.”

You bite your lip, fighting tears.

“I want to make you feel good, Soonyoung,” you whisper. “I want to—”

He shakes his head.

“No.”

You blink.

“You don’t have to give anything tonight. You don’t owe me pleasure, Moon. You never did.”

"But—”

"Let me show you what it’s supposed to feel like,” he says softly. “Let me show you what it means to be wanted.”

You shudder as he leans in again.

“You deserve to be worshipped, not used.”

He gently instructs you to lay back on the blanket, your hair fanning out like a halo. His lips trail along your throat, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. Every kiss is slow, like he’s savouring you. Every glance between kisses makes you ache deeper.

When he finally pulls off his shirt, you see the bruises still healing across his ribs, and your breath catches. You reach out, kissing the darkest one.

“You got this for me.”

“I’d do it again.”

His hand slips between your thighs, fingertips brushing the cotton of your underwear.

“Can I?”

You nod, voice caught in your throat.

He eases the fabric down, then settles between your legs like it’s the only place he’s ever wanted to be.

The first touch of his fingers against your clit is gentle. Careful.

He strokes between your folds, collecting your building juices and learning every gasp that leaves your mouth, every arch of your back, every shiver of your hips. He watches you with the same expression he wears on stage—focused, present, enchanted.

And when he slides a finger inside your wet heat, his mouth meets your breast, kissing, sucking, syncing the rhythm of his tongue with the one from his fingers.

You reach for him—needing him closer, needing his weight, his heat.

“Soonyoung—please—”

He groans against your skin.

“You feel like heaven.”

Your pleasure builds slowly, like a tide rising, until you’re trembling beneath him, and the world is spinning behind your eyelids. His fingers continue their steady push and pull inside of you as his thumb gently flicks your clit.

You don’t even realise when you fall.

You suddenly cry out his name, shaking, as waves of pleasure ripple through you, raw and real and overwhelming.

Hoshi guides you through it, pressing kisses to your temple, your cheek, and your jaw.

When the aftershocks fade, you pull him down, your legs wrapping around his waist.

“I want you,” you whisper. “I want all of you.”

He hesitates.

“Are you sure?”

"I’ve never been more sure.”

He kisses you again, deeper this time. Your bodies slide together, skin to skin, as he removes his pants. His hard cock springs free, slapping against his stomach. He doesn’t break eye contact when he guides his tip to your entrance and pushes into you. You gasp softly, your legs falling open wider to make space for him. He stills halfway through, his brows drawn in concentration, the corded muscles of his arms shaking where he holds himself above you.

“You’re okay?” he pants.

“Yes,” you whisper, overwhelmed by the stretch of him within your walls, by the way your heart cracks wide open under the weight of being cared for.

“You feel like… fuck, Moon. You feel like home.”

He finally bottoms out with a groan, hips pressing flush to yours. Your head tips back, a moan slipping past your lips at the feeling.

He doesn’t move at first. Just lets you adjust. Your hands trace his spine, nails dragging lightly. His breath is ragged against your neck.

When you lift your hips, he takes it as permission.

He moves. Slow. Gentle. Worshipful.

The friction sparks something deep in you, something raw and tender. Your body arches into him, chasing each slow grind of his hips.

He kisses your lips again.

“You’re so good,” he breathes. “So perfect. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

You whimper, your fingers tangling in his hair as he thrusts deeper, his cock hitting a spot inside of you, you never bothered to search for.

The rhythm builds—deliberate and measured, but full of heat. He rolls his hips against you, his body moving like a dance, like the final act of a performance meant only for you. Each thrust pushes in just right, pulling soft, gasping moans from your throat.

“Soonyoung—please—don’t stop.”

"I won’t. I’m right here.”

You cling to him, overwhelmed by the pleasure building in waves again, dizzy from the closeness, from the way he never looks away from you. His forehead presses to yours. Your lips brush as you breathe each other in.

His hand slides between your bodies, finding your aching bundle of nerves again and circling it gently with his fingers. You cry out at the combined sensation, your hips jerking, pleasure blooming fast and deep.

“Come for me, Moon,” he whispers. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

And you do.

You shatter beneath him—back arching, a sob torn from your throat, the orgasm rippling through you so hard it steals your breath. Your whole body trembles, tears spilling from your eyes.

Soonyoung kisses them away.

“That’s it, love,” he murmurs. “That’s it.”

Your walls cramp around him with your orgasm, and he groans—a low, desperate sound—and thrusts faster, his hips losing their rhythm as he chases the edge as well.

"I love you,” he gasps, his voice wrecked. “I love you, I love you, I—”

And then he comes too, with a shudder and a cry against your skin, his come pouring into you, his body collapsing into yours.

You wrap your arms around him as he trembles through the aftershocks, your hands stroking his back, your heartbeat thundering in your chest.

Neither of you speaks for a long time.

You simply hold each other, sweat-slick and breathless and ruined in the most sacred way.

And when he finally lifts his head to look at you—those eyes soft with everything he doesn’t know how to say—you whisper, “You’re mine now.”

He smiles.

The sea is quieter in the mornings.

You like to think it’s listening.

The breeze carries the scent of salt and citrus, the sky soft with watercolour light. Your little studio stands just beyond the dunes, tucked beneath an olive tree that’s older than you’ll ever be. The walls are whitewashed and cracked in places, but the inside is alive—with your brushstrokes, with the stories only colour can tell.

You painted the studio walls with everything you couldn’t say. A tiger in flight. A girl with stars in her hair. Fire that doesn’t burn but frees.

Soonyoung says it feels like walking into your soul.

He still calls you Moon.

Even now. Even after all this time. Even when your given name hangs on your business sign in elegant cursive: Galerie de Lune.

You laugh now, more than you cry. Not because everything is easy, but because it’s no longer unbearable.

Soonyoung teaches dance in the community hall just down the road. Most days, he brings home sand in his shoes and glitter on his neck from the children, who insist on decorating him like he’s part of the show.

He teaches them rhythm, footwork, and how to roar on stage without fear.

“No one can take your voice if you learn how to use it,” he tells them, tapping their chests where their hearts beat bold and wild. “Even when it shakes.”

Sometimes, you watch through the open windows as he twirls a girl in pigtails or lifts a boy with stage fright into the air until he forgets to be afraid. You still can’t believe he’s real.

Sometimes you touch his back in the middle of the night just to make sure he’s still there.

The bed is a little fuller now.

There’s a child who curls up between you most nights, her little body warm and soft and full of questions. She has a gap in her teeth and a temper that rivals thunder. She calls him Papa and you Maman and insists she was a tiger in her past life.

You might just believe her.

The adoption wasn’t easy. Your body, marked by things you never asked for, couldn’t carry life without danger. It broke you once, quietly and completely, in the dark of a hospital room. But he never blamed you. Not for a second.

He only kissed your tears and whispered, “Then we’ll find the child who’s already waiting for us.”

You did. And she is perfect.

Sometimes you still flinch in your sleep. Sometimes he still wakes from dreams of iron bars and snapping chains, sweat beading on his skin, whispering names he never told you.

But it’s not like before.

You soothe each other back down, palms on hearts, kisses against temples. The panic no longer owns you. It visits. It passes.

You have anchors now. You’ve built a world where no one owns you. Where no one watches from behind velvet curtains. Where no one pays to touch you, or beats you for dancing too slow.

Here, in this quiet coastal town with your studio and his stage and a child that carries light in their palms—you are finally free.

And you are still in love.

Tonight, the stars are out.

You sit on the porch with your sketchbook, legs tucked beneath you, your child asleep inside. Hoshi brings you tea and a kiss on your cheek, still sweaty from rehearsal, his shirt hanging loose on his shoulders.

“Whatcha drawing, Moon?”

"You.”

"Again?” he laughs.

“Always.”

He sits down beside you, thigh pressed to yours, gaze fixed on the dark waves in the distance. For a moment, neither of you speaks.

Then, quietly, he says, “Do you ever think about the fire?”

"Sometimes.”

"Do you regret it?”

You lean your head against his shoulder. “No. It saved you.”

"It burned everything down.”

"Only what needed to die.”

He takes your hand, kissing your knuckles. “You rebuilt me.”

"No,” you whisper. “You just finally had room to bloom.”

He hums, content. And as the tide laps against the shore, you realize something so simple it nearly brings you to tears.

You are safe. You are free. You are loved.

And your tiger still sleeps beside you.

A/N: Don't ask me where this came from, I have no idea. Did I cry while writing it? Yes. Am I also incredibly proud of it? Yes. Anyway, hope you enjoy and that it breaks your heart like it did mine. 💟

Send me your thoughts - feedback/fangirling is always welcome.

(Collage created by me. Credits to owners of the pictures taken from Pinterest)

[orbitprism]

ᵐᵒᵒᵈᵇᵒᵃʳᵈˢ ²/∞ | → hoshi

[svtswhorehouse]

SVT : the daddy kink line — nsfw

disclaimer: minors do not interact, 18+ only

Seungcheol: pls tell us something we don’t know, isn’t this one obvious. this man radiates so much power and authority, his aura practically SCREAMS daddy. you would call it straight off the bat before you two even started dating that he had the kink. the way he presented himself let you know it, but curiosity kills the cat right ??? (the cat being your pussy.) he wouldn’t even have to tell you. the word would just casually slip out of your mouth in a whine mid-fuck and he would stop for a beat before thrusting into you at lightning speed. ever since then, it became a name you would use every time y’all had sex and even if you wanted to let it go and quit using it, you just wouldn’t be able to help yourself from calling him daddy. not when he towers over you and makes you feel so damn good that you’re seeing stars.

Jeonghan: a flipping fucking tease. he would force it out of you for sure. leading up to it he would make jokes and subtle hints about calling him daddy, but you’d never think he would be serious about it. fast forward to you at his mercy laying on the bed completely bare and spread open for him. he would’ve been edging you for hours, his favorite past time — a sly smirk on his face as he holds off on letting you cum undone until he hears the very word escape from your mouth. you would refuse at first. not because you didn’t want to, but rather because you were far too stubborn to give in to him. jeonghan however has no problem with ruining your orgasm over and over again until you reach your breaking point and practically yell out the name with incoherent begs following it. that fucker would smile wide and big before faking sympathy and telling you that’s all you had to say if you really wanted to cum that badly. he would ruin your orgasm a few more times after that, just to remind you that one: he always gets what he wants, and two: to hear you call him daddy a few more times before he finally gives in to your desperation.

Soonyoung: hear me out — this man didn’t even know he had a daddy kink. soonyoung has definitely thought about it before, but pushed it to the back of his mind as he claimed it to be silly. it wasn’t until you were playfully teasing him one day in which the switch just flipped and he was like “damn, maybe i do have a daddy kink.” he would bring it up in the middle of eating you out. you were almost there, just needed a little push over the edge to bring you to an orgasm when he drops what he’s doing entirely. any other day you might’ve laughed in his face when insisted you call him daddy, but that night — the way he said it, he didn’t even ask for it. no, he demanded it. voice rough and stern, you just found the name slipping from your lips so easily in a desperate plea for him to continue his relentlessness on your sopping wet cunt.

Wonwoo: the thought of calling wonwoo daddy would cross your mind occasionally, however he has a sir kink and has never seemed to care about being called anything but. yes sir this and please sir that — but, you just can’t help but wonder if he would mind you calling him daddy. the opportunity arises when you found yourself on your knees infront of him one day, completely bare and ready to be good for him. he would ask you a question and you would answer with a lack of manners that he would remind you about. that was when you would strike. “yes daddy.” he was toast. you could tell he had to hold back a groan too as he was quick to skip everything else he would normally go through and instead get inside of you as fast as he could. “daddy huh?” he would ask, thrusting at an almost inhumane speed, bringing you to your orgasm much too quickly. you wouldn’t be able to do anything, but moan the word over and over again, only pushing him to fuck you harder. from that day on he ditched the sir kink. you awakened something inside of him he wished he heard from you a lot sooner. he was missing out all this time.

Mingyu: hear me out again — he can cook, he can clean, he can take care of you in more ways than one, he’s HUGE. yupppp, that’s a daddy right there. when he cages you in with his big muscular arms and overstimulates you to the point in which you’re teetering on the edge of subspace is when you find yourself calling him by the name. it leaves your mouth in a whine and it doesn’t faze him at all as he hums in acknowledgment and continues to nip at your neck. he becomes so attentive when you call him it, but still refuses to let up, the word fueling his need to bring you to another orgasm even if it would leave your brain even more empty than it already is. it’s not something he genuinely needs to hear whenever you two have sex but my god does it make his cock twitch and fuel his sex drive. once you use it for the night, you can sure as hell bet that you would be calling him daddy for the rest of the time you two spend fucking because when he hears it he won’t allow you to call him anything else.

[seugkwa]

순영

[highvern]

Beggin' On My Knees

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

Genre: fluff, smut, hint of angst, established relationship, biker! hoshi

warnings: pregnancy, impreg/breeding kink, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), nipple play, unprotected sex, praise kink, body worship, spitting, praise kink

Length: ~8k

Note: inspired by the Please, Please, Please MV. this was originally an idea for taehyung but alas my top freak took over again. something about biker/mechanic hoshi really is beautiful thank u @tomodachiii @haologram and @gyuswhore for keeping me sane

summary: After another run in with the law, you come to terms with the fact your friends might be right about your fiancé.

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Even at your age, it’s somehow more embarrassing to buy pregnancy tests than condoms. You wouldn’t know since you’ve never bought condoms. That particular responsibility falls exclusively on your fiance after the few times in college when you snagged handfuls from the bucket inside the campus clinic.

You’ve bought a pregnancy test before. Not for yourself but for friends too embarrassed to walk into the pharmacy and publicly declare how active their sex lives were. Now you understand why they wanted someone else to do it. Why are there twenty different brands? Why do they require some high school employee to unlock the case so you can pick the one you want? Why are they so damn expensive? The anxiety you feel rivals the first time you bought weed sophomore year of college from some sleazy frat boy.

You’ve got the box resting on the bathroom counter, a timer on your phone, and the test just out of sight while you pace back and forth in the small space. The door is shut for no other reason than to isolate away from Soonyoung in the event he gets off work early.

You should call Soonyoung. He’d want to know, fight the urge to say something stupid like “I’ll try harder next time” when the tests come back negative and instead offer to pee on one in solidarity if only to lighten the mood.

You never understood when people say a woman just knows until right now because with each passing second the reality that those tests are going to be positive sink in. Despite the fact you and Soonyoung almost always use a condom and the times without them end with him coming anywhere not inside you. You just know it.

Each second ticks down like a bomb waiting to detonate.

Positive. Positive. Positive.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Your stomach twists.  Surprisingly, you don’t dread it as much as you would have a year ago. But a million things a baby entails rush over you. Cleaning out the spare room upstairs, doctors appointments, daycare, clothes, school. Do you even know how to actually take care of a kid? One that belongs to you, who you can’t give back to their person when they get fussy or hurt.

Soonyoung was born to be a dad. He never hid how badly he wanted a family of his own, a family with you. He’s good with kids too. You’ve seen him with his nieces and nephews, your friends’ kids. The middle schoolers in your neighborhood come to him with broken bikes and scooters to be fixed, knock on your front door to ask if he can help them get their ball down from some tree. Even if he doesn't know what he’s doing he’d be there by your side.

As the initial shock washes away, the knots in your chest slowly unfurl. You can do this. Even though you planned your life down to the last detail, Soonyoung has a way of sweeping you into his tide. Engagement, marriage, house, babies. In that order. You’ve already got the house before he asked you to marry him and your wedding is only a month away. 

After the worst of the panic settles into restless jitters, you leave the solitude of the bathroom. Soonyoung still isn’t home from work yet but it isn’t unusual. He’s been pulling more hours, shouldering more responsibilities since Mr. Lee, the owner, hinted at a promotion. Glancing at the clock, you guess he’ll walk through the door in two hours which gives you plenty of time to put together something to surprise him.

After a long shower, you burn time by cleaning up non-existent messes; you can’t sit still. The ‘surprise’ ends up being lackluster. Your weekly grocery shopping trip is tomorrow so the fridge is slim pickings for dinner and you make the executive decision to go out once Soonyoung is home. Some fancy restaurant neither of you can afford with tiny dishes designed to leave you hungry and stopping at the diner at the edge of town for a burger. 

While the noise from the TV hums in the background, you scroll through internet searches on what to do when expecting. Doctors appointments, blood tests, advice on budgeting. It’s information overload but you’re giddy even with the stress.. Then you see it. A screenshot from one of your friends. No words, just a photo. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

The longer you stare the quicker the realization becomes a reality. Soonyoung, your Soonyoung, the Soonyoung you’ve been waiting to get home, the reason for three positive pregnancy tests still on the bathroom counter, stares back. Or his mugshot does. A proud stain on the town jail’s website for everyone to see.

Storming out of the house, you notice Jeonghan’s car is gone from his own driveway. Hopefully he’s given your fiance an earful at the station already. If not, you’ve got plenty to say.

Whatever giddy happiness possessed you earlier is long gone, rotten disgust taking its place. How stupid do you look waiting for him at home while he’s gone and gotten himself locked up?

That stupid bike.

It isn’t the first time. That was the initial appeal back when you were a doe eyed freshman, finally out from under your parents thumb with more freedom than you knew how to handle. Soonyoung was the stereotypical bad boy with a taste for fast cars, working in a garage to your good girl persona who set the curve in all her classes. A few drinks at a run down dive bar landed you on his bike in some back alley, a hand under your skirt while he whispered the nastiest things you’ve ever heard. Then you returned the favor back at his apartment, riding him with enough vigor the headboard slapping against the wall sent his neighbors into a fit.

Then came the routine of Soonyoung picking you up from your dorms late at night, staying out until sunrise doing who knows what. He showed you off at street races, called you his girl in front of friends, and would take you out to the lake after winning a race and make you feel like a winner too. 

It was fun. 

Until the calls he’d been out street racing again wore down your patience as your friends’ giddy curiosity turned to embarrassment and ‘I told you so’s. It wasn’t enough to break your heart, but it tore your ego to shreds. They called him a loser and you defended him time and time again because you loved him. Because he promised it wouldn’t happen again.

He promised the last time was the last time. The time before that was also the last time and the time before and so on. 

The parking lot of the police station is nearly empty this time of day; a few police cars and a handful of other vehicles. Otherwise, it sits deserted. 

Jeognhan is waiting for you at the front desk, pretending to type away at something on the computer but you know better. You’ve done this song and dance too many times. 

“What the fuck did he do this time?” 

He quirks an eyebrow, sliding a clipboard with the usual paperwork your way as he speaks. “What do you think?” 

You nearly rip through the paper from pressing the pen so hard as you sign. “You’re fucking kidding me.” 

“Ma’am, language,” a young officer warns.

You’ve never seen him before and the stern look on his face pisses you off even more. His eyes widen in what must be fear because he scrambles back to the filing cabinet at the back of the room without speaking. “I didn’t know you had a new bitch, Han.” 

Jeonghan takes his clipboard back before you can whack him with it. “Nope, that's still your fiancé. Chan, go get Soonyoung from the box.” 

“Tell him I’ve got a hammer in the car for his balls,” you call. 

“Please refrain from making threats inside the police station.”

Soonyoung has the sense to look afraid when he rounds the corner. He’s still in his work clothes, oil stained shirt and dirty coveralls, hair matted to his forehead. You can only imagine what he sees. Last time you picked up he’d still been drunk from a bar fight and you made him sleep on the porch with Jeonghan’s engine as an alarm clock. You’d been too tired to make threats, half asleep the entire time. This time, you feel on the verge of crying, throwing up, and exploding into a fiery rage.

You don’t wait for him while Jeonghan hands over the bag of Soonyoung’s belongings. Halfway to the car, he races to catch up without a word and goes as far as rushing ahead to open the driver's door for you. There’s a fraction of a second you contemplate speeding off before he can get into the passenger seat, let him walk home in the dark as punishment for being a dumbass. But you don’t. You want to yell at him for being a dumbass until your throat bleeds.

The car smells like motor oil and sweat with him so close in the passenger seat. You gag at the stench, rolling all the windows down to avoid vomiting. The last thing you want right now is to need him.

Under usual circumstances the silence hanging heavy in the air would be comfortable, familiar and warm with the golden hue of the sunset and the sound of cicadas not far off. The world holds its breath, but you don’t.

“Do you know how embarrassing it is to find out you got arrested from someone sending me your mugshot?” you ask at the first red light. Soonyoung tries to answer but you cut him off. “No, you don’t. Because I’d never put you in that position.”

He grumbles out the window. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’re better than me.”

“You think I’m pissed because I think I’m better than you? I’m pissed because you act like a fucking loser. I’m pissed because you’re a liar! You promised me you wouldn’t do this dumb shit anymore. YOU PROMISED ME. And I look like an idiot because I’m stupid enough to trust you.”

You wait for an excuse. Some honeyed platitude about how much he loves you and it being a mistake and how it’ll never happen again but Soonyoung offers nothing. 

“What do you want me to say?” he asks.

You scoff. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Clearly!” you shriek, the vein in your neck throbbing. “Do you know how it feels to have my friends send me your mugshot? I’m at home tearing my hair out and you’re street racing some kid for kicks.”

“He wasn’t a kid—” 

“I don’t give a fuck!” The edges of your vision scorch red, teeth gnashing. You’ve never been this angry with him. You’ve never been this angry, period. “Grow up!”

He’s lucky Jeonghan caught him and not one of the other officers hell bent on cleaning up the streets. He’s lucky you didn’t have to front bail money neither of you have, especially now. Instead of spending the weekend in jail, Soonyoung’s punishment is fixing whatever Jeonghan sends his way for the next month free of charge but it’s not enough, not even close.

The kill shot bubbles on the tip of your tongue but that last bit of self control keeps it under lock and key. This isn’t how you thought you’d tell him, nowhere close to the way the evening happened in your head before you saw that picture. You wanted to surprise him. Watch the way the news sunk in slowly then all at once. You remember the test you left on the kitchen counter for him to find when he got home before everything went to shit. The ember of rage flairs back to life.

“You wanna race so bad, go fetch!” You don’t think as you rip the keys to that cursed bike from his hands and chuck them out the window into the grassy median, gone in a flash. It’s only a temporary solution but it feels good. It’s the next best thing to taking a bat to his bike until there’s nothing salvageable.

Soonyoung sputters. “Are you crazy?” 

Maybe. You’re absolutely toeing the line of unhinged. The car skids to a stop, tires burning against the asphalt. Thankfully the road is clear of any traffic.

“Get out,” you demand.

“What?”

“Get out. Get out, get out, get out!” You repeat the words over and over until he does what you tell him to. You feel the suffocating tightness in your chest signaling tears are seconds away. 

“Baby, let's talk about this,” Soonyoung begs. He tries to reach through the window, he knows your weak spots too well. You snatch your hand away before he can take advantage.

“You can have this back!” You launch the diamond band right at his chest before taking off.

You get back home on autopilot. There are red lights and stop signs and other traffic laws you can’t remember if you followed but you’re in the driveway and barreling up the porch with shaky breaths. Guilt doesn’t cross your mind for a second. Soonyoung didn’t feel guilty for racing like a dumbass until he got caught, so why should you feel guilty for letting him deal with the consequences? 

The urge to do something mean, not just mean but hurtful with the intent of seeing Soonyoung sick to his stomach, rears its head. If that’s what you wanted then mission accomplished. He saved for a year to buy that ring and you threw it in his face like it was nothing but cheap plastic. The ire from earlier rushes out of you like a deflating balloon. Your fingers itch for a cigarette but unlike your now ex fiance, you have to cut out all your vices. There’s no relief in pacing back and forth. There won’t be any solace inside the house either. You’re so tired. All the highs and lows of the day have drained you of everything. You don’t want to be mad or sad or anything anymore. You just want to go to bed and sleep off the entire day. 

You want to leave but you don’t. You want to yell some more but Soonyoung will be at least another hour. There’s nothing to anxiously clean while waiting so you water the crispy plants on the porch while you wait.

Jeonghan’s cruiser pulls into his driveway across the street thirty minutes later. Still no sign of Soonyoung, not a missed call or text. You think to worry but he gets out of Jeonghan’s passenger seat and trudges your way.

He looks angry and tired. But your swollen eyes and splotchy face melts the furrow in his brows.

“I’m—”

You silence him with a blast from the water hose. Soonyoung takes his punishment like a man, standing completely still while you douse him from head to toe. 

“I deserve that. Please, just listen to me—” He’s silent with another stream aimed at his chest. You feel some validation seeing him embody the way you feel: pathetic. 

“Will you put the hose down so we can talk about this?”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” you huff, dropping the hose for him to clean up.

“Then I’ll talk and you listen.”

“No.” You head towards the door with no intention of letting Soonyoung inside. “Go sleep at Jeonghan’s, I don’t wanna be around you right now.”

“He already told me no.”

Jeonghan would take mercy on Soonyoung in this state; soaked to the bone with your engagement ring in his pocket.

You turn to face him. “I want you to get rid of your bike.”

Soonyoung stays at the foot of the stairs leading up the porch. He knows how you feel and he has the sense to look ashamed.

“You want me to sell Tammy?” he asks.

“I want Tammy to fall off a cliff into the abyss but that’s obviously not going to happen,” you seethe, blinking away more frustrated tears.

“I have a lot of good memories with Tammy.”

“What? The first time you got arrested? Or the time you fell off and broke your arm? Oh, I know! When you ended up in a ditch?”

“The time I asked you to be my girlfriend. And the time I won enough money to help put a down payment on the house. When—“

“It’s me or her.”

Does it feel juvenile giving your fiance an ultimatum between you and a godforsaken bike? Absolutely. But you’ve got a kid to think about now and the thought of Soonyoung missing their life because he’s too busy chasing the rush makes you sick.

“It’s you.” Soonyoung says it with finality but you don’t believe him.

“Then prove it.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“Sell it. First thing tomorrow morning.”

He laughs bitterly. “I’m not selling my bike.”

“Then I’ll be sure to tell your kid their dad is a fucking loser.” 

He blinks like the words don’t fully set in but your back is already to him by the time they do. Locked inside the house, you lean back against the door. You don’t want him to hear the crack of breath in your throat breaking into hot, wet tears. 

“What do you mean my kid?” Soonyoung’s panicked voice comes through the door. “YN! Open the door!”

“Go away.”

His whispered curses slip through the door while he scrambles for the spare key hidden in the potted plant by the door. If you really wanted him locked out, you would’ve remembered to move it before he got home. Part of you does want him stuck as far away as possible. You don’t want to face him because you know he’ll kiss your tears away and that’s all you want right now. You want him to hold you, promise you everything will be okay.

The lock of the bedroom door clicks into place right as Soonyoung gets the front door open. You hear him downstairs, looking for where you’re hidden. You can plot his course in your head: straight through the living into the kitchen where one of the positive tests waits to greet him on the counter, then he comes racing up the stairs and outside the door.

He twists the doorknob with no success. “YN.”

“Go away,” you sniffle into the pillow. His pillow. You’re on his side of the bed, in one of his old shirts because even if you wish you hated him.  

A dull thud against the door and a sigh signals his departure. You hear him shuffling back downstairs, but the sound of the front door never comes. The fatigue of the day takes over swiftly. Surrounded by the comforting smell of Soonyoung, you fall asleep until the smell of food wafts up through the vents. Not burnt but if Soonyoung is in the kitchen then it’s only a matter of time.

You creep down the stairs, careful to stay quiet so you can sneak back up without getting caught. Soonyoung’s body blocks whatever he’s organizing on the counter but you tell it’s a bribe from the sight of take out bags piled in the trash.

“What’s that?”

“Dinner. Do you want some?”

He’s got an entire pizza with garlic knots and cinnamon twists laid out like a feast. You watch him pretend to be nonchalant but he’s glued to your every move as you approach the counter and shove an entire garlic knot into your mouth, chewing with enough force to warn you haven’t forgiven him yet even though you're close to it. “I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“Then we won’t talk,” he sighs into the base of your skull, fingers edging beneath your shirt for the comforting warmth of skin on skin. 

“Don’t,” you say, but lean back into the warmth of his body despite yourself.

“I’m sorry.”

Sure he is. You know he means it. Soonyoung is always sorry but it doesn’t stop him from being a dumbass. But he’s your dumbass no matter how many fights you have.

He lets you eat, content to hide his face in your shoulder and his fingers warm against the waistband of your sweatpants. You hate crying and you hate crying in front of him – because of him – even more. The heavy silence of the kitchen and the love of your life clinging onto you like his life depends on it brings a fresh prick of tears. Once you start, you can’t stop. The tears keep coming as Soonyong maneuvers your face into his chest. His new, clean shirt turns into your tissue. You fall into him without hesitation.

“Are you really…” he asks quietly, dropping kiss after kiss against your hair while you wring out like a sponge. 

“Do you think I’d lie to make you feel bad?”

“No. I just—fuck. You’re pregnant.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“How do you feel?”

You blow your nose into his neck. “Like I wanna punch my kid’s dad in the nuts.”

“He probably deserves that.”

“He definitely does.”

“And he deserves to sleep outside.”

“Yep,” you nod.

“But you still love him?”

“Of course I do, you big idiot,” you sigh, leaning back to look at him. Mistake. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” His brow presses to yours, face rounded out, soft cheeks that make you want to scream. Brown eyes shine beneath his lashes. Soonyoung knows exactly what he’s doing. 

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You don’t but things would be a lot easier if you did.

Soonyoung takes the silence as an admission, and when you don’t object he falls to his knees, pulls your shirt out of the way and presses his face into your stomach. “We should name it Donatello.”

“No.”

“Leonardo.”

“No,” you giggle despite yourself.

“Raphael.”

“You are not naming our baby after a Ninja Turtle.”

“Mojo Jojo Jojo.”

“No.”

“Thanos.”

“Stop!”

“You’re laughing?” Soonyoung gasps, rushing to his feet to pin your squirmy body between him and the counter’s edge. “I’m trying to have a very serious conversation and you’re laughing?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“And you love me.”

You nod, hiding back into his chest where it’s safe. “Yeah, I love you.”

The silence marinates between you. 

“I’ll sell the bike, promise.”

“You’re not the best at keeping promises.”

“This time is different.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want our kid to grow up thinking their dad doesn’t worship the ground their mom walks on. Because I know she’s way too good for me and I’m lucky to have her.”

“I’m not too good for you, I hate when you say that.”

“You called me a loser.”

“I said you acted like a loser and I won’t take that back.” 

He looks away. “That’s fair.”

The icy wall of hurt freezes back up but you’re too tired to drag on the fight any longer. “When I found out my reaction wasn’t ’oh he’s being stupid.’ It was ‘how would I tell our kid their dad missed their birthday because he got himself locked up.’ That’s all I could think about. Explaining to our kid over and over why you’re never there.”

The words rest like a wet blanket over his flame of excitement. He doesn’t want to be that kind of dad; the one who misses their child’s life for something as stupid as street racing. Who leaves you to pick up a broken heart time and time again, two broken hearts.

You’re at arms length, Soonyoung examining you like a puzzle he can’t figure out but wants to try anyway. You hate when he looks at you like that. Like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen and he can’t quite believe you’re real. “You’re gonna be a great mom.”

“Shut up.” You hide the blush staining across your cheeks with another slice of pizza. 

“You are.”

“Well,” you swallow. “I need you to be a good dad. And if you can’t then I’m not afraid to do it by myself.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

“Can I talk to it?”

“If you want to.” You don’t tell him that the thing growing in your womb curiously of him is the size of a pea and doesn’t have a face, let alone ears. You want to hear what his first words as a dad are.

He rucks your shirt up higher until it’s bunched beneath your breast, stomach on full display for him to bury his face into. 

“Hi. I’m your dad,” he starts timidly. You bite back a smile at his earnestness. “I don’t usually make your mom this angry. Usually, she’s pretty happy with me.” His lips brush your stomach with each word, tickling them into your skin. “I hope you take after her. She’s smart, and she’s pretty. God, she’s so pretty. I remember the first time I saw your mom and I knew I wanted to marry her.”

You snort. “You did not.”

“Yes, I did,” he corrects. “We were at this bar. You’re not allowed to go there. Ever. Maybe when you’re thirty or I’m dead. But I remember seeing her when she walked in and I thought ‘that is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and if she talks to me, I’ll throw up.’ I still feel like that sometimes. Even when she’s mad at me. And then when I got the courage to talk to her, I didn’t throw up because your old man is cool.”

Your heart swells too big for your chest. The night you met him wasn’t the stuff of fairytales. You saw him across the bar, all blonde hair and ruby cheeks as he screamed with his friends. He did throw up the first time you talked to him. After an hour of riding him until it hurt, you melted boneless in his lap and he snuck away to the bathroom to toss the used condom. You faked asleep as he emptied his guts into the toilet bowl before crawling back to bed and begging for cuddles. Pure romance.

“So cool,” you tease.

Soonyoung laces your fingers together, nipping at your fingertips in protest. “Your mom is mean to me but it’s okay because I love her. You’ll love her too. I just hope you’ll love me.”

You fight the urge to cry, only a single tear streaking down your cheek before stopping. “They’ll love you.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so.”

“How?”

“Because I love you and I’m very smart. Remember?”

“I did say that, didn't I?”

You hum in agreement, pulling him up your body to nudge his nose along yours. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you.” You let him shower you in gentle touches, his hands smoothing up your sides. Soonyoung traps you between his body and the counter, his lips sweeping over your chin, your jaw, your covered chest. That’s when you feel it. “What are you doing?”

“Apologizing.”

“Feels a lot like your penis to me.”

“That’s a part of the apology,” he whispers, the weight of his cocky heavy against your thigh, harder with each controlled grind. “Can’t believe I knocked you up and I never even came inside of you.”

“I can. You talk about kids so much I bet you manifested this.”

“You want it though, right?”

“Yeah.”

You’re lifted onto the countertop, legs spread around his hips. He’s got one hand wedge between your ass and panties to keep you close. “Do you think I’ll be a good dad?”

Not the conversation you thought would happen while you’re tugging his shirt off and working at the tie in his pajamas pants but you humor him.

“I think you’ll be a great dad.” You kiss him gently. His lips, his nose, his cheeks that round in your favorite smile. “If you stop getting arrested. How are you gonna ground Michaelangelo if you keep getting in trouble too?”

“She’s gonna be too smart for that. Just like her mom.”

“Oh, it’s a she now?”

“I’ve got a feeling.” He nips at your throat, a sweet flick of his tongue to soothe the sting. “Back to me coming inside you.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Gonna take it all for me?”

Your chin tips back to provide more skin for Soonyoung to mark up. “Want it.”

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he heaves. You’re trapped between a hand against the crotch of your panties and one pawing at your ass like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

“Take your pants off.”

An amused breath warms your throat. “Someone’s bossy”

“Yeah, and I’m telling you to take your pants off.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Shirt gone, sweats pooled around his ankles, Soonyoung stands in nothing but a pair of tenting briefs and the thin chain you gifted him a week after he placed that band on your ring finger.

“Wow, who knew you'd be such a DILF.”

His cheeks tinged pink from the complement. “I’ve been a dad for five minutes and you’re already trying to hit on me.”

“We’re engaged, doofus.”

“Speaking of.” He snatches his pants off the floor, digging through the pockets until a familiar ring appears. “Don’t take this off again.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

He catches your chin between his fingers, pining you in his gaze. “I don’t care how angry you are with me. When I asked you to marry me, I meant forever.”

You can count on one hand the number of times he’s used that tone of voice with you. Soonyoung doesn't get angry often; at least, not with you. The last time he talked to you like this was when you wandered on the wrong side of town late at night, alone and drunk without a way home. You were pissed about a grade and wanted to do something reckless like every other kid at your university got to. Luckily, Soonyoung found you before trouble could. He used the same tone to chastise you for an hour about how stupid you’d been. 

But he isn’t just mad at your antics. He’s scared too. You look at him — really look at him for the first time since this morning when you kissed him goodbye before work. Red eyes, lip bruised, not from kisses but the way he chews it when he’s anxious.

“I’m sorry.” You pull him back, arms wrapped so tightly around his torso he probably can’t breathe and you both like the certainty of it. The tension in his shoulders softens like candle wax but he doesn’t let go. 

There’s still the matter of damp underwear and his boner. You want him, the gnawing aching way you always want him. Between your legs, stroking your sensitive spots to life over and over again until you beg for mercy he’s too eager to deny.

You nose against his cheek, adoring kiss after kiss against his skin until mouths meet. Soonyoung slips his tongue between the seam of your lips. You feel it the way down to your toes. On instinct, your hand trickles down his front, wedged tight between your bodies to paw at the fabric. A few dry jerks is all it takes for him to unravel.

“Wait,” Soonyoung gasps, hips rutting into the tight squeeze.

He keens with another tug, neck flushing a pretty shade of pink. The linoleum bites into your knees before you mouth over his underwear for a taste of what's to come. You suck the head through his underwear before leaning back to tease him with a kiss.

“Bedroom.”

“Didn’t think I’d see the day you’d refuse a kitchen blowjob,” you snicker.

Soonyoung doesn’t laugh. He pulls you back up into a bruising kiss, biting at your lip until you’re sure it’s bruised. His hand gropes down your ass, fingers tight to your entrance from behind. Whatever he wants like this you’ll agree to.

“Want you on my mouth.”

You’d kneel over his face right here on the kitchen floor if he wanted. But knowing your fiance, his sights are glued to whatever fantasies boil beneath that blond hair of his. 

You race up the stairs, Soonyoung hands heavy on your sides. His thumbs press into the bare curve of your hips. Your clothes fall until just your underwear remains. You want to turn around and mount him on the steps but the second floor landing is close enough you don’t get a chance. 

Soonyoung flicks all the bedroom lights on, eager to see every part of you as you crawl up the bed on all fours in nothing but your underwear. A few years ago you wouldn’t dream of sex with a lamp on let alone the overhead light but years of his utter devotion to your body and wanting to watch you get off like it’s his very own miracle gave you confidence. He looks ready to jump out of his own skin at the doorway. You glance over back and arch your spine a little more, ass higher in the air for his viewing. You might just finger yourself like this to see him suffer. You’ve done it before.

You stretch out, naked chest on display. “Are you coming?”

“Fuck yeah, I am.” Unconsciously, he palms his cock and approaches the side of the bed, pulling you into a kiss with a heavy lick of his tongue.

It doesn’t take much to drag him on top of you, dick hot to your thigh, perfect to rut against. There’s too much Soonyoung to think of anything else. His hands pinning you in place, his breath fanning across your chest as he suckles across the slope of your breast, thighs surging between yours in a dry hump you can’t help but beg for more of. His hips stutter when you do.

He follows the same playbook you did earlier; fingers trailing to the wet patch of your wants, mouth following closely. You’re in for a treat when he’s on his knees like this. He wants to tease you the way you did him but Soonyoung isn’t committed to denying you anything, he wants to rake you over hot coals by giving too much. 

Your hands eagerly hook beneath your knees, legs spread wide before him like a feast..

“Taste so good,” he rasps with a soft suck at your clit. “You’re so hot.”

Even with the barrier of your underwear each lick lights you on fire. Soonyoung moans a lewd melody, lost in his own paradise. Your thighs twitch with each gentle prod at your entrance, folded away by his shoulders so he can touch as much as he wants.

The promise from earlier lights up your brain. You twist a tight grip in his hair, pulling hard enough to detach him from your body. Lips wet, eyes blown, Soonyoung tries to dive back down until another twist of your nails makes him wince.

“Call Jeonghan.”

His mouth may be gone but his fingers circle your clit in the way that makes you whine. “What?”

“Call. Him,” you command. 

You snatch your phone from the end table, forcing it into Soonyoung’s grasp. He still doesn’t understand what you’ve asked.

“Sell him the bike right now.”

“Now?” He looks down at your pussy still on display, underwear soaked in spit and arousal.

You nod. Soonyoung knows better than to argue. He’s back in your good graces but only just, the promise of shipping that infernal bike off to someone else keeping him afloat. 

Your body throbs for release, for his mouth to go back to work instead of whispering into the phone when Jeonghan answers. 

“Two grand? Bullshit! There's at least…” he trails off.

You’re not going to stop just because he’s busy. You grab your breasts, taunt nipples visible between your fingers. Clad in a pair of sticky panties and nothing else, you’ve reduced him into a stuttering mess. Any other night he’d already be smothering himself in the wetness. You can see the urge in his gaze as he swallows loudly.

“Four,” Soonyoung counters. His face twists between wanting to argue with the neighbor, brows furrowed, lips in a heavy pout, and watch in awe as you suck on your own fingers before pinching at your chest again.

You’ve got him distracted with a hand between your legs, pushing your underwear out of the way to flash him exactly what he’s earning. Flushed and wet, the smell of sex hangs in the air.

“Thirty-five,” his voice cracks as you spread your legs wider, pulling his hand right where it belongs.

Soonyoung bats your hands away, fingers twisting through your heat. A gentle prod at your entrance like he hasn’t mastered your pussy enough to make you stupid and strung out with a few touches. There’s no way Jeonghan can’t hear every pleased sigh, the wet noise echoing from your pussy, the annoyance in Soonyoung’s voice as they barter back and forth. 

Soonyoung leans over and spits where his fingers disappear, making you jolt with the force as he does it again. You nearly ask him to spit in your mouth just to see his eyes bulge but the opportunity disappears with the sound of Jeonghan’s cackle through the line.

“Fine, three. I’ll give you the keys tomorrow.” He ends the call, forces your hand out of the way, and eagerly makes up for the minutes lost.

Both of your hands find the soft strands of his hair to hold him in place. Your feet plant on the bed beside his wide shoulders, allowing you to hump his face pathetically only to be welcomed with a grunt. The rip of fabric registers right before what was once your underwear is left stretched across the middle of your thigh. 

“S-shit, don’t stop.”

His fingers spread for his tongue to lick between. You punish him for such a dirty move with a harsh pull of his hair that he loves more than anything. Soonyoung does what he does best: groveling for your forgiveness. You’ll give it to him like always. But you both want him to work for it; it’s better when he does. 

He spreads your legs wider, gives a pleased grunt when you hold him in place and grind into his mouth. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant; vision blurry, body on fire.

Soonyoung moans into the sloppy mess of your pussy, sucking your clit between his lips, wedging another finger between the two already ruining you. 

“Oh god—there.”

Your thighs crush his head but he forces them up and open, pinned in place. The tender glow of the end escalates into a scalding burn as it rips through every muscle. You clench so tight around his fingers he can’t move them more than a tight curl. When you cry at the overstimulation he finally rests.

“Did you just—”

Pins and needles ripple through your muscles and all you can do is nod. Once the initial shock fades, there’s a smug twitch of his lips. He catches your foot and pins it before you can kick him.

“Shut up.”

“Have I told you how much I think about you being pregnant?” he asks, watching your every move.

You shake your head. His fingers keep working in gentle strokes, the wet noises quieter than before but loud in your ears. 

“It’s a lot,” he grunts. “Fuck, you’re gonna be so sexy.”

“I’m not already?” you half laugh, half gasp. The spark of arousal already demands more so you rock your hips down despite the sensitivity.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“But I’m not sexy?”

“Don’t pick an argument with me right now, please,” Soonyoung begs. 

“Why?”

“Because I’m thinking about coming in you until you can’t take anymore.”

“Then I’ll be sexy?” you goad.

“You’ve always been sexy.” He punctuates the compliment with a kiss to your left hip bone. “Beautiful.” Another on your right. “Gorgeous.” One on the plush of your thigh. “I love you.”

He folds you in half, knees to chest like you possess the flexibility to stay there, ankles cuffed in his hand, lips hot on the back of your thigh. 

“We should fuck on the bike one more time,” you tease. 

“You want me to defile the mother of my child on a motorcycle?”

You moan at his words. You want him to come wherever he wants, as many times as he can. Until he can’t anymore. To feel nasty and used however he sees fit. You want him on top of you, behind you, bending you over every surface he can until you’re shaking.

“You’re about to defile me right here. W-what’s the difference?”

Soonyoung curls the fingers inside you tight, eyes glued to the way you heave before answering. He fucks into that spot that makes you his puppet and all you want is to ruin him the same way he ruins you with the slightest touch. “You said I should stop doing things that’ll get me arrested.”

You choke on another tease as he sucks on your clit, tongue coaxing pathetic sighs right out of your lungs. He could do this all night. He’d be happy to. Soonyoung grips you tighter as you squirm away. It’s too much. He knows it and that’s why he loves it so much, knowing he can make you cum hard enough to scream.

“Are the cameras still broken at the garage?”

“Yeah,” he grunts, already knowing exactly what you’re thinking.

“Then you can defile me at your place of business, over the bike. Just like old times.”

“No condoms.”

“How else are you gonna stuff me full of cum?”

Soonyoung groans, pushing your legs wider as his hips rut into the mattress. “Wanna come inside you.”

“Then get up here and do it.”

You’re soaked between the legs, sensitive and swollen. Soonyoung settles into the warm cradle of your thighs easily, pressing his cock into the wet mess of spit and arousal. Your body acts of instinct, hips tilting until he slips between your walls.

“Oh my god.” He laps at the swell of your breast. “‘S okay?”

“Yeah, they don’t hurt yet.”

The sharp edge of his teeth leaves lines across your skin while he sucks at your chest until your spine breaks in half. His fingers keep firm pressure against your clit. Sloppy but enough to keep you pulled taunt. You’ll come a second time if he keeps it up.

“Oh my god,” you echo. 

Soonyoung likes to fuck hard. Hard enough you feel like all your seams are splitting, just shy of shattering your limit. Now’s no different but there's a new edge of caution. Even with his hips flat, inside you until nothing is left to give, he tangles your fingers together and pins them over head in the pillows.

You push your body against his, needy and pliant. Blind want acting as a guide, your ankles lock around his waist. It feels so much better than all the other times he’s fucked you like this; knowing the risk of him coming inside no longer counts and he can do it as many times as you ask. 

The slap of your skin against his fills the room, grunts and pathetic whines passing between mouths with narrowed vision. Nails biting into his shoulders, you flutter tight, trying to pull Soonyoung deeper even if he’s snug to the hilt. Stretched full beyond belief.

“More,” you beg. Frantic. Needy. All those feelings Soonyoung can incite with the barest of touches and a look.

He rises back on his hands, lighting up with each pathetic whimper of his name. “More what?”

If you had the brain power you’d knock the stupid smirk off his face. “Fuck me.”

“I am,” Soonyoung taunts.

“Breed me.”

“Already h-have.” Soonyoung looks like he wants to laugh but he sinks as much weight as he can into his hips, rhythm clumsy but it’s so good you don’t care. “Fuck, such a good girl. Aren’t you?”

You clench around him. He isn’t the most inspired with dirty talk but he knows your buttons, loves to press on your praise kink when you least expect it. 

“Say it.”

“I-I’m,” you stutter from his fingers finding your raw clit. “I’m your good girl.”

“My pretty little wife,” Soonyoung gasps. “Perfect.”

Every bit of praise adds a drop in the bucket, chest tightening until it explodes without permission; shredding through your veins. Your teeth sink into his shoulder. Hard enough to bruise as you cry, “Soonyoung.”

He doesn’t stop for your orgasm, not for a second. You asked him to breed you and it’s his sole purpose until you’re both satisfied. “G-gonna come.”

“Want it, want you to come in me,” you sob.

Soonyoung grabs for your hair, a gentle tug with enough force your eyes open to find his.

“Want it?” he pants, tilting your hips to fuck deeper. You nod with limited room thanks to his grip. “Then take it.”

The sticky heat you’re accustomed to on your skin stains your insides for the first time. There’s no way you can go back. Not after knowing how right it feels to have him fill you. You shiver beneath his weight, nerves twitching from the idea of him doing it again. Immediately.

“Love you, love you, love you…” Soonyoung chants into your skin, lips slipping over your throat with each breathless gasp.

You roll down into the nasty feel of cum and cock, the minor relief not nearly enough. Not with the idea of sucking the combined taste off him rearing its head. But Soonyoung collapses with a point flex of his thighs to stop your motions.

“Holy fuck,” he shudders. “If you let me do that sooner, we’d have ten kids by now.”

You’re flustered at the idea. “Do you think my vagina is a baby rocket launcher?”

“It’s definitely something.”

“How romantic,” you snort. “Give it a few months and I’ll be so hormonal you won’t touch me with a ten foot pole.”

“Is that what you think?” he hums, face still hidden in your neck like he’s too exhausted to move except to lap at the dip in your throat. A subtle grind reminds you of his cock still wedge in your guts, stiff like he didn’t come hard enough to see stars.

It’s hard to think that after so many years together, this is the biggest love rush you’ve ever experienced. The urge to keep him wrapped in your arms for as long as possible brings tears to your eyes. 

Soonyoung pops over your face after the first sniffle, terrified. “Are you crying?”

“No.” You swipe at the tears. “Shut up.”

“Aw, baby,” he coos, failing to hide his amusement.  

“I’m carrying your child, sorry my hormones are all over the place.” You bat his hand away unsuccessfully, leaning your cheek into the comforting warmth of his palm.  “We’re ready for this?”

“I mean, I was planning to knock you up on our honeymoon anyway,” he shrugs, lips soft on your hairline. “Do you have any more of those tests?”

“Why?”

“I wanna see what’d happen if I pee on one.”

“Nothing.” You push him off, rolling onto hands and knees with your ass in the air, face buried in the pillows. “Now, fuck me again.”

Soonyoung pushes the head of his cock through the mess of cum leaking out before sinking back inside with a grunt. “Yes, ma’am.”

taglist: @/tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

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@whrryuu @wonrangwoo @xchaenx @champagnenoona

[imonanotherlebel]

Seventeen reaction to S/O having a size kink

---------------------------

Warnings: nsfw, Minors DNI

---------------------------

SCoups

Seungcheol would be delighted about it. When you tell him about your size kink, he'd give you that confident smirk of his and pull you close. "You like how big I am, huh?" He'd tease, enjoying the way you melt against him. He'd definitely use his strength to his advantage, pinning you down and making you feel just how much bigger and stronger he is. The idea of you getting off on how he towers over you would turn him on like crazy.

Jeonghan

Jeonghan would be super into teasing you about it. He'd catch on quick, noticing how you react when he stands over you or pulls you into his lap. "So, you like feeling small around me?" he'd say with that playful grin. During sex, he'd love watching you squirm under him, his body completely covering yours as he whispers dirty things in your ear about how much you love his size.

Joshua

Joshua might seem sweet and innocent, but once he knows what you're into, he'd lean into it hard. He'd love making you feel small and delicate next to him. He'd be the type to press you up against the wall, lifting you with ease and making you gasp as he takes control. He'd get off on the way your body reacts to his, loving how much you crave that size difference.

Jun

Jun would be super curious and excited to explore this kink with you. He'd find ways to make the size difference even more apparent, like lifting you effortlessly or pressing you into the mattress with his weight. He'd love hearing you beg for him to take you deeper, knowing it's his size that's driving you wild. The more you show him you like it, the more he'd want to push your limits.

Hoshi

Hoshi would turn your size kink into a playful game. He'd tease you relentlessly, flexing his muscles and making jokes about how much you love feeling small next to him. But when things get heated, he'd get serious, loving how you respond to the way he manhandles you. He'd enjoy making you feel tiny beneath him, using his size to make you scream his name.

Wonwoo

Wonwoo is a kinky man. You can't convince me otherwise. He'd definitely take note of your kink and use it to his advantage. He'd love the idea of making you feel overwhelmed by him, especially when he's on top, covering you with his body. His deep voice would drop even lower as he whispers in your ear, "You love how big I am, don't you?" He'd find it incredibly sexy how much you're into the size difference and would make sure you feel it every time.

Woozi

Woozi would catch on quickly to your size kink and be more than happy to play into it. He'd love making you feel small and at his mercy, using his strength and commanding presence to take control. He'd pin you down, his voice low and teasing as he asks, "You like it when I make you feel this way, don't you?" The idea of overpowering you and seeing how much you love it would turn him on even more, making him want to push your limits just to see you beg for more.

DK

DK would be excited when he finds out you have a size kink. He'd love the idea of making you feel small and protected. He'd be all about using his body to show you just how much bigger he is, lifting you up or pinning you down. He'd get turned on by the way you react to his strength, loving every second of making you feel tiny and powerless beneath him.

Mingyu

I think the size difference would be a given with Mingyu. His size would naturally play into your kink, and he'd be more than happy to indulge you. He'd love towering over you, using his height and muscles to make you feel completely at his mercy. He'd enjoy watching you squirm as he holds you down, whispering in your ear how much you love it when he takes control. He'd be turned on by how much you crave his size, using it to drive you both wild.

The8

The8 would be intrigued by your size kink and would get creative with it. He'd love finding new ways to make you feel small, like holding you tight or pinning you against the bed. His slender but strong frame would make the perfect contrast, and he'd enjoy seeing you get off on how he handles you. He'd be quietly confident, loving how much power he has over you in those moments.

Seungkwan

Seungkwan would be a bit cheeky about it, loving that you're into his size. He'd tease you during the day, making playful comments about how much you love it when he takes control. But when things get serious, he'd love using his strength to make you feel tiny and overwhelmed. He'd enjoy watching you react to his size, loving how much you're into it.

Vernon

Vernon tried to be pretty chill about it, but once he realizes how much you're into his size, he'd start to enjoy showing it off. He'd love the way you react when he presses you up against the wall or lifts you onto his lap. He'd be into making you feel small and protected, loving the way you melt under his touch. His calm demeanour would only make it hotter when he finally takes control.

Dino

Dino would be excited to explore this kink with you, loving the idea that you're into his size. He'd take pride in making you feel small and overwhelmed, using his strength to hold you down or lift you up with ease. He'd be all about pushing your buttons, loving the way you react to his touch. The more you show him you like it, the more he'd want to dominate you.

.....

Send in requests if you want more of these, guys..... This one kinda sucks, but I'll try....

[randomblog-things]

summary of the last gose 😜

[lluvsdk]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀horanghae ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ

[minniesfiles]

HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS

Soonyoung loves his idol life, no matter how exhausting it gets, but the joy of coming back home to you was a different kind of happiness.

❧ PAIRING; soonyoung x reader

❧ GENRE; hurt/comfort, fluff

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; established relationship, idol soonyoung, hurt/comfort, long distance relationship, fluff

❧ WORDCOUNT; 4.4k

𐚁₊⊹

13 OCTOBER 2022

Soonyoung loved being part of SEVENTEEN. That part never changed, no matter how heavy the days got. The years of blood, sweat, and tears he poured into dancing, singing, rehearsing until his body screamed for rest — he didn’t regret any of it. All the effort shaped him. It forged unbreakable bonds with his members and brought them closer to fans across the world. The love they received was overwhelming at times, but it was real. And Soonyoung loved them back just as much.

Still, there were days when even love wasn’t enough to keep the exhaustion at bay.

Lately, everything felt heavier. The amount of cities, performances, press, and short moments of sleep was starting to wear him down. He hadn’t been home in months. He didn’t see you in just as long.

And that was the part that hurt most.

He sat on the floor of the empty practice room, legs stretched out and back pressed against the cold mirror. The only light in the room came from the glow of his phone which was propped up on a water bottle in front of him. You were on the screen, curled up in bed with your face puffy and eyes red from crying. Soonyoung couldn’t word how much his chest ached at the sight.

“I miss you so much,” you whispered.

Soonyoung pressed his lips together, his jaw tightening as your voice cracked.

“It’s like I haven’t seen you in years,” you said, voice trembling, “and it hurts so fucking bad.”

He closed his eyes for a second, letting your words sink in, and forced himself not to cry. Not in front of you. You were already hurting. He had to stay strong. But God, did it hurt. Your voice sounded like a knife to the ribs.

“I know,” he finally said, voice low. “I miss you too. So much.”

Silence lingered. Not an awkward kind, but one that screamed louder than words. The one that felt like goodbye even when it’s not.

Soonyoung ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair. Practice ended hours ago, but he didn’t leave. He didn’t want to go back to the hotel room. He didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. He didn’t want to keep pretending everything was fine.

“I hate this,” you said, your voice smaller now.

“I know what you signed up for, I know how much this means to you. But sometimes I just…I feel so far away from you. Like I’m not even part of your life anymore.”

That broke him.

“You are,” he said quickly, almost desperately.

“You’re the biggest part of it. Every time I walk on stage, every time I smile for a camera, I’m thinking of you baby. I swear.”

You looked away, wiping your cheek with your sleeve.

“I believe you,” you said. “It’s just…hard.”

He nodded, even though you weren’t looking. He knew exactly what you meant. The late-night calls that got dropped because of bad scheduling, the time zone differences, the missed anniversaries, the ‘I love yous’ sent through texts instead of kisses.

It was hard. It was brutal.

“I think about you all the time,” he said.

“When I’m on the plane, when I’m backstage, when I’m in bed and I can’t sleep…I replay our memories in my head just so I can hear your laugh.”

You laughed, but it was soft and tired. “That’s cheesy.”

“I know,” he said with a half-smile. “But it’s true.”

He looked around the practice room. The mirrors reflected a ghostly, drained version of him. Practice rooms had always been a little safe space for Soonyoung, an escape from reality. Now, it just reminded him of how much time he had lost. Time he could’ve spent with you.

“After the next leg of the tour,” he said suddenly, “I’m coming home. Even if it’s just for a few days. I need to see you. I need to feel like myself again.”

“You promise?” you asked.

“I swear.”

There was another long silence, but this one felt different. Softer.

“I don’t need grand gestures,” you whispered.

“I just want you. Sitting on the sofa next to me. Having a movie marathon like we always do. You and Latte falling asleep with your heads in my lap. I want the simple stuff.”

Soonyoung’s eyes stung. He blinked hard.

“I want that too,” he said. “More than anything.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees while the phone still glowed in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” he added, voice cracking. “I know this isn’t fair to you.”

You shook your head. “It’s not about fair. It’s just about love. And I love you enough to wait. I just need to know you’re coming back.”

“I am,” he said. “I’m always coming back to you.”

Your smile was tired, but real. And for the first time in weeks, it felt like you were both breathing again.

“Okay,” you said.

There was a comfortable silence afterwards. Soonyoung gave you the gentlest smile that made your heart flutter and ache all at once. You could tell he was trying to be strong — for you, for himself — but his eyes gave everything away.

“You know, Latte misses you just as much as I do,” you said as you shifted on your bed with your fingers playing with the hem of your sleeve.

Your boyfriend’s smile widened a little at the mention of your shared dog, really. The little bundle of energy Soonyoung insisted on naming “Latte” after his favorite drink rather than the colour of his fur.

Soonyoung’s eyes softened. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “He keeps whining in the middle of the night by the front door. Just sits there and waits. Sometimes he scratches at it like he thinks you’ll walk through any second.”

You let out a light giggle, but it came with a lump in your throat. Soonyoung leaned his head back against the mirror and sighed, clearly trying not to cry.

“I miss him too,” he said quietly. “I miss everything. You. Home. The dumb jingles we sing when we feed him.”

Your chest tightened. “He still does that little spin when I say ‘snack time.’ Like you taught him.”

That made Soonyoung laugh, and for a moment, the heaviness between you both lifted.

“I’ll be back home soon,” he whispered. “I promise.” And even though promises didn’t make the distance hurt less, somehow, that one helped.

“Hmm” you hummed, “I can’t wait.”

Soonyoung stayed on the call even after you fell asleep. He watched your chest rise and fall, the faint noise of your breathing being the only sound in the empty room. He didn’t move, nor did he blink much. He just sat there with the phone in front of him and all the things he couldn’t say stuck in his throat.

He wanted to tell you how he replayed your last hug in his head every night. How he had a photo of you tucked inside his phone case, hidden so no one would see. How every love song on stage felt like a lie unless he imagined you in the crowd.

But those words could wait.

For now, just watching you sleep gave him enough peace to get through one more day.

And maybe that was enough. For now.

30 DECEMBER 2022

Soonyoung felt off the moment he stepped back onto the Korean soil. Not in a bad way — just…different. Like his body knew where it was, but his mind didn’t catch up yet. It had been nearly eight months since they left for the world tour back in May, and now here he was again, standing in the place he longed for night after night, in hotel rooms and backstage dressing areas and long-haul flights that blurred into each other.

His boots hit the ground with a soft thud as he walked down the private ramp. The cold winter air hit him hard. His mask was up and his cap pulled low. His manager walked a step ahead as he quietly ushered him and the rest of the members through a side exit. No press. No fans. No chaos.

Just quiet.

Exactly what he asked for.

The tour had been good — amazing, even. Performing in cities they hadn’t visited in years, meeting fans from different parts of the world, seeing tears, hearing chants in languages he didn’t even speak. That was the dream. And he was living it.

But dreams still drained him. His muscles ached from dancing nonstop, and his voice was still a little hoarse from the last encore. His soul felt stretched thin.

Soonyoung loved being on stage. But damn, he missed being still.

His mind raced as he walked through the corridors of the private terminal. What was it now — December thirtieth? One day away from the new year. The thought of starting a new year back in his own country, in his own bed, and with you? That was the only thing keeping him upright at this point.

You didn’t know he was coming back. In fact, he didn’t tell you on purpose.

There were too many delays and too many last-minute changes with the schedule. He didn’t want to risk getting your hopes up. Plus, part of him liked the idea of surprising you. He wanted to knock on the door after months apart and see the shock on your face morph into joy.

He could already imagine it. The way your eyes would widen when you saw him, the little breath you’d take before you smiled, the way your hands would fly to your mouth in disbelief before you pulled him in like you never wanted to let go again.

Just the thought of it had his heart pounding harder than any concert adrenaline ever had.

As the vans rolled away from the airport, each member heading off to their own quiet reunions, Soonyoung sat in the backseat of his own vehicle, head leaned against the cold window. The city lights flickered past, a blur of neon and car horns, but he wasn’t really looking at any of it.

He was thinking of you.

What were you doing right now?

Curled up in bed?

Watching some late-night drama, wrapped in a blanket with Latte snuggled beside you?

Were you thinking of him too and counting the days until he’d return — unaware that today was that day?

His anticipation grew with every turn the car made and every block that brought him closer to you. He went over this moment a thousand times in his head during the tour. When homesickness hit hard, when the stage lights dimmed and the silence afterward felt louder than anything.

And now, it was finally happening.

He checked his phone. No new messages from you, which was perfect. You still had no idea.

He glanced at the passenger seat, where a small paper bag sat. Inside was your favorite pastry from Tokyo — a cream bun from that bakery you loved. He remembered you mentioning it during a call. Soonyoung went out of his way to wake up an hour earlier before he flew back to grab it. He wasn’t coming home empty-handed.

When the car finally pulled onto his street, his stomach twisted in the best way. He sat up straighter as his eyes scanned the familiar buildings.

The driver looked at him through the rearview mirror, “this is it?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Soonyoung said, voice low. “Right here’s good.”

He got out and slung his bag over one shoulder before grabbing the pastry bag. The street was quiet, just past midnight now. There was a thin layer of frost that dusted the sidewalk. He adjusted his hoodie and walked up the steps to the door.

His breath clouded in the cold, and his fingers were stiff as he reached for the keypad, before punching in the code you both shared.

The door clicked open. And the moment he stepped in, his heart eased. It was warm and familiar, just like he remembered

He took his shoes off and walked in more quietly, and the smell of your fabric softener already pulled at his chest. Latte’s small barks echoed from the hallway seconds later, followed by the scrabble of tiny paws against the floor. The little dog bolted around the corner and froze mid-step when he saw Soonyoung.

“Hey buddy,” he whispered, crouching down.

Latte barked again, tail wagging violently as he launched himself at Soonyoung, circling him, whining, jumping — completely losing his mind. Soonyoung couldn’t help the smile that cracked across his face.

“Shhh, you’re gonna wake her—”

Too late.

From down the hall, you emerged with bleary-eyes and confusion. You were wrapped in a blanket, while your hair was messy from sleep.

As soon as your eyes locked onto the figure crouched in the entryway, you froze.

Soonyoung stood up slowly. And just like that, the world stopped.

Your eyes welled instantly, and your lips parted in disbelief. “You’re…”

“I’m home,” he whispered as he stepped forward.

You didn’t say another word. You just ran to him. The blanket fell from your shoulders, and your arms wrapped around his neck like you were afraid he’d vanish if you let go.

He caught you with both arms, holding you so tight it almost hurt. But neither of you cared.

It wasn’t long before Soonyoung heard it. That first muffled sob.

It broke the quiet like a crack in glass. You tried to hold it in. You tried to stay composed, but the second your face buried deeper into his chest, it all came loose.

They weren’t like the soft cries he grew used to hearing during video-calls. This was different. You were crying out loud now, the kind of cry that came from deep in your chest, raw and unstoppable.

You held onto him like gravity had let go, and he was the only thing keeping you at bay. Your fingers gripped the fabric of his hoodie tightly, knuckles white and nails digging in slightly as if you had to remind yourself that he was really there.

The more you cried, the tighter you held on. And the tighter you held on, the louder it got. And those sobs echoed off the walls of your apartment, you weren’t holding back at all. It wasn’t pretty or graceful, but Soonyoung never saw anything more honest.

Latte, completely unaware of what was happening, kept bouncing around your legs. He was barking and jumping, desperately trying to wedge himself into the moment. His small tail wagged furiously while his nails tapped against the floor, whining for attention. He couldn’t understand what was going on, he just knew his favourite humans were finally back in the same room again.

Soonyoung blinked fast, trying to stay composed. But then you let out a broken, gasping sound, and that was it. His own tears pushed through.

He dropped his bag to the floor and wrapped both arms around you firmly, almost protectively, pulling you in until there wasn’t a sliver of space between your bodies. He pressed a kiss to your temple and rested his chin on the crown of your head, breathing you in like you were the only oxygen he had.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” he whispered, his voice trembling as he said it.

But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

The tears came with everything you pushed down over the last eight months. Every night you spent alone, every concert photo you scrolled through with a bittersweet smile, every message left on read because he was too exhausted to reply. You didn’t even realise how much you bottled up until he was here, holding you, and suddenly the dam inside you broke.

You were happy.

You were relieved.

You were overwhelmed in a way that words couldn’t quite capture.

It was like every version of yourself that you were during his absence was finally collapsing into the one version of you that mattered — this one, the one who got to feel him breathe again, and got to feel his heartbeat sync with yours in real time.

And Soonyoung? He felt it all.

Every shake of your shoulders, every sob, every desperate inhale — it tore at him, but not in a painful way. It was reassuring. It reminded him just how much he mattered to you, how real this was, and how deep it ran.

He rocked you slowly, side to side, like he was trying to soothe both of you. “I’m here now. I’m home, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded, face still buried in his chest. You didn’t have the strength to speak yet.

“I missed you,” he added softly. “I thought about this moment a thousand times. But nothing compares to holding you again.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. Your eyes were red and puffy, your cheeks damp, your lips quivering — but he never saw you more beautiful.

You suddenly laughed, but it was broken — half a sob, half a breath. “You really surprised me.”

He smiled, tear-streaked but full of love. “Good. That was the plan.”

You leaned your forehead against his, both of you breathing heavily now, both blinking through tears. “God, I missed you so much” you let out a deep breath.

“Me too baby, me too” Soonyoung replied, pressing a soft kiss on your lips.

Latte, still being the persistent little ball of energy that he was, pawed at Soonyoung’s leg and let out a dramatic whine. You both looked down at him, then back at each other. And for the first time that night, you both laughed. A real one.

Soonyoung crouched down and scooped Latte up, holding him in one arm while still keeping the other around you. “Hey, I missed you too little guy,” he said, rubbing the dog’s ears.

Latte immediately licked his cheek as he wagged his tail like crazy. You shook your head, wiping your eyes again as you watched the reunion unfold. The warmth in your chest was spreading now, slowly overtaking the ache that was present for so long.

“Come on,” you said softly. “Let’s get out of the hallway.”

Soonyoung followed you inside and set Latte down. You took his bag without a word and placed it near the door. Then you turned back to him and opened your arms again.

“I need to keep hugging you,” you said simply.

He didn’t hesitate.

You stood in the middle of your house tangled in each other once again while the outside world was forgotten. The city could’ve been on fire and neither of you would’ve noticed.

This was your reunion. Messy. Loud. Beautiful. And it was exactly what both of you needed. No perfect script. No cinematic music. Just tears and laughter.

“I love you” Soonyoung whispered.

And for the first time in months, when you said it back, he got to hear it with his own ears. Not through a screen. Not as a message left unread until after rehearsal.

He held you like he would never let go again.

31 DECEMBER 2022 — 9:50 p.m.

“Babe!” you whined, craning your neck from the dining room towards the kitchen.

“Hurry before Latte jumps on the table and eats all the food!”

There was a clatter of something, probably a spoon, followed by the unmistakable sound of Soonyoung letting out an exaggerated sigh.

“I’m coming, I’m coming! He’s not that fast!” he let out.

You heard the shuffle of his slippers as he finally moved, taking his sweet time as usual. Soonyoung spent nearly the whole day preparing a spicy beef stew dish that he swore you’d love compared to the other dishes prepared. And honestly, you couldn’t wait to try it.

Your stomach growled, and you lightly kicked your foot under the table, impatient.

You glanced at the spread of different food in front of you and smiled. It looked fuller than it had in months. Some were recipes you both found online and tried to replicate over video calls. Others were comfort meals that both of you made whenever either of you were sad, sick, or just in need of something warm.

Now, they all sat in front of you again, in person.

Latte let out a soft bark and pawed at the leg of a chair. He already tried twice to get onto the table. You could see the intent in his eyes, he was waiting for the one second you weren’t looking to make his move.

“Latte!” you warned.

The dog dropped into a guilty sit, head tilted as if to say what? I wasn’t doing anything.

You were about to get up and go into the kitchen yourself when Soonyoung finally appeared in the doorway, holding the dish like it was some sort of trophy. He wore a goofy grin and an apron that read ‘Yes, Chef’, which had a faint stain of chili paste on the front.

He looked proud, and so happy.

“I present to you,” he said with mock grandeur, “the best spicy beef stew in all of Korea.”

You raised your brows. “That’s a bold claim.”

He set the dish down in the center of the table, careful not to burn his hands. “Well, let’s see if you still think that after you try it.”

You clapped lightly. “Finally. My stomach was about to give up on me.”

He walked around to you and leaned down to place a kiss on the top of your head. “Sorry, Chef Hoshi was in the zone.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into the kiss. “Well, Chef Hoshi better sit his butt down before the dog eats his masterpiece.”

The two of you finally took your seats. You didn’t need to toast or make a speech, because your eyes did that for you. They said I’m glad we made it. They said I missed this. They said You’re here. You’re safe. You’re mine again.

“So,” Soonyoung said as he picked up his spoon, “last meal of the year. Anything you want to say before we dig in?”

You smirked. “Yes. If this stew sucks, I’m ordering fried chicken.”

He gasped dramatically. “You wound me!”

You both burst into laughter soon after, and finally, the eating began. First bites turned into second servings. He kept watching your expression as you ate, trying to gauge if you genuinely liked it. You kept exaggerating your reactions just to mess with him, dramatically clutching your chest, pretending to faint, moaning like it was the best thing you ever ate.

He played along, pretending to bow. “Thank you, thank you. I’d like to thank the Academy, my sous-chef Latte, and the eighty-seven YouTube tutorials I watched.”

Midway through dinner, the conversation quieted into something softer. You talked about the tour — what he loved, what he hated, which cities he wanted to take you to one day. He told you stories that didn’t make it to the phone calls, like silly things his members did and moments on stage where he thought of you.

You listened, with your chin resting in your hand, smiling as he spoke with his entire face lit up. This was your favourite version of him. Not the performer in front of thousands, nor the man on posters or in interviews.

Just Soonyoung. Just yours.

“And then,” he was saying between bites, “I tripped over a mic cord in front of like, five thousand people. Almost broke my nose.”

You snorted. “Did you recover like a pro?”

“Nope,” he grinned, “I laughed and bowed.”

“Classic.”

After the plates were mostly empty and Latte had finally been given a few small treats to calm down, Soonyoung stood up to take the dishes to the sink. You followed him, and the two of you danced around each other in the kitchen, bumping hips while rinsing plates and sneaking kisses. It was mundane, but to you, it felt like magic. The simplicity of it all. It was exactly what you were craving for.

Once everything was cleaned up and the clock crept closer to midnight, you both made your way to the living room. The lights were dim while the fairy lights twinkled faintly around the windows, and the television played a countdown show in the background.

You curled up on the couch with your legs tangled under a shared blanket, while Latte was fast asleep at your feet.

Soonyoung looked over at you, brushing your hair behind your ear. “This is the best New Year’s Eve I’ve had in a long time.”

You smiled. “Better than performing in Times Square?”

“Way better,” he said instantly. “Times Square doesn’t have you.”

You nudged him playfully. “You’re getting cheesy again.”

He laughed. “I’ve earned it.”

As the countdown reached its final minute, you both sat up slightly, watching the numbers tick down. You felt his hand reach for yours, fingers lacing with yours naturally.

10…

9…

8…

You turned to look at him, and he was already looking at you.

7…

6…

5…

“Thank you,” you whispered, feeling your eyes well up.

4…

3…

“For what?” he whispered back.

2…

“For coming home to me.”

1…

And as the room erupted in cheers from the television and fireworks burst faintly outside, he leaned in and kissed you. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world to remind you he was really here. His hand settled behind your neck while his thumb gently stroked your skin, grounding you in the moment.

You responded without thinking, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. Months of longing poured into that single kiss. Every missed moment and every night spent apart, it all lived in that kiss now.

And when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath a little shaky. .

“I love you,” he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear over the fireworks outside.

You smiled, your eyes damp, your heart steady. “I love you more.”

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t perfect. There were leftover dishes in the sink that both of you gave up washing, a dog snoring at your feet, and leftover stew on the stove.

But it was real.

And that was enough.

a/n; I was screaming while writing this!!! I want to experience bf hoshi

[sichengs-world]

[mocchiixxx]

You’re Soonyoung’s Everything

Genre: Fluff, Established relationship, Slice of Life, Domestic

Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi x Reader

Summary: When Soonyoung comes home drunk after a night out with the boys, he finds you at his family’s house, exactly where his heart feels most at peace. With a clingy hug, slurred love confessions, and Latte the dog squished in between, the night turns into a warm reminder that home isn’t a place, it’s the people (and pets) you love.

It was supposed to be a simple dinner at the Kwon household. Just you, his parents, his older sister, and of course— Latte, the adorable little brown Norwich Terrier who already loved you more than she loved Soonyoung (and that was saying a lot).

Soonyoung had texted that he’d be a little late because the boys decided to grab one drink after practice.

That was two hours ago.

You were seated on the couch with Latte nestled comfortably in your lap, her fluffy tail wagging every time you pet her. His mom was in the kitchen, humming while washing dishes, you volunteer to do it but she refuses because you were a special guest and that she will get upset if you push it any further, which is you would, but she beat you to it so you really have no choice but to stay still. His dad on the other hand was quietly reading the news on his tablet.

Then came the sound of keys fumbling at the front door.

His sister peeked over from the hallway, raising an eyebrow. “Speak of the tiger.”

The door burst open and there he was, Kwon Soonyoung. Hair tousled, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling in that unmistakably tipsy way. He stumbled inside, arms stretched wide like he’d just come home from winning a trophy.

“I’m home~!” he sang, voice slightly slurred but full of energy.

Latte barked once and immediately jumped off your lap, running toward him with full zoomie power. Soonyoung knelt down, somehow keeping balance, and scooped her into his arms with a dramatic gasp.

“LATTE!!! My sunshine! My love! My only rival for her heart!” he yelled, nuzzling her fur. “Did you miss me? Did she feed you? Did she steal your love while I was gone?!”

You snorted, trying not to laugh too loudly as he walked in with Latte hugged tight to his chest. He spotted you, and his eyes lit up even more.

“There she is!” he exclaimed, pointing at you like you were the prize in a claw machine. “The prettiest girl in the universe! My girlfriend! My baby! My angel! My… my...”

“You can just say my name, Soonyoung,” you giggled.

“I’m DRUNK,” he announced proudly, now swaying a little as Latte hung loosely in his arms, eyes already sleepy.

“Really?” his sister called out with mock surprise. “No way. We couldn’t tell.”

He shuffled toward you like a penguin, plopped down beside you, and pulled you into the warmest, clingiest hug you’d ever gotten from him. Latte was now smushed between the two of you, giving a soft yawn like this was just a regular Tuesday.

“I missed you,” he whispered into your hair, his words laced with sincerity despite the soju haze. “I told the guys that my baby was waiting for me at home. Mingyu said I looked whipped. I said ‘GOOD.’ ”

You melted into his hold, hand gently stroking his hair. “Your mom was about to start dinner without you.”

“I’ll eat everything,” he mumbled. “As long as you feed me.”

His mom walked by, chuckling under her breath. “Aigoo, you’ve got your hands full, huh?”

You smiled, holding Soonyoung close. “It’s okay, auntie. He’s cute like this.”

“I’m always cute,” he added, eyes closed now, leaning heavier against you. “You love me even when I’m a mess, right?”

You leaned in and kissed his forehead. “Especially then.”

Latte barked again, as if demanding some attention herself.

“And Latte,” Soonyoung continued sleepily, “she’s not just my dog anymore. She’s our baby. Our family.”

You bit your lip, feeling your heart do a little flip.

“Yah,” his sister said from the hallway, “if you propose right now while smelling like alcohol, I swear—”

“I’m not proposing!” he cried, clutching you dramatically. “I’m just saying... this feels like home. Because you're here. And Latte’s here. And I'm happy.”

You smiled and whispered back, “Me too.”

That night, you had dinner with his family, Soonyoung’s hand wrapped around yours the entire time, head occasionally dropping to your shoulder between bites of rice. And Latte? She curled up in your lap again like she already knew, this wasn’t just her house anymore.

It was yours too.

[sknyuz]

my quiet place | k.s.y. (hoshi)

synopsis: soonyoung comes home from practice and melts into your arms—finally letting himself rest in the quiet he only finds with you.

pairing: kwon soonyoung (hoshi) x gn!reader

genre: comfort, fluff, established relationship

warnings: maybe mentions of burnout? but other than that, just pure fluff

wc: ~650

a/n: self-indulgent hoshi blurb before i start on requests <3 they r still open btw !!

masterlist

he’s already half-asleep when you hear the door creak open. it’s almost 2 a.m., and he texted you hours ago with a simple:

soonyoung🐯: practice ran late again, i’ll come by after?

you don’t mind. he comes by almost every night after a rigorous dance rehearsal, your apartment much closer to the studio than his. he always does, even when he’s exhausted. especially when he’s exhausted.

soonyoung steps into your apartment with the same energy he carries all day—bouncing a little on his toes, flashing a tired but bright smile when he sees you curled up on the couch. but you know him. you see it—the way his shoulders slump once the door shuts behind him, like the weight of keeping everyone else lifted is finally slipping off.

“you wouldn’t believe the chaos in the studio,” he mumbles as he walks over, already falling into your open arms. “seungkwan kept trying to beat mingyu at footwork and then dino started pretending to have a nosebleed to distract me…”

he trails off as he tucks himself against you, as if on autopilot, face already buried in your neck, voice going softer.

“everyone’s so loud,” he whispers. “and i love it—i really do. it’s just… a lot.” your boyfriend sighs, warm breath fanning your skin.

you don’t say anything at first. just hold him, your fingers finding their place in his bleached hair, gentle and grounding. you feel him sink—like something tightly wound inside of him is slowly unraveling.

he’s their mood maker, their vitamin boost, the one who never runs out of energy. he jokes, dances, hypes everyone up. he laughs the loudest, cheers the hardest, always shining. but here—in your arms—he doesn’t have to be any of that. here, he can be soft. quiet. a star twinkling faintly in your arms. just soonyoung.

his hands clutch the back of your shirt as he exhales, breath warm against your skin.

“my feet hurt,” he mumbles. “and my brain’s all… fuzzy.”

you hum, pressing a kiss to his temple. “well, darling, do you wanna shower? or just wanna stay like this?”

he doesn’t move. doesn’t even think twice when he answers:

“just this,” he says. “i don’t want anything or anyone else but you, y/n,” with that, you nod, chin resting against his head. “hmm, okay.”

minutes pass in comfortable silence. the kind only you can give him. and then, in that low, tired voice:

“thank you for being my quiet place.”

you freeze for a moment, heart aching at the way he says it. not dramatic or poetic—just honest. raw. in his most vulnerable.

you pull the blanket over both of you and guide him to lie back, curled into your chest, arms tangled together like you’re the only thing keeping him from floating off.

“you’re mine too, soonyoung,” you whisper.

and just like that, he’s recharging. breath by breath. heartbeat by heartbeat. in the only place that ever makes the noise fade away.

taglist: @ateez-atiny380 @alien0n3arth

[synity]

Thoughts on 14th member reader being the "daughter" of the families of each member?

Like, whenever a member comes home to their family, their family always asks about reader?

Each members family is fond of 14th member reader (in short)

(if you're fine w it, maybe make the reader have a horrible past of her own family, and the members know about it–and they also tell their families, and thats where the fam-fond-of-reader branched out)

Thanks! Please always take care of yourself💓

Love Speaks for Itself

(OT13 x 14th member!Reader)

*platonic, found family, comfort, angst-to-healing, slice of life, fluff, found family, warmth*

Content warning: mentions of past emotional abuse, family trauma, neglect (no graphic depictions, mostly comfort)*

Before SEVENTEEN, there was silence.

Silence when you cried yourself to sleep. Silence when you whispered apologies for things you didn’t do. Silence when your parents forgot your birthday, again. Silence when the bruises weren’t physical, but they still bloomed inside your chest.

You didn’t know what love looked like. Not the kind that stays. Not the kind that listens. Not the kind that doesn't hurt.

And then, you became a trainee.

And then after years of dancing until your body begged to stop, singing through hoarseness, and pretending you weren’t lonely something happened.

They debuted you.

As SEVENTEEN’s 14th member.

A risk. An experiment. A maybe. But for the first time in your life you were chosen.

And SEVENTEEN? They didn’t just welcome you.

They adopted you.

From the beginning, you were their sister. The youngest. The softest. The one who made even Jeonghan act like a responsible older brother, who made Seungcheol keep a mini first aid kit in his bag “just in case Y/N trips again,” who made Mingyu remember to pack snacks because “Y/N always forgets to eat.”

You thought it would fade.

That maybe it was just debut excitement. A honeymoon phase.

But three years later, you still had Jeonghan texting you to go to bed. Still had DK braiding your hair before music shows. Still had Joshua bringing you lavender tea backstage when he noticed you biting your nails. Still had Woozi pretending he “accidentally” left songs in the studio for you to listen to first.

And more than all of that…

You had their families.

The First Time You Knew

You remember the first time it happened.

You were in the car with Seungkwan after a long filming day. He was driving you both to his hometown in Jeju for a small holiday.

“I promise, it’s just a dinner,” he said. “My mom wanted to see you.”

You blinked. “Me?”

He glanced at you. “Yeah? She said and I quote ‘Bring Y/N or don’t come at all.’”

You laughed it off, thinking it was a joke. But the moment you stepped through the door and smelled home-cooked food, you froze.

His mother’s arms were already around you.

“Y/N-ah,” she whispered. “You’re thinner. Are you eating enough, sweetheart?”

You froze. Your throat closed. It had been years since anyone asked that like they meant it.

When she set a bowl of stew in front of you and said, “I made this for you, not him,” you almost cried.

Later that night, Seungkwan tucked a blanket around your shoulders while you sat on his family’s couch.

“Kwannie,” you whispered, “Did you… tell her? About my family?”

He nodded, softly. “Only what you let us know.”

You stared at him.

“She said… you’re her daughter too, now.”

He didn’t answer. But his hand found yours and squeezed.

And in that moment, something you thought was broken inside you flickered.

And Then It Became Normal

It wasn’t just Seungkwan’s family.

Jeonghan’s mom started mailing you vitamin packets.

DK’s family invited you to every meal. “Even if Dokyeom can’t come, Y/N should,” they’d say.

Mingyu’s sister called you by your nickname and asked for dance advice.

Jun’s mom in China mailed you mooncakes, wrapped carefully with a handwritten card: “You’re as much my child as Junhui.”

Hoshi’s dad took one look at you during Chuseok and said, “So this is the kid they’ve been talking about.”

You blinked. “Talking?”

He smiled. “Of course. You’re the family’s pride, Y/N. Every single one of them talks about you like you hung the moon.”

And Then It Became Healing

Your birthday came.

You expected a cake. Maybe a surprise dance video. You’d been trained not to hope for more.

But instead

Thirteen boys walked you into a room filled with photos.

Photos of you.

From debut. From your trainee days. From random moments you didn’t even know they took.

Joshua stepped forward with a soft smile. “We didn’t want to celebrate you just because it’s your birthday.”

Woozi added, “We wanted you to see what we see. Every day.”

The wall said:

“To Our Youngest: The One We’re Proud To Call Family.”

You cried.

Ugly, messy tears.

And each of them held you like your pain was theirs, like your story mattered, like they would never let anyone forget your worth again.

Their Families, Too

It was funny how natural it became.

Dino’s mom texted you about your favorite café before you even told her. Seungcheol’s dad saved you a seat at every barbeque. Joshua’s mom sent you devotionals and herbal candies in the same care package. The8’s grandmother told you over the phone that she considered you a granddaughter now.

And sometimes, when you had nightmares of your past, you’d wake up to a text:

[Mom] Y/N-ah, I had a dream you looked sad. Are you okay? It would always be one of their moms.

One Day, You Asked

You sat beside Woozi in the practice room, both of you working on a song.

It was quiet, golden hour painting the floor in honeyed light.

And then you asked:

“Why do they all… care so much? Your families. You guys. I’m not even blood.”

Woozi looked at you, then turned back to his guitar.

“You know,” he said, “my mom once told me something.”

“What?”

He strummed a soft chord.

“She said family isn’t made of blood. It’s made of kindness that shows up even when it doesn’t have to.”

You stared at him.

He met your eyes.

“You showed up for us. For years. You gave us laughter, support, songs, warmth. You made this group better not because we asked you to, but because you chose to.”

His voice went quieter.

“And we all saw what you lost. What you never got. So we decided, as quietly as we could… to give it to you.”

You looked away, eyes burning.

“And our families,” he added, “They just followed our lead. They see the light you bring to us. How could they not love you too?”

Now

It’s been nearly five years since your debut.

You’re no longer “just the 14th member.” You’re Y/N. The moodmaker. The heart of the team. The glue.

Carats adore you.

You write lyrics now. Direct stages. Mentor rookies. You're adored in interviews. You’ve grown.

And still

When Seungcheol visits home, his mom says, “Did Y/N eat? She looked pale in the last live.”

When Joshua goes to church, the aunties say, “Tell that sweet girl to come next time.”

When Vernon visits LA, his sisters ask, “How’s our favorite?”

And when you win an award, you get thirteen texts that night from different moms and siblings and cousins and grandparents — all saying the same thing:

“We’re proud of you.”

“You’re family.”

Because you are.

They made sure of it. And they always will.

Even if you never got it from the people who brought you into this world you found it, here.

In thirteen brothers. In a sea of parents who chose you. In love that doesn’t walk away.

And every time someone asks, “Whose daughter is Y/N, anyway?”

The answer is simple.

“Ours.”

[thirteenheavens]

Hii I'm here again*wink wink*

I read your pregnancy sex with jeonghan and believe me it was toooooo good.

I was wondering if I can request for jealousy sex with soonyoung? It would be fun if he's jealous and he fucks her in an empty room in a party.

Whose that guy|| Kwon Soonyoung

Notes: you guys are actually so funny in the requests hehe

You're at a company party, mingling with colleagues and friends, when Hoshi spots you talking to another male idol from another company.

His jaw tightens as he watches the way the man laughs at your jokes and subtly leans closer to you. The way he's looking at you makes Hoshi's blood boil with jealousy. Without warning, Hoshi abruptly excuses himself from his conversation and strides over to you. "Hey," he says curtly, sliding an arm around your waist and pulling you against him possessively.

"Excuse us," he tells the other idol without waiting for a response, leading you into a nearby empty room. The door closes behind you with a click.

"What was that all about?" you ask, slightly confused by Hoshi's behavior. But before you can get an answer, his lips crash against yours in a heated kiss.

"Hoshi, what's gotten into you?" you demand, trying to catch your breath. His grip on your waist tightens, his eyes dark with jealousy.

"That guy was all over you," he says through gritted teeth. "I don't like seeing him touch what's mine." You raise an eyebrow at his words. "I was just talking to him, Soonyoung," you point out. "It's not like we were doing anything inappropriate."

Hoshi's jaw clenches at your use of his real name. "I know what I saw," he insists stubbornly. "He was clearly trying to make a move on you." His hands slide down to your hips, holding you possessively against the wall. "You're mine," he whispers fiercely. "Don't forget that."

"And you're being ridiculous," you counter, trying to maintain your composure despite the way your body responds to his touch. Hoshi's eyes flash with anger at your words. "Ridiculous? You're calling me ridiculous for wanting to protect what's mine?" He pins you more firmly against the wall, his body pressing against yours. "I see the way other men look at you," he growls. "They want what I have."

His lips find your neck, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin. "And I won't let anyone take you from me," he murmurs possessively. Your words come out as more of a moan than a protest, making Hoshi smirk against your skin. "You're enjoying this," he accuses softly, his hands roaming your body.

"Hoshi... we can't do this here," you try to reason, though your fingers are already tangling in his hair. "The party's right outside." He ignores your concerns, continuing to leave marks on your neck. "Let them hear," he says roughly. "Let them know you're mine."

His knee presses between your legs, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp. "I'll show them all," he whispers darkly. "You belong to me and only me." Hoshi spins you around so your chest is pressed against the wall, his body molded to your back. One hand slides up your shirt, teasing your nipples through your bra while the other pins your wrists above your head.

"Do you feel that?" he breathes against your ear, grinding his erection against your ass. "This is what you do to me. This is what I want to do to you." You whimper softly, arching into his touch despite your better judgment. "Soonyoung, please..." you beg, unsure if you're asking him to stop or continue.

He chuckles darkly, releasing your wrists to unbutton your jeans. "I love it when you say my name like that," he murmurs. "Now stay quiet and let me take care of you." Hoshi's fingers hook into the waistband of your dress, slowly pulling it up to reveal your bare skin. "No underwear?" he asks huskily, appreciating the view.

His hand slides down between your legs, finding you already wet and ready for him. "Such a good girl," he praises, teasing your entrance with his fingertips. You press your forehead against the wall, struggling to stay quiet as his skilled fingers begin working their magic. "Hoshi... someone might walk in," you whisper, though the thought only seems to excite him more.

Hoshi grabs your hips, positioning himself at your entrance. "Then they'll see how perfect you are," he growls, pressing against you. "How well you take me." He enters you in one smooth thrust, filling you completely. "Fuck," he groans, holding still for a moment to enjoy the feeling of being inside you.

"You're so tight," he murmurs, beginning to move at a steady pace. "Always so tight for me, no matter how many times I take you." Hoshi's jealousy fuels his movements, each thrust harder and deeper than the last. He sets a punishing pace, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you back against him.

"Tell me you're mine," he demands roughly, his breath hot against your neck. "Say it." You gasp out his name and the words he wants to hear, overwhelmed by the intense pleasure and possessiveness in his movements. "Yours... only yours," you manage to say, your nails scraping against the wall. Hoshi's pace becomes more erratic as he chases his release, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. "That's right," he growls. "You're my good girl."

He reaches around to rub your clit, knowing exactly how to make you come undone. "Come for me," he commands. "Show me how much you love being mine." The combination of his words and skilled touch sends you over the edge, your walls clenching around him as you cry out his name. Hoshi follows soon after, filling you with his hot seed while biting down on your shoulder possessively.

Hoshi holds you tightly as you both come down from your highs, his chest heaving against your back. "Fuck," he whispers again, pressing soft kisses to your neck and shoulder. He pulls out slowly, gently turning you around to face him. Your dress falls back into place, but his cum leaks down your thighs.

"You're marked inside and out now," he says with satisfaction, tracing his thumb across your swollen lips. "Now everyone will know who you belong to."

[jakedustry]

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 - 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘𝐔

IN WHICH Kim Mingyu has a plan for everything. Even you. But there are still things he can’t predict, no matter how smart he is, leading his “brilliant plan” to a disaster as his best friend falls for you — his girl.

pairing– Kim Mingyu x fem!reader ㅤㅤㅤ mentions of Wonwoo x reader

featuring– lot of seventeen members, oc Hanni as Soonyoung's gf

genre– Angst, Fluff, Smut

contains– auctions, interior designer!reader, cook!Mingyu, kinda asshole!Mingyu, oh no they can't stop flirting even though they are supposed to be rivals!, rivals to lovers, loverboy!Wonwoo, Mingyu is plotting, love triangle, lots of lying, the greatest bsf!Seokmin, mentions of burn out, lots of flirting, use of pet names, lots of cursing, arguing, alcohol, two smut scenes

word count– 31k (I'm sorry)

smut warnings– breast play + worship lowk, unprotected sex, fingering, missionary, oral (f. and m. receiving), hair pulling (Mingyu's hair), praise, handjob, cum swallowing

playlist

↪ izzy adds... okay, it's safe to say this was a journey. I had this idea back in September and have been developing it ever since, and honestly, it's only thanks to the lovely people I have around me that I didn't drop this back when I was at 2k. I'm so thankful to everyone who listened to me yap about this fic and even more to my beta reader who always has my back <3

There were only three men you knew the names of when it came to your most significant and expensive hobby. Jussi Pylkkänen, Tobias Meyer, and Kim Mingyu. While Kim Mingyu wasn’t anyhow famous in the auction world outside of South Korea, he was undoubtedly one to remember. 

Whenever you sat in the auction room, bidding everything you could on your favorite art pieces, it felt monotonous. It felt as if you were sitting in the room with amateurs. Others were scared to bid high, you realized during your first two weeks. They feared coming home to their families with a piece of art instead of the billions of won they had in their bank account before they left the house. 

You didn’t have those problems. Unlike other millionaires and billionaires, you weren’t born with such money. You had counted your every penny since you were fifteen, working your ass off so you could live the life you always wanted. You spent every minute of your free time building this life for yourself to be able to spend millions on art that you could sell for double the price later if you wanted to.

That was the reason you got to where you are right now. You knew your way around with money. You studied how to make the most out of things. You understood how to talk well and influence people. But most importantly, what might have been your most substantial advantage in this industry, was that you were a woman. 

And men were naive. 

It only took a glance, maybe a little smile, to have whoever you wanted wrapped around your finger. When you did find a suitable opponent who wasn’t scared of bidding some money on what he wanted, he’d let you have whatever you asked for the moment you just so slightly leaned forward in your place, revealing a bit of your chest. 

Yet, there was still one man you didn’t get to toy around with. Kim Mingyu. Why? You were asking yourself the same question. Even though, deep down, you knew the answer.

He was the same as you. 

He toyed with people. And he enjoyed it. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

It was your third auction when you heard his name for the first time. 

“Fuck, he decided to join too?” You turn around as you hear the chatters behind you, sipping on the glass of wine you have been holding for the past ten minutes. “Oh hell no, I am out. I heard Mr. Yang had spent over 200 million ₩ last month because they had some deal together, and then he took everything! Yang hasn’t shown up at any auctions since! I heard he had lost everything!” 

Your ears perk up as you listen to their conversation, slowly heading toward the two males you’ve been watching. “Mind me joining you, boys?” You bat your eyes at them with a smile, making it almost impossible for them to refuse. 

“Kim Mingyu. That’s his name,” the taller of them explains, and you notice how he straightens his back when your eyes shift to his figure. You smile at him, tugging the right side of your hair behind your ear. Something you’ve learned over the years. For a reason unknown to you, men found it attractive. “So, this Kim Mingyu… What’s his deal?” 

Such a simple question, and yet, no one seems to know the answer. 

“I heard he wants to dominate the auction industry.” — “His deal… don’t you want to know my deal instead?” — “No one knows how he does it!” — “Oh, I wish I knew. I’ve been trying to find out what he does to screw around with these people too. Let me know if you have any luck.” 

You sigh, leaving from another group of guys. You’d started at least twelve conversations by now, hoping to find out more about The Legend, as they all called him, but all you got from it were guys trying to flirt with you or tell you you were too young to be at auctions. 

“Care for a drink?” 

“I’m sorry, but if you excuse me, the auction is about to begin,” you try to decline his offer politely but stop when you turn around to face the male behind you. A face you don’t recognize. His tall figure leans over you, and you watch as dark strands of his hair fall in front of his eyes. “And what better way is to start an auction if not with a fine glass of wine?” He smiles. Only a half-genuine smile, you figure. Still, you nod to him, placing your hand on his arm when he offers. 

You didn’t know who you were messing with back then. You saw a pretty face to toy around with and thought that was your win. 

You thought you could wrap Kim Mingyu, the Legend Kim Mingyu, around your finger. 

You smile as he hands you the glass of white wine, commenting on the fact that it goes well with your dress. “I am not quite sure I caught your name, by the way,” he says casually once you hold his arm again, making your way towards the bidding room. It sounded rehearsed, as if he had said it a thousand times in the same spot. But you knew that wasn’t the case because, excluding you, there were only five other women, all of whom he was avoiding eye contact with. 

Maybe it was his personality then, you think. 

Your name slips past your lips in a heartbeat before you can even rethink it or come up with a pen name. “Well,” your name sounds better on his lips, more elegant. “What are you looking for tonight?” Now that was cheap, you tell yourself. A chuckle escapes your lips as you shake your head slightly, looking up at him to see his face. His eyes don’t tell you he wishes your answer to be him, though. “Well, I bet you’re aware of the pieces in the auction tonight. They are all beautiful, but…” 

“But there is one that has your attention,” he adds before you can continue, making you nod. “Number six,” you inform him, your eyes shifting to the empty seats in the room.

“Number six is what I am taking home tonight.” 

You don’t turn to look at him again, not until his arm escapes your grip and he stands in front of you. “We’ll see about who it will come home with. Seems like we have a similar taste,” he smiles again, excusing himself as he walks away without another word. He doesn’t share his name with you, but you don’t mind. You don’t plan on seeing him again after this auction. 

You take a seat around the middle row. Not too far back, but also not in the very front. You notice the black-haired boy three rows ahead, calmly watching the front. The few chairs beside him are empty, and no one seems to be thrilled with having to sit next to him. You scoff, shaking your head at the loser you thought you found, and look at the moderator instead. 

Number six was yours. 

You sit silently throughout most of the bidding, only trying twice at the very beginning when prices weren’t high yet, but stop eventually, leaving others to take it. You didn’t care much about other art pieces. And, the less you bought before the painting you want turned up, the more money you would have to spend on it. 

You look down onto your lap, where your phone is, sighing upon seeing the black screen with no new notifications. “4 million.” You glance up again as you hear the bid, your eyes shifting from the taller boy from before to the painting on the podium. Your eyes widen, and you immediately raise your number card. “4.5 million.” The moderator doesn’t even have a chance to speak before the male raises his number again, doubling your amount. Another number, a new one, raises his hand, the words ten million leaving his lips. You grit your teeth, raising your number card to bid again, but before you can offer your price, the dark-haired male is talking again, increasing the bid on his own. 

“Alright then,” you mumble, raising your number greater so the moderator would notice you. You take a deep breath, ignoring the enthusiastic smile on the male’s face as he watches you. “20 million.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, praying no one would raise the bid again. 20 million won was already way over what you planned to spend when you arrived. The painting’s worth was 40 million, 43 at best. It would be irrational to spend any more than what you paid. It would be dumb to spend more than fifty percent of the painting’s worth. 

Still, you hear a voice again, and it isn’t the moderator. For fucks sake. “I’ll take it for 30.” 

You couldn’t. You didn’t have that kind of money to spend on a painting. Even though you’d love to have it home, hanging over your bed or in your living room, knowing it could get you money if you ever got into a crisis, you just couldn’t. 

And so, you watch the dark scenery turn white as the staff comes on the podium, hiding the painting with a white sheet. The dim gray mountains disappear right before you, making you shut your eyes immediately so you wouldn’t have to watch them carry it away, knowing you’d never see it again. Whisper of Hope. You scoff at the name. Right. That was hardly true when your hope disappears in the blink of an eye. 

But as you close your eyes, the painting comes back to you. The light that pierced through the murky clouds and the mountains covered in snow, you see it all. It helps you remember why you wanted it in the first place. There was always a feeling in that painting, a quiet sense of peace that made you feel like everything would be alright, even if it never really was.

You snap out of your thoughts as you hear the moderator speak up again. “Number six sold out to Kim Mingyu, number 89.” Your eyes widen, and you immediately redirect your attention to the dark-haired male three roads ahead. His eyes are already on you, a smirk spread across his lips as he bows his head slightly, as if his manners only came back to him now. 

You scoff, realizing this was his “Nice to meet you.” You have finally met Kim Mingyu in all his glory. 

And you hated him.

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

“Aren’t auctions just another form of gambling?” You raise your eyebrow as you face your best friend—Seokmin. He shrugs when he notices the look on your face, glancing around the room for some help from your other friends. “I get where he is coming from,” Soonyoung nods, making you roll your eyes. Of course, he knows where he’s coming from. 

“Care to give me a proper explanation as to why then?” You encourage the two of them, making Jihoon turn around on your computer chair so he could face the rest of you, interested in what you all could possibly have to say. 

“I mean,” Seokmin starts, clearing his throat. “You have to pay even to be able to join the auction, and you can’t possibly know if you will walk away with something or not.” – “And you can also pay a ton of money for something just to find out its value is way lower than you thought,” Soonyoung adds, nodding to prove Min’s point. 

“Okay, so it can be a bit risky,” you agree whilst rolling your eyes. “But really, you would be an idiot not to do proper research about the value of things before buying anything.” 

“I’ve seen people,” Jihoon shrugs. “Remember Mr. Lee? I spoke to his wife a few weeks ago. They got divorced when he lost all of their money because he believed a stranger and invested in some company that went bankrupt.” Seokmin’s eyes widen, and his jaw practically hits the floor, making you scoff. “As in my favorite convenience store owner…ever?!” Jihoon nods, and the youngest boy whines. “You’re kidding me!” 

“Swear on Soonyoung’s girlfriend.” The boy immediately looks up, “Hey!” You laugh, as you always do when you’re around them. “Don’t talk about my girlfriend. We are fighting right now…” he mumbles, looking down at his lap again. 

Your smile slowly fades away, exchanging a look with Jihoon. “About?” You ask, raising your eyebrow. They never fought. All their arguments were about the stupidest things ever. You doubted it was anything serious this time. “She thinks I’m not spending as much time with her as I used to. We also fought about this one girl from work. It’s been a bit hectic,” he answers shortly. “But I know you guys don’t care about that. How’s your recent project been doing?” He tries to brush it off with a smile—a painfully fake one. 

“No, rewind. We do care,” Seokmin assures him, anxious at the sudden mood change. You can’t help but pity your friend. They never fight. That’s right. They never went through anything huge, so he never had to deal with something like this. “Hoshi,” you call out softly by his favorite nickname ever, making him look up. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No, not really,” he admits. “Thanks, though.” You nod, telling him there’s nothing to thank you for. 

It’s quiet for a bit after that. It feels as if you were all scared to break the silence. Too afraid to say something stupid when your friend’s eyes look so painful.

But Hoshi didn’t see it like that. “Oh my god!” He exclaims all of a sudden, catching you off guard. “I completely forgot to tell you! Hansol is throwing a party at his house next month. He’s finally planning to ask the girl he has had a crush on for months out,” he explains as if nothing ever happened. A part of you feels relieved. After all, this was the chaotic Soonyoung you were worried about. The same guy that jumped into your pool fully naked last winter because of a stupid bet. It wouldn’t be like him to stay down for the rest of the day. 

The conversation only flows after that, and you know not even Jihoon, who has been trying to ignore you all and work on his new project can focus on anything when Soonyoung and Seokmin laugh so much over a joke Hoshi said ten minutes ago. You smile as you watch the three people closest to you. Every time you sit with them like this you feel grateful to have them by your side. 

Jihoon chuckles, shaking his head at them. When your eyes meet his, you know he feels the same way. Happy, thankful, and delighted. It all shows in his eyes, no matter how nonchalant or unimpressed he wants to look. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

The following morning, you find yourself waiting for Soonyoung to pick you up at your place. He reached out to you soon after getting home the day before, asking to grab a coffee in the morning before work and talk. You couldn’t say no to him even if you wanted to. Waking up a bit earlier to go grab a cup of coffee with your friend wasn’t something you would hate to do anyway. 

You sit on your couch, your leg bouncing on its own as you intensely stare at the project in progress in front of you. The sketch is barely started, and you need to turn in the finished design in three days. You sigh, running your fingers through your hair. No matter how long you stare at it, nothing comes to you. It’s as if there was some wall in front of you, preventing you from being able to see anything. 

You give up, spreading on the couch and grabbing your phone instead. As you’re about to text your friend and ask where he is, you hear the doorbell ring, announcing his arrival. “Coming!” You yell back, quickly shoving your phone in your pocket and getting up. You glance at the papers on your coffee table once more before grabbing your bag and leaving it behind for later. That was a problem for the future you. 

“Hey,” The older boy greets you as soon as you open the door. You smile at him, quickly taking your keys and hiding them in your bag. “Ready to go?” He asks, and you nod.

“So I obviously told her there was nothing between us and that she doesn’t need to worry, but for some reason she just doesn’t believe me,” Soonyoung whined, ranting about the fight he and his girlfriend are going through. “I tried to talk to her and explain everything she worries about, but she doesn’t want to listen to me. It’s as if she wants us to fall apart. I don’t know what to do anymore,” he mumbles, creating a pitiful frown on your face. You can’t help but feel sorry for him. 

“It’s hard if she doesn’t want to listen to you…” you comment, trying to think of a way to help him. “I mean, I don’t know what’s going through her head, right, but maybe, next time, just don’t mention anything about why you guys are fighting. Take her on a date instead. Do something nice for her. Show her how much you love her, and I’m sure she’ll stop doubting you.” 

Soonyoung falls silent, thinking about what you said. When was the last time he gave his girlfriend flowers without a reason? How long has it been since they had time for a proper date? Honestly, he wasn’t sure. 

“God, you’re right. I need to have a date with her,” he breathes out, disappointed in himself. “Thanks,” he smiles again. “For reminding me,” he adds as his smile turns into a laugh, putting you at ease. You felt like that whenever you heard him laugh, especially in situations like this. He always made you remember that you have to enjoy the moment you’re in and not overthink everything. “I’ll pay for your coffee for that.” 

“I can’t pass on that, can I?” 

The café is right behind the corner, so it takes you almost no time to reach your destination. You’re laughing when you enter the small shop, not paying much attention to the people around you. “Maybe if he actually made an effort,” you roll your eyes. “Well, maybe if someone didn’t block him after the first date, he could have,” Soonyoung laughs even harder, walking over to the register to order your and his drinks. 

“As if,” you scoff, turning around to find a place to sit, but as you do, you stumble over a foot. Foot that isn’t yours. You don’t get a chance to react, your eyes widening as gravity fails you, taking you down. Thankfully, before you can reach the floor, you feel someone’s arms wrapping around your waist tightly, ensuring you won’t fall. You blink a few times, your eyes meeting the tall guy. “Hello,” you pipe, swallowing a lump in your throat. 

“Hi,” he smiles, clearing his throat awkwardly and helping you stand straight again. “I’m sorry, that was completely my fault,” he apologizes, his eyes landing on the dark stain on your blouse. He must have spilled his drink on you while catching you. “It’s okay,” you assure him, noticing where he was looking. “Shit,” you curse quietly, quickly searching for a bathroom with your eyes. “If you excuse me,” you apologize when you find your target, meeting his eyes again. “Wait, let me help you,” the black-haired male offers. His hair is neat, his forehead exposed, and he is dressed in a dark blue suit. He looks flawless. A part of you feels annoyed by how perfect he looks. Even the glasses fit him perfectly. “No need,” you shake your head. “Thank you for offering, though,” you smile politely, quickly getting to the bathroom. 

“Well, that was embarrassing,” you sigh as you join Soonyoung at a table for two he picked out. “It was funny,” he laughs. “I watched you from the counter. You had sparks in your eyes!” He slides your cup with caramel macchiato forward, a teasing smirk on his face as he sips at his cup of coffee. “I did not,” you roll your eyes. 

Honestly, you might have. You can’t remember much about the situation. You only see the boy and his stupid smile when you close your eyes, unable to think about anything else. 

“And now you’re blushing,” he comments with a chuckle. “Isn’t this what Seokmin would call love at first sight? I hope you got his name, if nothing else.” You shake your head, sipping on your iced drink. “You’re overreacting. It’s not love, admiration, or even a tiny crush. If anything, he is just someone who ruined my favorite blouse,” you point out the stain, trying to sound annoyed. You’re sure Soonyoung can see right through your bullshit, though. Because a big part of you wishes you had asked for his name. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

“How’s the project been going, by the way?” Soonyoung asks, walking beside you toward your company. “Last week you mentioned something about being stuck,” he mumbles, the empty plastic cup still in his hands. “Still the same,” you sigh. “I guess I finally know what it feels like to have an artist block,” you laugh it off. “I might end up passing the project onto someone else. It’s not like I need the money right now anyway.” 

“No need to rub it in my face,” he rolls his eyes. “Just retire at this point and draw the paintings you buy yourself. Isn’t that what you always wanted to do, anyway?” You fall silent, staring at the ground under your feet. “No,” you disagree, but you can’t look him in the eyes. “Ah, I thought–” You quickly shake your head, stopping him before he couldn’t dig too deep into it. “No, you thought wrong. I like designing, and I like where I am now. If I became an artist, I might not even have a place to live now.” 

Hoshi is caught off guard, shutting his mouth when he finally notices your facial expression. He didn’t even realize it at first, but it seemed like he had found a weak spot. “Okay,” he mumbles, nodding confusedly. “If you’re happy, then that’s all that matters.” 

Soonyoung is quick to change the conversation, talking about anything and everything that comes to his mind at the moment to keep you distracted, but it doesn’t work out like he would want to. All you can think about are his words. If you’re happy, then that’s all that matters. You’d like to think you are happy right now. You have amazing friends, a great job, and most importantly—freedom. You live like many people wish for. You would be stupid not to be happy. 

So why do you keep thinking about what-ifs? Why do you always wonder how your life would look if you chose to continue painting back in high school? 

“Okay, I’m going to leave you to it now,” he smiles, stopping in front of your company. “Good luck. With everything.” You smile back at him, opening your arms so he can hug you. You wrap your arms around his shoulders while he squeezes your waist, making you laugh. “Thank you, once again,” he adds, slowly letting you go. “No need to,” you shake your head. “I should be the one thanking you for my coffee.” 

You wave him goodbye with a smile, sighing as you look at the front door. I’m happy, you remind yourself. There’s nothing more you would need in your life. Nothing was missing in your life. 

You take a deep breath, walking in with a smile as you greet the lady at the reception.

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

You sit in your office, trying to develop the idea for the Millers’ project on your laptop. It’s not until the loud ring of your phone gives you an excuse to think about something else. “Yes, Chan?” You hum, accepting the call from your assistant. “Ah,” you nod, looking at the clock on your wall. “You can send him in. I’ll hear him out and see,” you agree, hanging up again. Maybe a new project is just what you need at the moment. 

“Good morning,” you smile, reaching out your hand for the man opposite you to shake. “Morning, and nice to meet you,” he smiles back, shaking your hand. Your assistant stands behind him, giving a faint smile toward you, too. “This is Mr. Xu. He asked specifically for you to design his new house,” he explains, batting his eyes at you, almost making you laugh. He looks proud. “Alright, let’s look at it,” you agree, showing him the way to your table. 

“Can I get you something? A cup of coffee, tea, or water?” You offer, sitting down on your chair. You move your laptop to the side, along with some of your documents for the Millers’ project. “Tea would be nice, thank you.” You nod, glancing toward your assistant. Chan nods, turning on his heel and heading to the cafeteria to prepare everything. 

“So, do you have the house plans with you?” You ask, and he immediately pulls out his phone, looking for something. You mentally sigh, glad he came somehow prepared. If only all of your clients were like this. “It’s a two-story house. We were thinking of making this room the guest bedroom, then the bathroom, and then the living room and kitchen,” he says, pointing at each of the rooms as he shows you the main floor plans on his phone. He switches to the second floor with a simple click when he sees you nod, pointing out at the room in the left top corner, right next to the stairs. “This should be another bathroom, and here, right next to the balcony, I’d like to have our bedroom,” he explains. 

“What about these two rooms?” You ask, pointing at the room next to the bathroom and the second room leading to the balcony. “This will be my studio. And this will be a joint office for me and my fiance, ” he clears out. “Studio?” You wonder, looking at the house plans on his phone. “An art studio. I do art for a living,” he answers casually. He can see the sparks in your eyes almost right away, scoffing. He might have just won you over. 

“I’ll design the house for you,” you agree without another second of hesitation. “Are you looking for all the rooms or…?” You question, glancing at him again. He’s smiling at you, and it causes you to frown for a second. “Everything, if possible. I’m not sure how much experience you have with studios, but I would still appreciate it if you tried.” 

Chan comes back soon after, placing two cups of green tea on the table. “I’m sorry for interrupting,” your assistant clears his throat. You look up at him, questioning what he needs with your eyes. “The Millers called. They want to see how their project is doing,” he informs you, and you try your best to stay professional and not break down right in front of your client. “Come here when I’m done talking to Mr. Xu, and we’ll talk about it,” you decide, intuitively glancing at the empty draft on your laptop. Chan doesn’t push you anymore and nods, sending you a good-luck smile before leaving your office. 

“So, you were saying,” you turn to your client again, encouraging him to continue and tell you his ideas for the design. 

“Mind if I ask how you found me?” You ask, rising from your chair as the conversation with Mr. Xu comes to an end. “Through a friend’s recommendation,” he replies casually. You nod, then reach for a business card from the stack on your desk, handing it to him with a slight smile. “I’m glad your friend was satisfied with my work, then,” you say. “If you have any new ideas or want to discuss the project further, don’t hesitate to reach out. I might not always be available for a call, but my assistant’s number is right below mine.” He nods, offering a brief but polite goodbye before exiting your office. 

You sigh as you close the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment with your eyes closed. The thought of meeting Chan makes your stomach turn, but the idea of facing the Millers is even worse. You can not meet them. How could you? After two months of working for them, how do you tell them you’re done, that you don’t want to design their house anymore? The thought of it makes you sick. Not only would it be awkward, but it could cost you everything. Your career. All the work you’ve put in to get your name out there. You can’t afford that, not after everything. 

Your breath shakes, but you try to pay little to no attention to it. You need to figure it out somehow and collect yourself again. Otherwise, the tiniest next problem will be your breaking point. You fix your hair as if that was supposed to fix everything and return to your desk. Your assistant is just a call away, but you don’t dial the phone. Not immediately at least. Instead, you move your laptop back before you, forcing yourself to come up with something first. 

Minutes turn into an hour, and you never grab the phone to call your assistant. It’s as if you’re in a daze, finally getting the ideas you’ve been searching for. You only managed to finish the living room, but you're grateful for even as much. As you save the folder, leaning back in your chair to relax, the sound of the office door opening makes you groan.

“I hope you’ve been working and not lazing around until now.” You meet eyes with your assistant, rolling your eyes. “I didn’t call you, did I, Chan?” You raise an eyebrow, but it doesn’t budge him a bit. “We seriously need to talk about the Millers’ project,” he glares at you to let you know he wasn’t in the mood for jokes. “You haven’t submitted a single draft since we accepted the deal. Mr. Miller is worried, and he wants results soon.” You sigh, unable to say anything in your defense. “I talked to him and asked for more time, but you have to show him at least somehow finished design during the next month.” 

“Thank you, oh my god!” You jump up, running around the table to get to him. “I love you, Chan. Oh my god!” You yell again, making him scoff as he wraps his arms around your waist. “Sure, sure,” he shakes his head. “You seriously have to do something, though. Got it? I can’t keep defending you every time.” You nod, promising to get it done soon. 

“Also,” he clears his throat, averting his gaze. “Don’t mention any of this in front of the guys. They’d tease me until I die.” You laugh, squeezing him once more before you let him go, stepping back. “I promise I won’t tell them anything. I’ll stay the only one knowing you can actually be useful sometimes,” you grin, making him roll his eyes. “I hate you.”

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

You’re unsure why, but the following day you find yourself in the same café as yesterday. 7.45 am, just like the day before when you stopped by with Soonyoung. 

“So? Was it worth it?” Lee Chan asks as you’re about to order your coffee. “An iced caramel macchiato, to-go please,” you tell the younger lady behind the counter, ignoring your assistant’s question. You take out one of your earphones to hear her when she talks back to you, doing your best to ignore Chan’s continuous bugging. “That will be 4 750₩.” You pay with your phone, stepping aside so the next customer can order. 

“Okay, yeah, it wasn’t worth it,” you finally mutter, picking at the skin on your fingers. You still don’t know why you came back here. For some guy whose name you didn’t even know? You couldn’t have been that foolish, could you? You wouldn’t have sunk that low, right? 

It’s been a while since you’ve been in a relationship—or just gone out on a date with someone honestly. That must have been it, you convince yourself. Why else would you act so desperate? He was just a handsome guy who caught your attention due to the lack of gentlemen in your life. After your friends, who would use every chance they got to make fun of you and make your life a bit harder, he was a nice change. That’s all. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

Yet, you step into the café the next day too. 

“Iced caramel macchiato?” The barista tries to remember your order when she sees you. You smile, nodding. You unlock your phone to pay, but before the lady can tell you your total, male’s voice interrupts you, his arm brushing against your own as he stops beside you.. “Make it two, please. I’ll pay.” Your eyes widen when you look up to see his face, holding back your smile when you notice the same boy with glasses you did two days ago. “Hi,” he greets you softly, smiling before he turns to the barista again to pay. 

“What did we get again? I was so caught up in getting to the counter I barely listened to what you ordered,” he says with a light chuckle, eyeing the drink in his hands. “Caramel Macchiato. It’s my favorite,” you reply, leading the way to one of the tables. “I see,” he nods, taking a sip as he follows you. 

When you sit down, he asks for your name, settling into the chair opposite you. He smiles, repeating your name to make sure he remembers it. “I’m Wonwoo. Jeon Wonwoo,” he says, extending his hand across the table for you to shake. “Nice to meet you, Wonwoo,” you say, giggling a little as you shake his hand. Immediately you cringe, a giggle? Really? What are you, a middle schooler?

You pull your hand back awkwardly, holding onto the cold drink to distract yourself. You try to steal subtle glances at his face, averting your gaze back to your coffee whenever you thought he might catch you in the act. With his hair down, brushing the top of his glasses, and that pretty smile, he makes it hard to focus on anything else. 

Today, he’s dressed casually—a simple black shirt that clings to his figure perfectly, making his muscles more visible. He might as well be asking you to fall for him when he looks like that. 

You quickly shake your head, snapping out of your thoughts. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve somehow turned into a middle schooler after all. Then your eyes fall to his side, noticing the camera case flung over his shoulder. “Are you a photographer?” You ask, lifting your eyes to meet his. “Ah, this?” He chuckles, shaking his head as he sets the case on the table and takes out his camera. “It’s just a hobby, not a profession,” he clarifies. 

“Can I still see some of your photos?” You ask, hopeful. Wonwoo agrees, nodding as he hands you his camera. He can’t say no to you, not when you look so excited. For a brief moment, he could almost see stars in your eyes as you took the camera from him. 

Your head tells you to ignore the feeling, but your body has a different idea. Your stomach twists in a (weird) way you’d prefer not to address—refusing to admit it could be anything like those so-called butterflies people talk about, and you swallow hard when your fingers brush against his, the soft touch sending shivers through your body. 

“You’re really talented!” you exclaim, flipping through his most recent pictures. A few are of an elderly couple—what you can only assume to be a part of his family—some are shots of nature or stray cats, and others are self-portraits of him.

You smile, finding him cute until you come across one that makes your stomach lurch: he’s shirtless, his hair wet, probably just out of the pool. A flush creeps up your neck as you quickly close the gallery, trying to shake off the image. You bring the camera up to your eyes to focus on something else, adjusting the lighting before snapping a picture of the man in front of you. 

“What was that for?” He smiles, sipping on his coffee. “Not sure,” you admit, handing him the camera back so he could take a look at the picture you took. “Actually, I could ask the same,” you proclaim, getting his attention. “You paid for me. You ran from the door to get to me on time. What was that for?” You question him, watching as his smile grows wider. He looks at his camera again, smiling at the picture of him as he shrugs, repeating your words, “Not sure.” 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

The saying “When you know, you know” was always stupid in your opinion. You weren’t sure what it meant in the first place. Logically, it didn’t make any sense. 

And as you walk through your company’s building, heading to your office with Margaret by Lana Del Rey playing in your earphones, you feel like you will never understand it. Because you don’t just know. 

But it doesn’t stop you from being happy. You don’t have to “know” in order to enjoy your time. 

“What’s that smile for?” Chan stops when he notices you in the hallway, a teasing grin on his face you’d recognize from miles away. You roll your eyes at him, taking out your earphones and turning the music off. “Nothin’” you try to brush him off, but you know your eyes give you away. “It’s about the coffee guy, isn’t it? Don’t tell me you went to the café again,” he sighs, sounding almost disappointed. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You frown. He doesn’t answer anymore. Instead he shrugs, accompanying you to your office. 

“Wonwoo,” you mumble as you step into your office. Chan raises an eyebrow, looking at you with confusion, mentally running through your list of clients to see if the name rings a bell. “That’s the coffee guy. His name is Wonwoo,” you explain with a smile. “I ran into him again today.” Your assistant freezes for a moment as if weighing his words carefully. “I’m guessing you didn’t hate him, then?” he asks, settling onto the couch in the room. 

You sit in your chair, opening your laptop, and immediately flashing yourself with the image of the Millers’ project. “He’s nice,” you answer casually. “And has a nice smile.” Chan frowns. “That’s all he needed to charm you?” You roll your eyes, zooming in on the room that was supposed to be for the Millers’ youngest. Thanks to your assistant’s relentless nagging, there are only two rooms left to complete. “Some people go for men just because they have money. So I don’t think I’m that bad.” 

“Yeah, because you have the money.” You glare at him, giving him a warning look and letting him know that if he continues, you’re kicking him out. “Okay, sorry,” he raises his hands in surrender, shaking his head. “I’m just worried. I haven’t seen you obsess over a guy like this…ever.” — “Honestly, that also freaks me out,” you admit, sighing. “He’s just got this aura that pulls me in. I’m not sure why.” Chan hums as a sign of understatement. “Maybe you found a soul to your non-existent one,” he jokes, but you don’t find it funny. “Out.” 

“I didn’t do anything!” He protests. “I need to focus. Out.” You repeat yourself firmly and watch him get up from the couch. “I’m expecting a finished project by tonight, then,” he says, not waiting for your answer and leaving the office. 

Your head hits the back of your chair, watching his back as he leaves. Then your eyes drift to your phone, lighting up due to a new message. Your eyes widen, and you immediately reach for it, smiling at the simple “Hi” Wonwoo left you when you gave him your number. Then another text pops up, and you know you won’t get him out of your head anytime soon as you tell him the time you’re ending today. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

Chan’s head hurts. 

“Tomorrow. I’m serious,” he hisses, and you shut your eyes closed, feeling bad. You got so caught up in playing with Mr. Xu’s project and texts with your new acquaintance that you barely did anything on the Millers’ project even though you knew the deadline was close. “I will get it done tonight,” you promise. “I’ll work on it overnight, and you’ll have it on your desk first thing in the morning so you can show it to them.” 

Your assistant shakes his head, and you know he is disappointed. “Do whatever you want, but get your priorities straight,” your name leaves past his lips, and you gulp down. It’s been long since you’ve been scolded like this, and Chan might be the last person you would expect it from, but a part of you knows you needed to hear it. 

He opens his mouth to speak again, but before he can, the office door swings open, and someone steps into the room. Your gaze immediately lands on the man standing behind Chan, and you can already feel the atmosphere growing awkward. Your assistant turns around to see who just walked in, his confusion evident as he locks eyes with a man he’s never seen. “I apologize, but consultation hours are over. If you’d like a session, you’ll have to come back tomorrow morning.” 

“Oh, I’m not here for–” He tries to explain, but you quickly stand up, grabbing your laptop and jacket as you make your way to the door. “Okay, that’s enough talk for today. I promise I’ll finish the project tonight,” you promise one more time, waving at Chan before grabbing Wonwoo’s arm and leading the way out. You don’t need Chan to know you are hanging out with the same guy who’s been distracting you all day. You wouldn’t hear the end of it then. 

“What was that for?” Wonwoo laughs, following you out of the building. “Long story,” you brush it off. “If that was your boyfriend, then maybe…” — “I don’t have a boyfriend,” you stop him before he can finish his sentence and silently scoff when you see the smile on his face. “Good,” he mumbles. You have to bite your bottom lip to constrain your smile, averting your gaze and pretending you are looking at the interior plans on the walls. 

“Alright, should we go?” He interrupts your thoughts, slightly moving his arm–which you are still holding–to get your attention. You look up at him, nodding. “Where exactly are we going, anyway?” You wonder, but you don’t get an answer to your question. 

“You have a nice car,” you comment when you sit in the passenger’s seat after he opens the door for you. You look around, smiling. It’s been a long time since you last went on a night stroll, and you missed it. The silence, the calmness, the moon, and even the street lights that added a somewhat serene atmosphere. “Do I?” He chuckles. You’re not sure, actually. You never knew much about cars, and all of your previous relationships always made fun of you for it. “That’s funny because Min–” he clears his throat. “My friend,” he corrects himself. “He made a whole joke about it.” — “I was annoyed at first, but now it’s slowly starting to be funny.” 

“Are you close with your friends?” The question might sound lame, and you are aware of it. But after meeting so many people who would have answered with a flat “no,” you can’t help but ask. “Some of them,” he agrees. “I usually keep my circle small.” You smile, “So do I. Well– I know people. But not many of them know a lot about me,” you clarify. “I get what you mean,” he nods. “It’s better that way,” he mumbles, driving off the parking lot. 

A part of you thinks you have found your ideal man when he parks his car again, and you step out. Your eyes widen at the scenery in front of you, and you immediately glance at the man beside you. “This is insane,” you breathe out, and a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you take a few eager steps forward. You’re drawn to the railing at the edge of the mountain you’re standing on, where you can finally take in the full scope of the view. 

The landscape stretches far below, the trees barely reaching your height. The air feels lighter up here, and everything around you seems more vivid. This place would be beautiful to watch the sunrise. You can already picture it—the golden light slipping between the mountains, creating shadows on the trees below. It’s like a canvas, a moment you want to paint. 

It reminds you of the painting you lost for a second. You shake your head, snapping out of your thoughts as you turn around to face Wonwoo. At the same moment, you hear the sound of a picture being snapped, smiling when you see him with a camera in front of his eyes, taking pictures of you. “A memory,” he justifies. “And if you let me take you on a second date, too, then I’ll put the picture beside my bed,” he teases you, walking forward to join you. “So this is a first date?” You ask, chuckling when you see him averting his gaze. “If you want to call it that,” he shrugs, trying to be casual about it. 

“I can think of this as a first date, yeah.” 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

“Missed me?” 

You turn around when you hear the familiar voice and scoff. “Not really, no.” You turn your back to him again, thanking the waiter as you take a drink from his plate, trying to ignore the presence of another human being right behind you. “Oh, come on,” you can hear the smirk in his voice as he follows you, just like a puppy. You shake your head, glancing his way as he catches up to you, managing to get a drink for himself along the way. “I’m sure you keep thinking about me.” 

“You wish,” you retort. “Then maybe... you keep thinking about my painting, then.” You stop, staring him up and down. “Kim Mingyu, was it?” You ask as if you weren’t aware of who he was. “I’m not sure what experience you have with women, but I can assure you—just because you managed to steal one painting from me doesn’t mean you get a place in my mind. And definitely not my heart,” you fake a smile, and he chuckles, nodding. “I see. But it was enough for you to remember my name, huh?” 

He is unbelievable. Every bit of your body feels triggered when you speak to him, but still, you stay near him for some reason, unable to tell him to stop bothering you and leave. “It was a guess.” — “Yeah, right,” your name leaves his lips, and you have to gulp down. It still sounds as elegant as it did the first time he said your name out loud. 

“Well, m’lady, what are you looking for tonight?” Mingyu asks, following you to the auction hall. “I’d rather not disclose,” you turn him down casually, making his lips turn up into a smile. “Scared I’d go for the same art piece?” You stay quiet because you know he is right. You don’t want to go against him again. “Don’t worry, m’lady, I’m here just to observe tonight,” he leans down to your ear, assuring you. It makes a shiver run down your spine. “Good for you,” you try to sound calm, but you’re currently everything but that. 

As you sit down at one of the chairs, and he takes a place beside you, you rethink your whole conversation. Where did the nickname come from? And why did you have such mixed feelings about it? You felt confused. You were stunned when you felt the tickling in your stomach as he called you m’lady, but you also felt weird about it. You and Wonwoo have been going out now, and he had taken you out on some great dates, so you felt bad for him. You felt wrong about another man calling you nicknames like that.Obviously, you couldn’t say you have spent a lot of time with Wonwoo, or got to know him on a deeper level, but you had a feeling. Your intuition was telling you to go for it. 

“So? Which piece is it?” Mingyu nudges your shoulder, bringing you back to Earth. “What?” You ask confusedly, frowning. “What are you looking to get tonight,” he explains, glancing at the podium with all the things in today’s auction. “I think the vase looks quite nice, but I think you’ll like the flower painting more,” he comments, making you look towards the podium, too. “They are both nice,” you agree. “But in fact, I was thinking of a different painting. The abstract one on the right side. It’s mostly because of the colors.” He hums, and it feels like he’s zoning out, thinking about something. You don’t pay much attention to it, though. You didn’t come here to care about what’s going on through a man’s head. 

Throughout the rest of the auction, Mingyu stays quiet most of the time. He has stuff on his mind. Even a blind would notice that, but you don’t point it out. You’re too focused on the auction happening at the moment to be bothered with him. As long as he doesn’t annoy you, you don’t care what he does. 

“Yes!” You cheer quietly, making him look your way. “I got it,” you smile. “And for cheap.” He chuckles, shaking his head at you. “Good job,” he teases you, and you know he doesn’t mean it literally, but his words still get stuck in your head. 

Is Kim Mingyu trying to flirt with you, or are you just imagining things? 

“So, can we leave now?” 

“We?” You raise your eyebrows confusedly, but before he gets to answer, your phone goes off, causing everyone in the room to look in your direction. “Shit,” you mumble, pressing the decline button as fast as you can. Still, Mingyu catches the caller ID and frowns. Coffee guy <3 ?? Why would anyone name someone like that on their phone? “Tell me no one is looking at me right now,” you whine, staring down onto your lap. “I think everyone is staring,” he proclaims, making you slowly look up. You sigh when you notice everyone is busy with their own things and put your phone on do-not-disturb. 

“Was that your boyfriend?” He wonders. “None of your business,” you shut him down. You don’t intend to be Kim Mingyu’s friend. He’s weird, problematic, self-centered, tall, with tanned skin– No. You shake your head to interrupt your thoughts before they get the chance to go in the wrong direction. Kim Mingyu is problematic and self-centered. You repeat, looking back at the podium to keep your thoughts still. 

“Whatever you say, m’lady.” 

And you fail miserably. He throws you off with just one sentence, and you hate yourself for it. 

You run out before Mingyu can strike up a conversation with you again. You don’t know what his problem is, but you are certain you don’t want to deal with him now. So, instead, you pick up your phone and decide to call your coffee guy. 

“Hi,” you smile when he accepts your call immediately. “I’m sorry for hanging up on you earlier. I was busy,” you explain, but he only tells you not to worry about it. “It wasn’t something that couldn’t wait, don’t worry,” he assures you. “I was wondering if you don’t want to go out tomorrow, that’s all.” You pull the phone away from your ear for a second, checking today’s date as you head toward the taxi you ordered earlier. “Sorry, Wonwoo, I already got plans. And I’m working in the morning,” you apologize, sitting down in the backseat. 

“Actually,” you start, switching your phone from one hand to another so you can fasten your seatbelt. “Maybe you could come with me. My friend is having this party at his house to impress a girl or something. You could meet everyone I talk to when I don’t talk to you,” you chuckle awkwardly, greeting the taxi driver when your eyes meet in his rearview mirror. 

“Get to know your friends?” You notice the hesitation in his voice and panic. “You don’t have to, obviously! It was just a suggestion! If you don’t feel like socializing, it’s all good!” You assure him, shutting your eyes closed when you finish, regretting ever mentioning anything. “No, I’ll– I’ll come with you. I’m sorry if it sounded like I didn’t want to. I was just startled.” You breathe out in relief, opening your eyes again. “Of course, I’d love to meet your friends.” 

At the moment, you don’t pay any attention to his tone of voice anymore, but maybe you should have. It might have been for the better if you didn’t bring him with you, after all. 

Because while you smile on your way back home, Wonwoo, on the other side of the phone, is freaking out. He never intended for things to get this far—he shouldn’t be meeting your friends. That wasn’t the plan. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

Wonwoo tenses when the loud music reaches his ears. He didn’t think people his age threw parties anymore, but he was dead wrong.

As he follows you inside, all he can think of is how bad of an idea this was. Befriending your friends was a terrible idea. What would be next? Hanging out with them in his free time? Talking about you with them? Being your plus-one at their birthday parties? He was fucked. 

He doesn’t even get a chance to think about what he was going to do when you drag him to a group of guys you notice immediately after stepping inside, insisting on wanting to greet them first. 

“You’re all early!” You grin, going in for a hug with your best friend. Seokmin wraps his arms around you, squeezing you tightly before his eyes land on the taller male behind you, a smile creeping up his lips as he lets you go. “And who might this be?” He asks even though he already knows. There wasn’t a conversation he had with you where Wonwoo hadn’t been brought up since you had gone on your first date with him. 

“Ah, I’m Wonwoo. Jeon Wonwoo. I guess I’m her…” he glances at you for some help, but you don’t know what to say either. He isn’t your boyfriend, but a friend sounds wrong, too. “Uhm, yeah,” he looks back at the three guys in front of him, nodding awkwardly as a small laugh leaves his lips. You’re cute. The helpless but excited look on your face you give him when your eyes locked with his is unforgettable. 

“I’m Seokmin, and I guess I’m her best friend,” Seokmin laughs with him, offering Wonwoo his hand. Soonyoung and Jihoon introduce themself shortly after, sending you teasing smiles immediately. You shake your head at them, wrapping your arm around Wonwoo’s to get his attention. “I’m going to find Hansol and get us something to drink. Wait here with them?” Your eyebrows raise in question, mostly asking him if he was okay with spending some time alone with the boys. 

In fact, he isn’t. He doesn’t want to give them a chance to see that there is something off about him, but he still nods for the sake of it all, letting you leave. 

You wander around the house, greeting people here and there that you recognize as Hansol’s friends until you reach the kitchen, where, to your luck, you find the man himself. “Vernon,” you smile, catching his attention. “How have you been?” You ask, walking over to pull him into a hug. “Hey,” he smiles, softly patting your back. “I’m good, except for the fact I haven’t seen Adel around yet,” he answers your question, taking a step back. “I’m sure she’ll come soon,” you smile back at him, leaning on his kitchen island. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” He asks and you nod, looking around to try and see what he has. “I’ve got your favorite champagne. What do you think?” He offers, and you can’t refuse. “Can I also get a beer?” — Hansol frowns, grabbing the bottle of champagne. “I wouldn’t drink both,” he advises. “I’m not stupid,” you remind him, thanking him as you take the champagne from him. “The beer is for Wonwoo. I don’t think he’d appreciate this much,” you laugh, grabbing a glass from his cabinet, along with one for Wonwoo. “Wonwoo?” Hansol raises his eyebrow teasingly, pointing towards the pipe with beer so you can pour it yourself. “You’re not the only one planning to get a partner tonight,” you answer simply, laughing as you walk away. 

Wonwoo, on the other hand, is finally relaxing as he engages in a conversation with your friends. “You make her happy, I’m glad,” Seokmin smiles, looking around to assure himself you aren’t anywhere near them. “She cannot stop talking about you. It gets to the point where it’s annoying,” he complains, and Soonyoung immediately agrees. Wonwoo laughs, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “Hopefully, they are all good things.” 

“Some of them are nice, yeah,” Soonyoung nods, then glares at the older male. “But some…” — “Don’t pay attention to him,” Jihoon interrupts him. “He’s just teasing you,” he shakes his head at his friend. “Yeah, but if you do one bad thing,” Seokmin warns him, staring him down. Wonwoo swallows a lump in his throat. It’s not like he was scared of them. Heck, he could lean on Jihoon’s head if he wanted to, but he feels awful. Because honestly, you don’t deserve anything bad in your life. 

“I don’t want to hurt her,” he proclaims, catching both Seokmin and Soonyoung off guard. Jihoon, though, doesn’t seem much shaken by his statement. He’s smiling at Wonwoo as if he was proud. “I mean– that’s good. You shouldn’t hurt her,” Seokmin nods, glancing at his friends as he tries to find the words he wants. “Well, in that case, what are you still waiting for?” Soonyoung asks, making Wonwoo frown. “I’m sorry?” 

“When are you going to ask her to be your girlfriend? We’ve all been waiting. I don’t think she will shut up about you otherwise,” he explains, prompting him. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

“That’s–” A great question, actually. Something he should have definitely expected to come from them. Of course they wanted to know what his intentions with their friend were. But the truth was, he didn’t know if he could ask you to be his girlfriend. It would only get things messy. It would be for the best if he just did his part as quickly as possible and then disappeared from your life before he could hurt you any more than he already has. 

“You look like you’re about to faint.” — Wonwoo sighs when he hears the female voice behind him, coming to save him. “Are these guys giving you trouble?” This time, it’s a different tone. There are two of them, he realizes. He turns around to see who is behind him, but before he can question the girls’ identities, Soonyoung pulls the slightly taller one into a hug while the other girl greets Seokmin and Jihoon. 

“We are nice to him, don’t worry, Adel,” Seokmin laughs, but her frown makes it obvious that she doesn’t believe him. “Just making sure he knows whose side we’re on,” he grins. “And who exactly is this lovely guy whose life you are making so much harder?” The taller girl asks when she steps back from her boyfriend and greets his two friends. “Jeon Wonwoo,” he introduces himself, sending a soft smile toward the two girls. 

“Ah, I see,” she laughs. “I’m Hanni. Soonyoung’s girlfriend.” — “And I’m Adel,” the shorter one introduces herself, too, before glancing around the room. “Have you guys seen Hansol anywhere? I promised him I’ll come meet him right when I arrive.” 

“I’ll help you find him,” Wonwoo offers, immediately taking his chance for an escape. He just needs to find you and get away from any more of the guys’ questions, and it will be all okay again. “Alright, I’ll see you guys later.” Jihoon nods toward her, sending a smile toward Wonwoo too, to let him know it was okay. He could sense the tension in him, the need for an escape. He couldn’t blame him, honestly. 

Eventually, it’s you who finds the two of them. “Hansol is in the kitchen,” you inform Adel, and she thanks you, leaving the two of you alone and going to find him. “I hope you’re okay with a beer,” you say, handing Wonwoo the drink you got him. “Definitely,” he assures you. “What did you get?” He wonders, glancing at the glass in your hand. “Champagne,” you smile, offering him a sip. “I’m good, thanks,” he shakes his head, smiling back at you. “Hansol said he’ll hide the whole bottle for me, so I have tonight’s drinks secured,” you grin, making him chuckle. “How about we get you that bottle then and go somewhere quieter? There’s too many people for my taste,” he suggests, looking around the room to prove his point. People were everywhere. 

“Yeah…Yeah, of course!” You nod, trying to think of a place to go. “Come with me for the bottle then. If we catch Hansol, I can ask him if we can chill out in his room for a bit.” — “Thank you,” he whispers, still smiling. You shake your head, saying it’s not a big deal. 

Vernon doesn’t seem to have any objections, but you are certain that’s only because he is too busy talking to the girl he likes. Still, you don’t waste your opportunity and grab the champagne bottle before leading Wonwoo to the bedroom. 

Wonwoo sits down on the bed, placing the glass of beer on the floor beside his leg while you close the door, making him immediately sigh in relief when the music damps. He watches your every movement as you place the bottle of champagne along with your glass on the closest table you see before turning your attention to him again. You bite your bottom lip, hesitating as you look him up and down. You take careful steps forward until you reach him, stopping right in front of him. He breathes out your name, and it sends shivers down your spine. “Is it…okay for me to sit down?” Wonwoo frowns in confusion at first, but when he notices your eyes on his lap, he gulps down hard, hesitantly nodding. 

You sit yourself on him, fixing his hair as you gaze into his eyes. At the moment, Wonwoo forgets about everything he promised himself before he met you, unable to resist you when you’re this close to him. His body moves before he can think of anything else, pulling you closer by the waist so he can press his lips on yours. One of his hands grips your waist while he takes off his glasses with the other, trying to think of the beer next to his leg so he doesn’t accidentally kick it down. 

You gently push him down onto the bed, your fingers wandering over his clothed chest while your mouths explore one another, and for a second, you think life couldn’t be any better. That’s only until his phone rings though. “Mhm, wait,” he whines into the kiss, searching for his phone in his pocket. You place a kiss on his jaw instead, glancing at his phone to see who is calling. 

Wonwoo turns his phone off before you can see anything, throwing it to the side as his hands cup your face and he brings your lips back to his. “Who was that?” You ask between kisses. “Friend,” he mumbles back. “I’ll call him in a bit.” You can’t have any complaints when he kisses you so nicely, so you don’t say anything else and let yourself enjoy the moment. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

“Good night,” Wonwoo smiles, and it melts your heart. “Good night, Wonwoo,” you smile back at him, letting go of his hand as you step inside your apartment. There’s nothing but love in your eyes, and it makes his heart ache. “I’ll text you later,” he assures you. He hesitates for a second but eventually steps closer to you again, pulling you into a warm embrace. You wrap your hands around his waist, burying your head in his chest. “Get home safe.” 

When you close the door behind yourself, Wonwoo sighs and takes out his phone, dialing his friend’s number. 

“Where have you been?” He asks impatiently, and Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “Hello to you too, Mingyu,” he greets him, putting his empty hand in the pocket of his jacket as he leaves the apartment building. “I was with her until now, sorry. She took me to her friend’s party,” he explains, making Mingyu frown. It was obvious what girl he was talking about. “You met up with her friends?” He questions, and Wonwoo can already guess what direction this conversation will take. “Okay, look. I don’t think I can continue,” Wonwoo admits, and Mingyu falls silent. “What?” 

“I just…” he starts, but before he can think of the right words, Mingyu speaks up again. “You actually fell for her, didn’t you?” Mingyu scoffs. “You’re unbelievable.” — “Look, it’s not as simple as you think it is. It’s only normal to like someone you’ve been forced to spend so much time with,” Wonwoo argues. “You are the one who got me into this situation.” 

“I got you into this situation?” Mingyu repeats his words with nothing but disgust. “I’ve asked you to get to know her and find her weaknesses, not to go on fucking dates with her and fall for her!” — “I’m hanging up if you want to yell at me,” Wonwoo states, the grip he has on his phone only tightening as he starts getting angry. 

“Sorry,” Mingyu mumbles, leaning back in his chair as he tries to think of what to do next. “So you really won’t do it?” Wonwoo sighs. “I can’t.” What was so good about you? Mingyu wonders. His best friend wasn’t one to fall for just anyone, so there must be something about you. He just couldn’t figure out what it was. Sure, you were pretty and smart. That was something he couldn’t take away from you, but that couldn’t be it, right? “Alright, I’ll do it on my own,” Mingyu sighs, glancing at his opened laptop. “Can you disappear off the scene for a bit?” 

Wonwoo hesitates. He wants to take a step back and calm himself because he knows he can’t actually be with you, but giving Mingyu a free hand scares him. He doesn’t want to see you break apart because of his friend. “What are you planning?” 

“I’m going to befriend her. See if she lets me get closer, and then I’ll figure out something else.” — “Two weeks,” Wonwoo proclaims. “Two weeks, what?” Mingyu asks confusedly. “I’ll leave for two weeks and let you do whatever, but… when I come back, I don’t want to play your game anymore, Gyu. If she wants to be with me, then I want to go for it. Right now, that’s more important to me than any money or stupid art pieces you want.” 

Two weeks. That’s all he gets. Wonwoo won’t give him any more than that.

But two weeks is something Kim Mingyu can work with. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

It was shortly after your third auction when Mingyu sat in his bedroom, trying his hardest not to yell at his girlfriend. 

“Listen, you might think she is just some cheap chick that doesn’t know a shit about money, but I’m telling you, you’re wrong,” he repeats himself. “She knows what’s up.” 

“Oh, come on! No woman is as good as you!” Mingyu frowns when those words leave his girlfriend’s mouth. He always knew she wanted to kiss his ass whenever she got the chance, but now a part of him just felt disgusted. “We don’t have to go through any extra work just because of some slut, right?” You are a slut. The words stop at the tip of his tongue and he has to close his eyes for a second to calm himself. 

It felt funny hearing that from someone as his girlfriend. If it wasn’t for her ability to get into any man’s pants, he wouldn’t be keeping her around anymore. “We do,” he states simply, getting up from his bed with a sigh. She wasn’t there so she wouldn’t know but he saw it, the way you talked, and how all the men around were falling to their knees for you. One wrong move on his side and you could have all his opponents wrapped around your finger. He couldn’t let that happen. 

“Yeah, and what do you want me to do, huh?” Her voice gets louder, and it makes him annoyed. It wasn’t anything new, her voice always bothered him, but for her to have the audacity to raise her voice at him now? She must have gone mad. 

“I don’t fucking know. Eat her out for all I care. Just do what you always do. I’m not buying you expensive shit for you to just sit around and do nothing,” Mingyu tries to stay calm, refusing to fall so low and yell at a woman even though the girl in front of him makes him want to rip out his hair. 

“I can’t play with a woman!” She complains, making Mingyu groan. “For fucks sake, you just can’t do anything, huh?” He runs his fingers through his black hair, trying to think of a plan. “Well, then, it’s great you can do so much!” His girlfriend yells back at him, and Mingyu finally snaps. “Out.” His voice is strong, sending shivers down her spine. “What?” She blinks a few times, suddenly falling quiet. “Get the fuck out of my house. I’m done with you.” 

“Wait– What–What do you mean?” Her voice shakes, and she has to gulp down when she notices his stare. His eyes are full of hate, more than they were ever before. She would be stupid to think Mingyu ever loved her—or even felt anything romantic toward her—but she liked being around him nonetheless and knew Mingyu appreciated her company from time to time, too. Now, though, there wasn’t anything that could convince her Kim Mingyu didn’t hate her with his whole body. 

“You finally hit the final string. I’m done with you,” he explains, not bothering with saying anything else as his head tilts towards the door, telling her to leave. 

Mingyu sighed when he was alone again, lying down on his bed. The sudden silence was new to him, but it helped his thoughts to get running so he didn’t mind. He knew he couldn’t just track you down and try to get closer to you to do the job on his own. You would be an idiot to let him in. So, what else could he do? 

Then it hit him. He quickly sat up, searching for his phone with his eyes. When he finally found it, it took him less than a few seconds to dial his friend’s number. “Hey, Wonwoo, do you think you could come over today?” 

And that was how it all started in the first place. The plotting, the tracking down, all the effort Mingyu put in to figure out the things you like so he could give his best friend the perfect info. Even Minghao. Mingyu thought of it all. While one of his friends got closer to you in your free time, his other friend interrogated your workspace. 

It was perfect. He’s got it all covered. There was no way his plan could fail. He was taking you down. 

Until Wonwoo hit him with the call, and everything fell apart again. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

The following morning, the first thing you did was reach for your phone so you could text Wonwoo. 

You rub your eyes, trying to get them to focus properly as you open the chat with him, your eyes widening when you notice you have a new message. You smile when you see the text, but it fades away again when you read what it says. “What the fuck are you sorry for so early in the morning?” You sit up, hoping this is still just a part of your dream. “You’re kidding me,” you breathe out, pressing the call button and bringing your phone up to your ear. 

“Good morning,” Wonwoo greets you nervously, and you can almost see the way he rubs the back of his neck. “Not exactly a good morning,” you proclaim, waiting for a further explanation. “I’m sorry,” he breathes out. “I forgot about it, and the guys texted me yesterday asking if I was already packed. I couldn’t tell them I am not going.” 

“Don’t you think the timing is a bit insane?” You call him out, scoffing when he can’t say anything in his defense. “And what the fuck is with the message in the first place? I’m sorry. I won’t be able to see you in the next two weeks?” You recite to him what he said. “That’s all I get after everything?” 

“I swear it has nothing to do with what happened yesterday. I– I like you a lot. And I don’t want to leave, not now, but I have to.” 

“What if I don’t believe you?” — “Sweetheart…” he starts, and it makes your heart ache. “Don’t sweetheart me when you left me a fucking message about leaving without any further explanation right after we kissed for the first time.” Wonwoo sighs. He knows he is wrong for doing this, but it’s better than cooperating with Mingyu on his plan to take you down. He can’t do that to you. So he chose the safer choice, even if it might hurt you a bit. 

You sigh as well. “You wouldn’t have called me if I didn’t, would you? You would just leave after one text and not speak to me after, right?” — “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, and it hits you even more when you know you’re right. “Alright,” you nod. “Have fun with your friends.” 

“Wait, no, don’t leave just like that,” he tries to stop you. “Are you kidding me now? You are the one trying to leave just like that! If you don’t want anything to do with me, just say it. No need to hide behind your friends for it.” He wants to explain everything to you, say that he is doing it for your own good, but he can’t. So he stays silent, trying to figure out a different excuse. You don’t give him the benefit of the doubt anymore, though, and when he doesn’t say anything to prove you wrong, you hang up on him. 

You receive a few more texts from him afterward but decide to ignore them. You need space, and the two weeks he decided to take off from you sound like a perfect idea now. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that,” Seokmin tries to assure you as he walks down the stairs from your loft. “And I am certain he did,” you retort, waiting for him. “Remember how I disappeared for a week when we had that argument?” He reminds you, and you frown. “That’s different.” 

“I don’t think it is,” he shakes his head. “You can’t just stop talking to him because he forgot he planned a trip with his friends.” — “It’s not about the trip,” you argue. “We kissed the night before,” you admit, making Seokmin’s eyes widen. “You what?!” He yells, following you to the door. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I wanted to let it sit for a bit, figure out if it’s what I want,” you answer, sighing as you put on your shoes. “I thought I did, but now I’m hesitating again.” Seokmin leans against the wall as he puts his boots on, trying to find the right words. “Do you like being with him?” — “Yeah,” you nod, sighing when you meet your best friend’s eyes. “And do you want to be with him?” That question is when you hesitate. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I like him and spending time with him, but I’m not sure if what I felt when we kissed was right.” 

You thought kissing him was right, that you were meant to be, but the more you think about the night, the more unsure you feel. In the heat of the moment, you didn’t notice it, but you doubt you felt anything at all. You missed the touch of another human being, and you loved the kiss, but you couldn’t say it would make any difference if it was someone else that night. 

“There’s something good that comes from this trip of his, though,” you say as you walk out of your apartment, Seokmin following you immediately. “I have two weeks now to figure out what I feel. We’ll see if I miss him.” You want to miss him. You want to feel something for him, but a part of you knows you won’t. He had lost you the moment he thought a simple text was all he needed. 

“Can we stop talking about him now? I just want to get breakfast with my best friend and then get to work. Maybe I’ll feel better when Chan yells at me,” You laugh, but Seokmin doesn’t find it funny at all. “Let’s get something good,” he smiles anyway, hoping to make you feel better. “It’s on me today.” 

You and your best friend end up in the same café you’ve been going to for the past month. When the barista asks you if you want your usual, it makes you wonder if you’ve been spending too much on coffee lately. “Can we also get two of those sandwiches, please?” The lady opposite you nods, clicking on a few things on the digital cash register before her before she moves to grab those for you. 

“The handsome guy isn’t with you today?” She wonders as she hands you the two sandwiches along with the two cups of coffee you ordered. Before you can answer her, Seokmin is nudging you out of the way so he can talk instead. “I don’t think he is all that. Honestly, I’m way prettier.” The barista chuckles, nodding. “Of course you are,” she encourages him before telling him the total so he could pay. “Oh god,” you shake your head at him, laughing as you leave the counter and try to find a table. 

“I hope she didn’t think I’m your new date,” Seokmin frowns, sitting at the table in the furthest corner of the café. “Oh, that would be terrible,” you nod, but it’s obvious you’re making fun of him. He rolls his eyes at you, taking his coffee and sandwich from you. “Yeah, it would! You would block my chance of getting any girl, ever.” 

“You’re being dramatic,” you scoff. “And don’t tell me you couldn’t get any girl you want.” — “You’d be surprised,” he mumbles, and all of a sudden, you feel bad for him. “Are we starting an operation ‘get Seokmin a date’?” You suggest, making him laugh as he shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll shoot my shot once I find someone I like,” he assures you. “You should worry about yourself now. You were so close to finally getting laid, and now–” You glare at him before he can finish his sentence, making him close his mouth. The teasing look he gives you makes it impossible for you to keep a straight face though, so you end up laughing again. 

“I love you, Min,” you smile. “Sorry—I don’t feel the same way,” he apologizes, with the fakest sad face possible to prove his point, and you know you will never find a better best friend than him. “I love you too, kiddo,” he teases you again, making it sound as if he was years older than you. You shake your head, sipping on your coffee. 

When you get into your office, and Chan isn’t already waiting for you, you feel something is off. For a minute, you wonder if Seokmin didn’t call your assistant and say something to him, but he proves you wrong when your phone rings, flashing you with your assistant’s ID. 

“Yeah?” You ask when you pick up the phone. “Good morning,” he greets you first, glancing at the male in front of him. “I know you have a lot on your plate right now, but do you think you could take on another project?” Another one? At this point, you might go crazy. You already feel behind on everything. You shouldn’t take on anything else. “What kind of project?” You ask anyway, relaxing in your chair as you open your laptop to see all the deadlines you have for now. Chan covers the phone’s microphone for a second, but you can still hear muffled voices as he repeats your question to the new (possible) client. 

“Apparently, he wants you to design the interior for his parents’ living room and kitchen. As a present,” Chan answers, already knowing you won’t refuse that. “Alright,” you sigh. “Send him up, and I’ll see what I can do.” 

“You’re kidding me,” you mumble when you see no one else but Kim Mingyu himself walk through your office door, your assistant right behind him. “Good morning to you, too,” he grins. “I can sit down here, right?” He points at the chair opposite you, not waiting for your reply as he pulls it away from the table to take a seat. Chan’s eyes flicker between the two of you, trying his hardest to figure out what’s going on. “You two…know each other?” He guesses, raising his eyebrows in confusion when you send him a glare. He quickly raises his hands into the air, unsure of what the tension in the room is supposed to mean. He wasn’t one of your exes or something, was he? 

“You could say we do,” Mingyu nods, glancing at your assistant and sending him a smile. “I’m just gonna…yeah,” Chan runs away before he can get himself into any trouble, leaving you alone. You sigh, taking a deep breath before you smile at the black-haired male opposite you. “I heard you want me to design two rooms for your parents?” 

“Well, of course!” He chuckles. “Could I get a paper?” You frown in confusion, reaching for a blank paper on your table and passing it to him. “And a pen,” he adds when you hand him a paper alone. “Thought that was obvious.” — You roll your eyes at him, grabbing your pen and giving it to him. “Look, if you are just here to make me waste my time, you can leave now,” you sigh, watching him doodle something on the paper. “I’m not here to waste your time. I really want you to do this,” he proclaims, sparing you a mare glance before he stares down at the paper again, continuing his drawing. 

You sit in silence for a few minutes, shaking your head at how unbelievable he is while he continues drawing something without saying anything. You consider working on one of your projects while he sits there, but push the thought aside when your eyes land on him again. You just can’t comprehend what he’s doing. Why would he come into your office, saying he has work for you, and then just sit there and do nothing? 

“Okay, I’m done,” Mingyu proclaims, making you look up. “What?” You ask confusedly, blinking a few times to comprehend what he is trying to show you. “The house plans,” he explains, placing the piece of paper in front of you. “I don’t have the original house plans on me since this is supposed to be a surprise. So, I drew it.” 

You think your mind might have frozen for a second. Your eyes widen when you glance down and see what he drew. It looked just like any other house plan. And the fact he just whipped that out as if it was nothing? “Are you an architect? No one is this good without a ruler or anything but paper and pen,” you really try to understand how he did it, but it’s impossible. You are certain none of the architects you know could do this. “I’m not,” he shrugs. “Just an ordinary cook, m’lady,” he smirks, excited that he could impress you. 

“You are not an ordinary cook, I can tell you that.” Mingyu laughs, shaking his head at you. “I did have an interest in engineering before, though.” — “Ah,” you breathe out, nodding. “That’s why you’re insane,” you proclaim, excusing his behavior as if it explained everything. “I’m not insane,” he frowns. You glance at him again, raising your eyebrows to show him you disagree with his statement. “Do you want me to be insane, though? I could.” You sigh when he ruins the moment, just like he always does when he talks to you. “Shut up, and rather tell me what you want me to do.” Mingyu chuckles, his head falling down as he shakes his head. “You’re no fun, sweetheart.” 

You don’t say anything to that, refusing to play this game with him. You know what he wants to hear, but you won’t give it to him. “Alright, alright,” he starts, trying to get serious again, but the smile on his face makes you doubt if he can. “I’m thinking of something cozy. Right now, I feel like my mom is going to bump into something every time she turns around in the kitchen, so something more open would be great,” he gets into a zone as he starts explaining to you how his parents’ house looks, pulling out his phone to show you some pictures. You’re not sure if he didn’t want to just flex though when you see the pictures of him in nothing but grey sweatpants and an apron. 

He tells you everything about what he has in mind, giving you a perfect idea of how the finished project should look by the time he finishes. “Okay, I can do that,” you nod, officially accepting his deal. “With this much information, it shouldn’t take long.” — “Take your time,” he shakes his head. “How much do you charge for consultation and the project itself?” 

“It varies. I can’t tell you the exact price yet,” you answer, writing down a few notes under Mingyu’s drawing of the house, making sure you remember everything the two of you talked about. “Alright, in that case, once you know the final price, just double it and send me the check, okay?” You frown, looking up at him. “What are you talking about?” 

“I guess you could say I’m giving you a hundred percent tip,” he shrugs as if it wasn’t a big deal. “But if you want a different tip, don’t hesitate to ask,” he smirks. You decide to ignore his comment. “I don’t need your money,” you remind him, but that doesn’t seem to budge with him even a bit. “You do,” he argues. “I’m giving you an advantage.” 

 “A what?” You raise your eyebrow confusedly. What was up with Kim Mingyu and his skill of confusing you? “So that the next time we go against each other in an auction, you have enough money to play a little longer,” he smirks, making you scoff. “Thanks, but no thanks,” you retort, annoyed. He shakes his head at you with a smile, standing up. You feel small all of a sudden when he does. It’s not only his height but also the way he stares at you—he makes you feel small. 

You stand up too but it doesn’t help much. Screw you, Kim Mingyu, and your tall ass. “Before I leave, can I get your number?” He asks, chuckling when he notices the look you give him. Honestly, you are cute when you try to stare him down as if he wasn’t towering over you. “I need a way to contact you about the project, you know,” he explains the reasoning behind his question, and you can’t say anything to that. “Don’t you have it already? I wouldn’t be surprised since you tracked down my office so well.” 

“I was just lucky,” he shrugs. “It’s not my fault my friend keeps going on and on about how great you did when designing his house.” A friend of his? “Minghao really likes what you did for his studio,” he praises you, and you finally connect the dots. Mr. Xu. “I–I see,” you stutter, feeling embarrassed immediately. Why on Earth would you stutter in front of him of all people? “You can tell him that I also enjoyed working with him.” Mingyu nods. “I will. Hopefully, you’ll say the same about me when we’re done,” he teases you with a playful wink. “I don’t think I will,” you grin, making him laugh. 

“Alright, my number is on the card,” you proclaim, handing him your business card. “But don’t use it for your personal enjoyment,” you warn him, but it’s as if you didn’t say anything when you wake up to five new messages the following morning from no one else but your new client Mingyu. 

“He’s kidding me,” you whine, rolling to the other side of your bed. You stare at your phone, debating if it’s better to answer or ignore him. Eventually, you decide on the latter. 

“You look…” Chan starts, trying to find the right words so he wouldn’t make you even angrier than you already were. “Annoyed?” He settled for the least offensive adjective that came to his mind, placing your coffee in front of you as you gazed into your laptop, too occupied with work to even look at him. You shake your head, blinking a few times when you sense his presence, questioning what he was doing. “I’m sorry, did you say something?” 

“Are you okay?” He asks simply, making you sigh. “Do you want to talk about it?” You think for a second, eventually moving your laptop aside and pulling the cup of coffee he brought you closer. “Okay, yeah, I’ll take my break now if you actually want to hear about it.” — “Of course I want to,” he assures you. “I’m not only your assistant but also your friend.” 

You love your friends a tiny bit more every time you speak to them. A part of you always thinks you don’t deserve them when they are this nice to you. 

“I didn’t tell you about Wonwoo, did I?” You make sure you start with the right thing, figuring out the answer is no when he gives you a confused look. “Well, you know we’ve been going out, right? A few days ago, we kissed for the first time,” you explain, and his eyes widen in surprise as he leans back onto the couch. “And I thought it was great! We were good and all, but then he texted me while I was asleep,” you sigh, getting irritated again just thinking of the message. “All he said was that he is sorry, but he won’t see me for the next two weeks. No explanation, no nothing. He couldn’t even bother with calling me or something! Instead, I woke up to that.” 

“That sucks,” Chan says, his tone understanding. “I get why you’d be upset. He could’ve told you earlier. And if he really forgot about it, he still could have at least called or stopped by when he was leaving.”

“Exactly!” You exclaim, feeling relieved that he gets it. “Thank you.”

“So, I called him,” you continue, “just to ask what the hell was going on.” Chan nods, following along. “And he couldn’t even explain himself. I asked him straight up if he even wanted to be with me, and he couldn’t answer. So, I hung up, and we haven’t spoken since,” you shake your head with a sigh. “He texted me a few times after that, but it was just him repeating how sorry he was, so I ignored it. Seokmin thinks I should call him, and see what he’s up to, but honestly, I feel like that would just make me look pathetic.”

“You wouldn’t be pathetic,” he assures you. “But I get what you mean. I think you shouldn’t be the one putting in the effort again when he doesn’t give you the same in return. Leave it up to him and see if he reaches out.” 

“What if we never talk again then, though?” You bit the inside of your cheek, your voice merely above whisper, almost as if you didn’t want him to hear. “Then it wasn’t meant to be,” Chan answers honestly, and even though you know he is right, it feels like someone stabbed you in the back. 

“When did this happen?” He carefully asks when you don’t say anything after. “He left two days ago,” you answer, sighing. You’re tired of it all, honestly. “I thought I could work to make my mind get off things, but it’s not working like I would want it to. I feel so much pressure, and it puts a block in my head or something.” 

“How about you relax tonight?” Chan suggests. “Should I take you out? Call everyone and see if they can hang out?” You think about it, eventually agreeing with him. When you are about to open your mouth again and thank him, your phone buzzes, and you grit your teeth as you take a deep breath when you notice who it is from. “And as if all of this wasn’t enough, I have this guy on my back all the time,” you whine, turning your phone around so you wouldn’t have to look at it. 

“Who is that?” He wonders, trying to think of a way to make you feel better.  “Mingyu,” you state, watching your assistant as he tries to keep track of all the names in his head. It’s obvious what he is thinking about when you look at him, and you admire him for his ability to have most of your clients’ names remembered. It was partly why you hired him in the first place. He has a good memory for names and can almost immediately connect people to projects when you talk about it. 

“He also attends auctions, so we met a few times,” you explain. “And then, apparently, since Mr. Xu talked about me so much, he thought it would be nice to ask me to design his parents’ house for him, too.” — “I’m not sure what his deal is, though,” you add, making Chan raise his brows in anticipation. “I don’t know, he just keeps trying to be around me, you know. It’s as if he is trying to get closer to me for some reason. He’s taking every chance he gets to talk to me. He is like a puppy.” 

“Before you say anything,” you warn him, making him laugh as he shuts his mouth again. “I know I usually find that attractive, but that’s when I’m interested. I can’t say that about him. Plus, in his case, I doubt he even means it in that way,” you explain, making sure he doesn’t get the wrong idea. “I mean, sure,” you start again, and Chan scoffs, knowing you are about to refute exactly what you just said. “He does call me by nicknames, but that doesn’t mean he wants me. He just wants to annoy me.” — “Mhm,” Chan hums, laughing. “I’m serious!” You complain. “Let’s just stop talking about it,” you stop him before he can say anything. “About tonight, should I call the guys?” 

“So we are in for it?” He asks, and you nod, smiling at him. “Yeah, it’ll be fun.”

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

He just can’t leave you alone, can he? 

You sigh when you see Mingyu’s phone number flash on your screen again, this time with a call. You wish you could just decline the call and block his number, but since you are now working for him, you can’t just do that. You hate not being able to win this battle. 

There might be something you hate even more, though. You are not sure anymore if it’s even him you have such a problem with. Maybe, possibly, it’s actually the fact he does everything you wish Wonwoo did. You want him to call you, text you, ask you how you are, just talk to you somehow, but he doesn’t do any of it, and you hate it. You hate Wonwoo, you hate Kim Mingyu, but mostly, you hate yourself for thinking about Wonwoo so much when he doesn’t even care. 

You don’t need him to chase after you—you wouldn’t want that even. But you want to see some effort. You want to know he likes you as much as you like him so you can feel secure. But instead, you feel scared. Scared that he is just going to disappear from your life without a word. 

Maybe he already has. 

Maybe your kiss was actually a goodbye. 

“Yes?” You ask, and Mingyu laughs into your ear. “You don’t have to sound so frustrated because I’m calling you,” he says, leaning back in his chair to make himself comfortable. “Alright, Mingyu, care to tell me what you need before I hang up on you?” 

“Calm down, sweetheart, no need to go that far now.” The snicker that leaves his lips makes you roll your eyes. You just can’t figure out what his deal is. “You didn’t answer any of my messages. I waited for you in the café, but you never showed up.” — “I had work,” you lie. “No, you didn’t. You don’t start work at 7,” he argues, so you try to come up with another excuse. “I don’t, you’re right. I was asleep at 7, and then when I woke up, I went to work right away.” 

“Why are you trying to lie to me? It’s not working,” he proclaims, enjoying the situation a little too much to your liking. He sounds like a stalker. “And why do you care so much? Isn’t it my thing when and what I do? Also, I told you not to call me for your personal stuff, so what are you doing?” — “Well, I had to know if you are okay, obviously. Since you weren’t answering my messages, there was no other way. What if something happened to you and I would have to find a new interior designer?” 

He has an excuse for everything, doesn’t he? 

“Okay, so, let’s say I start answering your texts sometimes. Will you not call me anymore then?” You ask, and Mingyu doesn’t hesitate at all as he agrees, holding onto the chance you gave him once again. 

Always. 

He always finds a way. 

“Then I’m hanging up now,” you proclaim, already taking the phone away from your ear when he yells at you to wait. “If it’s another–” He doesn’t let you finish when he hits you with another question, “What are you doing tonight? Do you want to grab dinner with me since you ditched me for breakfast?” He offers, making your eyes widen. Are you crazy, or is Kim Mingyu actually hitting on you? “I’m busy,” you brush him off. “With?” You close your eyes, taking a deep breath before you speak again. “That is none of your business,” you state. You know as much isn’t enough for him, though, so you continue. “I’m going out with friends.” 

“I could tag along,” he offers, even though he knows he is overdoing it with it. He just needs to use up the time he has in the best way possible. “Definitely not,” you reject him, quickly hanging up before he can say anything else. If he continues like this, the only thing that might help you is going to be a restraining order. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

Your laugh fills the room as Hansol hits his head on your ceiling. Adel, next to you, laughs along, covering her mouth as a snort leaves her lips, her eyes widening in embarrassment as she laughs even harder. “Oh, shut up!” He complains, holding his head as he sits back on your bed, glaring at everyone laughing. “Happened to me the first time I was over, too,” Soonyoung cackles. “Can’t relate to that,” Jihoon says, and in that moment, Hanni can’t hold herself back anymore either, bursting out into laughter as well. 

“I’ll go for the drinks instead,” you shake your head, still laughing as you get up from your bed, walking past everyone and then down the stairs to your kitchen. “I’ll help,” Seokmin joins you, sending one more snicker in Hansol’s way before he runs down to you. 

“Are you okay?” Your best friend asks, opening your fridge to take out more cokes while you grab a bag of chips and whiskey. “Yeah,” you nod, smiling. “I’m having fun. And Mingyu hasn’t texted me since I refused to go to dinner with him. Maybe he decided to leave me alone,” you laugh, but you know it’s only funny to you because you know that’s definitely not the case. “Mingyu as in the Mingyu?” — “Yes. The Kim Mingyu,” you answer, but it sounds like a mockery in your voice unlike when Seokmin said it. “I’m designing something for him, and since he got my number, he keeps bombarding my phone with messages,” you explain. 

“I…see,” he nods confusedly, the grimace on his face giving it away that he is thinking about something. “What is it?” You ask, leaning on your kitchen counter, knowing your friends won’t see you up as quickly as you thought. “I’m just…didn’t you say he looked like he was playing some mind game with you when you first met him?” Right. The first auction where you faced him. It was so long ago—still, you hate that he stole your painting from you. “What if he is doing the same now?” You shake your head, stopping him before he can say more. “It’s fine if he is,” you assure him. “I don’t care what he does. If he wants to flirt with me, then be it, but he isn’t going to get me to do the same. So, he can play whatever games he wants because I’m not going to get hurt by him.” 

“If you say so,” Seokmin nods, his uncertain tone of voice giving away that he doesn’t exactly believe what you said. “Let’s go back up before Hansol decides to go find us and hits himself again,” he laughs, making it impossible for you to keep a straight face. “Hey! I can hear you!” You laugh even harder when you hear Hansol’s voice, falling into Seokmin’s chest to calm yourself down. He pats your back when you do, the coldness of the drinks in his hands making you straighten your back immediately, a whine leaving your lips as you send a glare toward him. He chuckles, shaking his head as he walks out of your kitchen corner, going up into your bedroom again.

“So,” Jihoon clears his throat, exchanging a look with the others before turning his head toward you again, making you raise an eyebrow in question as you place the bottle of whiskey on your bedside table. “Mingyu, we’ve heard?” He asks, and you immediately glare Chan’s way, knowing it must have been him who told them about him. “No,” you shut down the conversation before it can even start. “For the hundredth time, whatever the fuck goes through his mind, isn’t my problem, and I do not care about him in the slightest,” you assure them, but you know Soonyoung doesn’t believe you a bit when he hums as he shares a glance with Adel. 

“I’m sure she would tell us if there was anything,” Hanni takes your side, sending you a warm smile. “But since I do not care about what he does, there is nothing to tell,” you nod, taking a seat on your bed again. “Enough about guys, though. They suck anyway,” you proclaim as if your group of friends didn’t consist mostly of guys. 

You’re happy with how things are, though. You can’t imagine your friend group anyhow differently. They make you laugh and are there for you all the time. What more could you want? 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

You wake up to your phone lighting up with new notifications. You roll over to the order side of your bed, slowly forcing your eyes open as you look at your phone. You groan, opening the chat with one of your clients. You debate on blocking him. Maybe you should. It would make your life a lot easier. But as you try to click on the three dots next to his name, you accidentally miss, and press the call button instead. You sigh when he picks up the phone immediately, bringing it to your ear. 

“Why exactly do you want to grab breakfast with me?” You ask, and he chuckles at how tired you sound. “Do I need a reason?” 

“Yes. Yes, you do.” 

“In that case, I want to talk about how the project has been doing,” he reasons. You rub your eyes, glancing at the time on your phone. “That can wait until my working hours,” you argue. “Can’t I just see you then? Why do I need a reason?” 

“You’re unbelievable, Kim Mingyu.” 

“Thank you,” your name rolls off his tongue, the echoing sound shaking in your ears. 

“Okay, when and where?” You finally give in, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice as he tells you the location of the same café you’ve been a regular in. “Give me fifty minutes,” you tell him, hanging up right after and closing your eyes again. Maybe if you just give him what he wants, he’ll leave you alone. 

“Good morning,” you smile at the barista, looking around the café to see if Mingyu is already there. When you lock eyes with him, he doesn’t hesitate to get up from his place and join you at the front of the line. You scoff quietly, asking the lady opposite you for a cup of iced coffee, as always. “Run it on my card,” he says, handing you his card. “I can pay for myself,” you remind him, but he just brushes you off. 

“And don’t forget to tip the nice lady,” he sends a wink toward the barista, making you cringe. “Don’t mind him,” you shake your head, sincerely sorry for what she has to deal with. “He’s the one I’m the least worried about,” the barista chuckles, running Mingyu’s card through her system. “But you will have to tell me where you get all these handsome guys from later,” she giggles, and it makes you smile, too. “I’ll see you another time,” you say your goodbyes softly, following Mingyu back to his table. 

“I’m not interested, Mingyu,” you proclaim as you take a seat opposite him. He looks up at you, his eyebrows raised with a smug smile on his face. “In?” He asks playfully, making you scoff. “In you. I’m not interested in you,” you state firmly, watching him nod. You hate how unbothered he seems. After trying his all to get a breakfast with you, he doesn’t even care? 

You shake your head, pushing those thoughts aside. You don’t care about it either. You couldn’t care less about what he thinks or if your words hurt him. 

But you are a liar. 

Because deep down, you care more than he does. 

“Yet, you are here with me.” 

“Because you wouldn’t leave me alone.” 

“Or maybe because you want to be here with me.” 

You don’t answer him and just take a sip of your drink. He smirks, reaching for his own drink. “I’m not all that bad, you know. I also have a heart inside my hot body.” 

“And you’ve ruined it,” you sigh, but a chuckle manages to escape your lips. “What? I’m just saying,” he shrugs, laughing. 

As you walk to your company, you look around properly to make sure no building looks weird. 

With Kim Mingyu on your side, making you laugh with his lame attempts at jokes, you feel like this has to be some twisted dream of yours and not reality. But all the buildings look fine, and there isn’t anything out of the ordinary. 

“If you decide to try the new sushi restaurant after all, let me know,” he proclaims, and you end up nodding. Why not? You swore to all of your friends you wouldn’t fall for Kim Mingyu’s charm, but you enjoyed hanging out with him today, so why not go out with him again? “I might,” you agree. His head falls down as he tries to hide his smile, but you notice it. 

“You can go now,” you stop in front of your company, biting back your smile as you look at him. “Thank you for the coffee and waffles.” 

“No problem,” he shakes his head, taking the empty cup of coffee from you so he can throw it away. “I’ll text you again later,” he assures you, but that’s something you’re counting on. 

“Have a good day, Mingyu.” 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

On Wednesday, you wake up to Mingyu asking you if you have slept well. 

On Thursday, your phone lights up with messages around lunch time when he asks you if you’ve eaten yet and if you want to grab a bite with him. 

On Friday, you find yourself smiling as you chat about your day with him over the phone in the comfort of your bed. 

On Saturday, you decide to grab breakfast with him again, and laugh loudly when you watch him trip on a flat ground, refusing to look you in the eyes after. 

On Sunday, you spend your day off with your closest friends, but your mind keeps drifting to him every chance you get, wondering what he is up to. 

On Sunday night, you decide to call him. 

Before you can realize it, it’s Monday, and Mingyu is asleep on your call. You listen to the sound of his breath—it’s calm and peaceful, and it makes you feel at home. 

On Tuesday, you forget your phone at home and think about him again as you stare into your laptop, trying to figure out something, anything for the project in front of you. But you just can’t focus. You keep wondering what he is up to. 

On the same night, he insists on having to see you the next day when he couldn’t reach you today. So you plan a meeting, offering that he could come to your office since you need to discuss the project with him anyway. Mingyu agrees immediately.

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

It’d be crazy to say you understand the saying, “When you know, you know.” 

The saying is illogical and never made any sense to you. But as you walk through your company building with Margaret by Lana Del Rey playing in your earphones, this time, you feel like you know. Like it makes sense. 

“You are smiling, m’lady.” And your smile grows even wider when you see the man standing in front of your office with a coffee in his hands. “And you, sir, are early,” you tell him as if he wasn’t already aware of that. 

“Couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking of you.” — You roll your eyes at how cheesy he sounds, taking out your keys to unlock your office door. “You got so excited because I called you to discuss your project?” You tease him, walking in first when he holds the door for you. “I didn’t expect you to be so into interior designs, Mingyu.” 

“I’m not,” he shakes his head, following you. “I’m into interior designers, and I’m just trying to see if you end up liking me.” 

It’s been a while since you started talking to him, so you got used to his presence. To his constant reaching out to you, to the incoming calls from him, and even to all the flirting. You knew he was pursuing you, and you stopped minding. He wasn’t ugly, and as you figured out over the time you got to hang out with him, he really wasn’t all that bad. 

Maybe you wouldn’t mind liking him. 

“Keep dreaming,” you respond, taking a seat in your chair. “Only if you dream of me as well.” You shake your head at him, looking through your folders until you find his project, showing him the few ideas you got over the past few days, trying to see what he thinks of them. 

When you hide your draft again, Mingyu doesn’t seem to be planning to leave anytime soon. “You got a little too comfortable there, don’t you think so?” You ask, watching him lying on the sofa in your office. “Yeah, I’m going to sleep here for a bit,” he states. “No, you’re not.” 

“Why not?” He whines, pulling himself up again to see you. “Alright, I’ll go,” he proclaims when he sees your face, refusing to mess it up with you now. “But let me take you out for dinner tonight. My place. I’ll cook.” 

“This is how you’re asking me out on a date?” You raise your eyebrow. 

Mingyu smiles, slightly nodding. “Yeah, I’m asking you out on an official date.” 

“Okay,” you also nod, biting back your smile. “I’ll come.” 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

“You agreed to go on a date with him?!” Seokmin almost chokes up on his drink as he watches you stand in front of your closet, trying to pick what to wear. You don’t want to try too much but don’t want to show up in sweatpants, either. 

“Yeah…” you admit, turning around to face your best friend. “Is it a crazy idea?” 

Seokmin hesitates. “I mean, I don’t know. If you want to go with him, then you should. But…” 

“But?” 

“Isn’t Wonwoo coming back soon?” He questions, making you freeze. You forgot about that. You were so busy trying to shake Mingyu off your back and then playing along with his game that you forgot about the man you thought was going to be in your future. 

“Me and Wonwoo aren’t dating,” you remind, not only him but also yourself. “And he doesn’t want me either. If he did, he would have texted me or something.” 

“Alright,” Seokmin smiles, and it makes you even more confused. You never know what goes through his head. “If you want to go on a date with him, I’ll support you all the way.” 

“Thank you.” 

“No problem,” he shakes his head, walking closer to you and looking at the mess in your closet from behind your shoulder. “I get that you are worried,” you start, turning around to face your best friend again. “I don’t know what his intentions are, and I know I haven’t been hanging out with him long, but he makes me feel nice. I’m drawn to him for some reason. More than I ever was to Wonwoo.” 

“That’s all that matters,” he nods, making you smile. You’ve cared for Seokmin with your entire heart, and you knew it was the same for him. “Alright, get ready already so you’re not late,” he chuckles, turning you around and gently pushing you closer to your closet. You laugh, balancing yourself on your feet so you won’t fall. 

While you are getting ready, Mingyu, on the other side of the town, is currently running around his kitchen, making sure he has prepared everything. Honestly, he wasn’t sure what had gotten into him. Preparing a dinner for you was the last thing he thought he’d be doing when he decided on this whole plan. 

“What is it, Hao? I don’t exactly have the time right now,” he asks, putting his phone on speaker while finishing up the main dish. “Fuck, I’m not even dressed, and she is going to be here soon,” he curses, catching his friend’s attention. “Who is going to be there?” Your name falls off Mingyu’s lips before he can even think about it as he grabs his phone and runs to his room to grab a shirt. 

“You two…are hanging out?” Minghao asks after a moment of silence, trying to figure out what is going on. “Yeah, we’ve got a date,” Mingyu replies, unbothered as he quickly scans his closet to find his lucky button-up. Then he stops. Why on Earth does he care so much? Why does he need his lucky button-up when he has a date with you? “A date?” Hao exclaims, and Mingyu doesn’t need to see him to know he is shocked. “I’ll…explain later. Why did you call?” 

Minghao clears his throat, confusedly looking around as if he was trying to remember what he wanted to say. “Coups and Jeonghan took us out to play basketball, but I guess I don’t need to ask you if you want to join anymore since you have plans.” 

“Shit, tell Cheol that I’ll make it up to him later. We can grab beer next week. Have a get-together or something,” Mingyu suggests, his eyes finally landing on the piece of clothing he was looking for. “I’ll let them know,” his friend agrees. “If anything, I’m just a call away.” Mingyu smiles, nodding before he says his goodbyes. He throws his phone on his bed and runs to his bathroom to get his perfume. 

He might have gone crazy, honestly. He couldn’t comprehend how his best friend could fall for you days ago, and now, he was trying to be perfect for a date with you. For all he knows, you might have cast a spell on him or something. He went into this thinking he had nothing to worry about, that he would wrap you around his finger with ease and do whatever he wanted with you, but now it seemed more like it might be the other way around. For the past week, he couldn’t get you out of his head. No matter what he was doing at the moment, if he was at work or home watching the TV, you were always on his mind. 

“What the fuck,” Mingyu breathes out as he stops in front of the mirror in his bathroom, looking at his reflection. “You aren’t falling for her, are you?” He asks himself. He stays quiet after that, taking a deep breath. “You fucking idiot, this isn’t what you planned. You aren’t supposed to like her!” He wants to yell at himself more, get himself back in his place, and not do anything stupid, but before he can even try to do something about his feelings, his doorbell rings, announcing your presence. He closes his eyes for a second, calming himself down before turning on his heel and heading to the door. 

“Hi,” Mingyu smiles at you, completely forgetting what he was yelling at himself for when he locks eyes with you. “Hey,” you greet him, the words barely making it past your lips as your eyes land on his body. His dark blue button-up wraps around his muscles, his black pants staying up thanks to his belt, and his hair fluffy. He’s hot. 

You hardly get the chance to breathe when you step inside before he is behind you, helping you out of your jacket. You don’t expect it. Anyone could guess that from your expression, but you can’t say you would mind. “It smells great here,” you comment, smiling as you turn around to face him. “I told you I’m just a cook,” a chuckle escapes his lips as he points towards the kitchen, letting you walk first. 

You keep looking around the house as you walk, admiring his choices of decoration. He definitely doesn’t have bad taste. “This is nice,” you nod, your fingers softly brushing over the paint on his wall. “I didn’t expect your house to be so…” 

“So what?” 

“Clean? Fancy? All of those above?” 

“What? Just because I’m a guy, my house can’t be clean?” 

“That’s not what I meant,” you shake your head, but deep down, you know he is right. He might be the first guy you’ve seen to have such a nice place. All of your ex-boyfriends looked like they never cared about how messy their places were, and it was always your biggest deal-breaker. So, seeing a change for once felt nice. 

“I also play sports, you know.” You scoff when you hear him, knowing very well what he is trying for. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, turning around. Mingyu doesn’t notice your turn in time and bumps into you, swallowing the lump in his throat as he steps back again. What does he mean? He isn’t sure. All he is certain about is that being this close to you doesn’t do him anything good. “You want me to tell you just how perfect you are?” Your words reach his ears only barely. He hears you, and the tone of your voice gets stuck in his head, but he isn’t able to comprehend any words. 

“I– I should get the champagne bottles I bought earlier! Make yourself at home in the meantime,” he quickly changes the topic, running off before you can say anything. You laugh at him, grinning at the thought of the blush you saw creep up his cheeks. You shake your head at him softly, turning around again to finally reach the kitchen. 

“I asked your assistant earlier—by the way, for some reason, I think he hates me—but he said you liked this one, so I’m hoping he didn’t just play with me.” You look up when you hear Mingyu’s voice again, smiling when you notice the bottle in his hands. “Don’t worry, he didn’t play you. That’s my favorite,” you assure him and chuckle when you see his shoulders relax. “Okay, good,” he exhales. 

“And he doesn’t hate you.” 

“I’m sure he does,” he argues with you. “He sounded more annoyed than you ever had when he picked up the phone and realized it was me.” 

“Do you want me to put in a good word for you? It’s true that I might have done the opposite before, and now he is…wary about you.” 

“You’ve spoken badly of me?” Mingyu’s eyes widen as he places two plates with the dish he made before on the table, two glasses and the bottle of champagne following right after. “Careful, m’lady. My feelings will get hurt.” 

You scoff. “That was before.” 

“Before?” The curiosity in his voice makes you gulp down. It feels pure. You are unable to find any bad intentions in his behavior, and it scares you. “Before…you’ve won me over,” you admit, looking down at your plate as you take the first bite, hoping he won’t dig much into it. 

“I’ve won you over?” He tries to bite back his smile but fails. “Don’t flatter yourself too much now, though,” you warn him. “Doesn’t mean you can’t lose me again.” 

The time seems to flow faster when you’re with him. You finish dinner and stay at the table, slowly sipping on champagne while talking. You barely register how time goes, and before you can realize it, the night turns into another day. 

“Shit,” you mumble, looking at the time on your phone. 1:27. “What’s up?” He wonders, slowly getting up to clean up the plates. “The time! Seokmin is definitely asleep by now, so I can’t call him to pick me up,” you complain. “Oh god, I should have been paying more attention,” you whine, closing your eyes and turning your phone off again. “You know, you can sleep here if you want to.” Your eyes widen at his offer, and a part of you is glad he has turned around at the moment and can’t see your face. “I don’t wanna–” 

“You can’t bother me,” he stops you before you can finish. “I can sleep on the couch and leave you the bed. It’s fine.” 

So you end up in his shirt and boxers, lying under his blanket while he lays next to you, telling you a story from his past. It makes you smile. “It’s late,” he comments quietly, sitting up. “I’m going to go to the living room.” You hesitate, but when he turns to get up, you reach for his hand, your fingers wrapping around the muscles on his arm. “I– what if you stay?” 

“You…want me to…” You nod, and that’s all he needs to lay back down. He’s also in his pajamas now, which, for some reason, only consists of pants. He pulls the other side of the blanket over himself, not taking his eyes off you as he does so. You can’t look away either, trying to read everything that hides behind his eyes. 

The moment is quiet, needy, and intimate as you reach your hand up to his face, your fingers brushing over his cheek. He leans into your hand, his eyes closed as he gets comfortable. You can feel your heart in your throat as you watch him, too scared that if you blink, he’ll disappear. 

When Mingyu opens his eyes again, it feels like his heart skips a beat. Being so close to you, looking you in the eyes, he knows exactly why Wonwoo fell for you in the first place. “Can I kiss you?” He asks carefully, and it feels almost vulnerable. As if he would break if you said no to him. “Please do,” you nod, and his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to himself before his lips land on yours. The kiss isn’t rushed or harsh. It’s deep, full of all the emotions neither of you are able to say out loud. 

His hand slides down your thigh, glazing over your—his—boxers. His other hand slides up your shirt, stopping right under your breasts. Your gasp upon feeling his cold fingers on your skin gets muffled in the kiss, making him groan. “You can–” your sentence gets swallowed when his lips crash with yours again, this time with more need, almost desperate. His hand finally moves up again, squeezing your breast. He rolls you on your back, one of his hands reaching for yours while the other massages your boob, still unable to leave your lips alone. 

“I can?” He taunts, his lips moving to your jaw, slowly making their way to your neck and then collarbone. “Tell me, what can I do?” Your moan comes out shaky, your free hand sliding up his back, tracing his naked skin. “Anything– everything– God, Mingyu,” you gasp when he presses his knee against your core, your hand squeezing his. “Everything?” He hums against your skin, his kisses lowering to your chest. “So, can I take this off?” You nod impatiently, every inch of your body needing him in a way you couldn’t quite understand. “Please, hurry,” your plea sends shivers down his spine, but one part of him, in particular, feels it the most, and his cock twitches in his pants. Fuck. 

Mingyu slides your shirt off with ease, his eyes landing on your perky nipples immediately. “We shouldn’t,” he mumbles, but his actions don’t align with his words as his tongue licks your right nipple, his left hand taking care of the other one. “Definitely,” you agree, your head thrown back and moans leaving your lips. You’re not even sure what you agreed to at the moment. He could have told you he was the president of the United States for all you knew, and you wouldn’t be able to argue with him. “But god, you are so hot.” 

“Mingyu, please–” He hums against your skin, his pants becoming tight as he feels the boxers you’re wearing getting soaked under his knee. “What do you need, princess?” — “Need you,” you admit, moving your hips up and down. It’s embarrassing how wet you are when you are still clothed, and he is barely touching your pussy. He’s spent all the time playing with your boobs as if they were the greatest he’s ever seen, and even though he was incredible at worshiping your breast, the lack of attention on the bottom part of your body was starting to make you crazy. “Need your cock, so bad.” 

He groans, cursing under his breath as he sits up. “I don’t think I have a–” Before he can finish his sentence, you’re grabbing onto his hand, stopping him. “Go in raw. I’ll take the pill in the morning,” you assure him. “Please.” You sound desperate, and it’s safe to say Mingyu’s head spins because of you. If your needs contained his raw cock he couldn’t tell you no. Not that he would want to, anyway. 

He throws away your boxers without a second thought, the piece of clothing ending up somewhere on the floor where he’d have to find it in the morning. “Fuck,” he curses, freeing his dick right after when he sees just how wet you are for him. His fingers slide up your folds, collecting as much of your wetness as possible. “Shit, do you know how desperate you look for this?” He asks, bringing his fingers up again for you to see. “Maybe you are as desperate, actually, aren’t I right?” 

You feel embarrassed but nod despite it, unable to say anything as he slowly pushes his two fingers into you, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your clit. Your hand squeezes the bed sheets under you, your legs closing themself on their own, which only makes him hold them open. “It’s only my fingers for now, princess. You can’t lose your mind yet,” he coos, adding a third finger as his movements quicken, indeed making you lose your mind. 

“‘S too much! Too–” your voice breaks in the middle, and the only sound that leaves your lips after is a mixture of whines and moans, signaling just how good he makes you feel. “‘S okay, baby,” he coos. “I’m going to give you what you want in a second.” He pulls out his fingers, bringing them to his lips. “You taste so fucking good.” You feel like a drug. Every time he looks at you, he wants more. He needs you. In every way possible, and he will do anything to have you, no matter what anyone else says. 

Mingyu groans as he pushes the tip inside, reaching for your hand. You squeeze his hand immediately, wrapping your legs around his waist and trying to pull him closer. It works, somehow, and you feel another inch in you. The moment is like an impulse for him, a sign that you are ready, making him thrust his entire length into you. “My cock fits in your pussy so perfectly, fuck.” 

You are a drug. He is so confident in it when he slams his hips against you, filling the room with his groans while you moan his name, begging him to slow down. He can’t, though. You make it impossible for him. With the way you squeeze him inside, it feels like you don’t want him to pull out of you in the first place. “Mingyu! Wait, I’m–” His curses reach your ear as he leans down, pressing his lips on yours and squeezing your hand tighter. “I’m close too,” he groans, stealing another kiss from you. “Do you want me to–” 

“Inside,” you mumble before he can finish and he nods. 

His thrusts slow down, becoming sloppy as he reaches his orgasm, releasing inside your tight hole. He feels you cum right after, making sure to thrust a few more times to let you ride out your orgasm before he pulls out, watching as the mixture of his and your cum slides out. “You’re so fucking hot,” he praises, falling beside you. You chuckle, trying to catch your breath. His hand wraps around your waist, keeping you as close as possible as he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath along with you. “I can’t believe I ever convinced myself to hate you,” he mumbles, and you hear him slowly falling asleep. You close your eyes, your fingers tiredly tracing his arm as you think of what you just did. 

You had the best sex of your life. That’s what you did. 

As you glance at Mingyu’s sleeping figure, his sweaty hair falling in his face, you know you can’t let him go. 

But that only applies if he doesn’t do anything stupid.

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

You sit in your office with so many tabs opened on your laptop that you’re surprised it hasn’t crashed yet. It’s like any other day. You’re busy with work, barely having time to take a break and drink. But this time, it’s different after all. 

Because, on the other side of your office, Kim Mingyu is lying on your couch, a sketchbook in one of his hands and a pen in the other. You smile when your eyes wander to him. “Do you want to get out of here?” You ask, and he immediately turns to you. “Please, I’m so hungry.” You laugh, saving everything before closing your laptop and getting up. “Will you cook for us again if I let you sleep in my apartment tonight?” His eyes light up, and he nods instantly, jumping up from his place. He’s next to you before you can blink, making you giggle as he wraps his arms around you and places a kiss on your shoulder. “You know I’d do anything for you.” Yes, you do. Still, you don’t mind finding yourself an excuse to ask him to sleep over. 

“Let’s go,” you smile, offering him your hand. Mingyu intertwines his fingers with yours without hesitation, leading the way out of your office. 

Your laugh fills the hallway as you walk towards your apartment, hand in hand with your lover. Your laugh rings loud and clear in his ears, bringing a smile to his face as well. At least until he takes his eyes away from you and sees the man sitting by your front door. 

“Wonwoo?” You call out to him, making him look up immediately. Shit. Mingyu couldn’t be more fucked. Your name leaves Wonwoo’s lips without hesitation, and he quickly gets up from the floor. His suitcase is right next to him, meaning the first thing he did was stop by your apartment. “What are you doing here?” 

“Wha– Why are you with him?” Wonwoo doesn’t answer your question and gives you one instead. You blink quickly to make sure you heard him right, trying to figure out why he cares in the first place. You open your mouth to answer him, but no words leave your lips as your attention shifts to the man beside you when he lets go of your hand. You raise an eyebrow at him in confusion, looking up to meet his eyes. “You didn’t actually– He didn’t– Are you that stupid?” Wonwoo spits out, the disappointment in his voice hitting you hard. “What?” 

“Wonwoo, don’t.” Mingyu tries to stop him, his eyes desperate. “Is this how he played you? With his fucking puppy eyes?” 

“What are you talking about?” You ask, now even more confused, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. “Wonwoo, we ended that morning. I don’t know what you think you can get from this, but it won’t work. I’m happy now.” Your words dig right into his heart, and you notice him swallow hard as if he had a lump in his throat. “Happy?” Wonwoo mocks your words, scoffing. “Because Mingyu told you some stories? Because he pushed me aside to play with you as if you were just his little toy–” 

“Wonwoo, that’s enough,” Mingyu interrupts him, his fist clenched, and he has to hold himself back to not hit his best friend right then and there in front of you. “No, it’s not enough at all!” He argues. “This was never supposed to happen! I never should have fucking left!” 

“But you did! And it’s not my fault she found out just how much better I am.” 

Wonwoo grits his teeth, his fist clenching just as Mingyu’s is. “Are you fucking–” 

“What the fuck are you two talking about?” You stop them, your eyes flicking between the two men. “How do you know each other?” 

“Baby, let me explain,” Mingyu starts immediately, making Wonwoo frown over the nickname. “It’s complicated, but– just don’t listen to him,” he tries to think of a way he can explain everything to you, but everything he thinks of only puts him into worse shit than he already is. 

You ignore him, feeling your heart slowly breaking apart as you glance at Wonwoo. “What the hell are you talking about?” Wonwoo sighs, opening his hand again when his eyes land on you. He hates seeing you this hurt, but he is sick of Mingyu and his toying with everyone around him. He might be his best friend, but that doesn’t give him an excuse to keep putting himself in front of the needs of others. He won’t stand that anymore. Not when you’re involved. 

He hesitates, glancing at Mingyu before he looks at you again, taking a deep breath. “I’m not going to be the one to break your heart,” he shakes his head, refusing to answer your question. “Let him explain everything. You made it pretty clear I’m done here,” he says, grabbing his suitcase. His eyes linger on you a bit more before he closes them, opening them again when he turns toward Mingyu. “Sometimes, being your best friend hurts.” 

Mingyu’s eyes soften, his heart breaking just as much as Wonwoo’s when those words leave his lips. “Wonwoo…” he starts, but the man is already on his way out, refusing to hear him out. “Fuck.” 

“This is a fucking bullshit,” he whines, hitting the ground as he squads down. You flinch, kneeling down to him and taking his hand to see if he was okay. “I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, and you already know whatever he is going to tell you will break you. “What was this all about?” You ask, even though deep down you don’t want to know. A part of you would rather live in the illusion of how perfect Kim Mingyu is than get hurt by him. 

“I–” he hesitates, looking up to see your face before he continues. He sighs, squeezing your hand in his as if it was supposed to ease the situation. “Uhm, back when you met Wonwoo in the café…that was my doing,” he explains, making your ears ring. The words only flow from his mouth after that, continuous apologies leaving his lips as he tries to excuse his behavior, tell you that it all changed when he actually met you, that it’s all in the past. But it isn’t. You’re only finding out about it now. It’s in your present, and you can’t ignore it. You move your hand back away from him, your look broken when he gazes into your eyes again. It breaks him, maybe even more than it breaks you. 

“Wait,” he tries to stop you, saying something about making it up to you, but you barely register any of his words as you get up, running away from him. You don’t know where you’re going or what you’re going to do. You just need to get away. Run from everything he just told you, from all the lies and games you have been a part of. 

You let your feet take you to the safest place you can think of at the moment—the person who was also your home. 

“What happened?” You don’t answer. Instead, you run into his arms, closing your eyes shut and trying your best not to cry. “Shh,” your best friend coos, rubbing circles on your back. He doesn’t need to know what happened, not now when you’re in this state, but he’ll make sure to ruin someone’s life when he finds out. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

It feels like you still have the knife stuck in your back when you sit on your best friend’s couch, a blanket wrapped around you as you wait for him to finish cooking lunch. You stare into nothing, your vision getting blurry as you think back to yesterday. His words ring in your ears again, and you feel like throwing up. 

I just wanted to find out more about you. I thought I needed to get you out of the picture to keep my title as the legend. I was scared of you. But then I met you—and I couldn’t– I can’t hurt you. I like you–

You shake your head, getting him out of your thoughts and turning around to see your best friend. He’s humming a song as he watches the oven to make sure he doesn’t burn anything, and it makes you smile. Who cares that your love life is terrible—you still have the greatest friends. Screw Kim Mingyu and Jeon Wonwoo, you can live without them. 

But your body says something else. You don’t feel like eating or even standing up to go out. All you want to do is lay in your bed and sleep. For as long as you can. 

“Hey,” Seokmin’s voice makes you snap out of your thoughts, questioning with your eyes what he needs. “At least drink some water,” he says, pushing a full glass in front of you. “It’ll be alright. This isn’t the end of the world,” he reminds you, and you hum. You know that. Of course you know that, but you can’t help it. You’re all over the place, and you hate that it was Mingyu who got you into this state. 

“Should I invite the others over? Maybe that could cheer–” 

“God, no,” you interrupt him. “I don’t want them to see me like this.” Your best friend nods, thinking over it. “What about Chan? Should I give him a call? Say you won’t come to work?” You hum again. It feels like a burden even to speak up. “Should I also explain what happened?” He hesitates as he asks you, and you hesitate as much when you answer. “You can,” you nod. “He’d call me anyway to ask about it if you wouldn’t give him a reason, so at least that gives me a call less,” you joke, but somehow, it only makes you feel worse. “I should go home,” you sigh. 

“Hey, relax,” he shakes his head. “You don’t bother me here, you know that. You can stay here for as long as you need,” he assures you. “I know,” you mumble, playing with the food on your plate. “Still, though. I need to work even if I won’t come to the office.” 

Seokmin sighs, trying to think of a solution. However, he gives up when he sees your expression. Maybe it would be better to leave you alone for a bit, let you rest, and figure out whatever you need. So he agrees in the end. “I’ll drive you later.” 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

As you lay in your bed, staring at the ceiling, your mind drifts off to him again. It makes you feel sick. 

You’ve never felt like this over anyone. In the past, when you had your heart broken, sometimes worse than this time, you cried about it for a bit and then collected yourself again, but this time, you can’t even cry. Everything about this feels wrong. Everything about Mingyu feels wrong. 

Yet, you never wanted to be closer to him. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

You have a missed call from Seokmin and Chan when you wake up the next morning. You decide to ignore it and roll over to the other side of the bed. You don’t have the energy to deal with them or anyone else. 

As you sit in your bed later that day, with plans of the Kims’ house, something in you breaks completely, and you don’t think anyone will be able to fix it again. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝ 

“Come on, open the door, please.” You groan when you hear your best friend’s voice from behind the door. “You know I have the keys!” He reminds you. You glance at the door, sighing as you get up from the couch, and open the door for him. Your eyes land on the three guys behind him, and you regret it immediately, glancing down at your pajamas. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath before you cross your arms over your chest, mostly to cover your hardening nipples from the cold air. “Why are you all here?” 

“Because we care about you,” Soonyoung speaks up, the sadness in his voice painfully obvious. You stand there for a second, rethinking your options before you step aside, letting them walk inside. “Wait here, I’m…going to change,” you inform them, not forgetting to send Seokmin a glare before you run upstairs, ignoring their chatter as you get to your closet. 

You glance over your back to what they are doing, closing your eyes as you already regret the question you’re about to ask. “Can you guys turn around?” For some reason, you feel embarrassed, and you guess Chan does too when you notice his ears turning slightly pink. Having a loft apartment was nice—until you had people over and couldn’t change without having to worry about them looking up and seeing you naked. Neither one of them protests and immediately listens to you. 

“Okay,” you sigh, walking down the stairs. “So, again, why are you here?” You ask, and the four boys face you again. “We were worried,” Jihoon comments. “You haven’t been picking up any of our calls,” Seokmin complains. “Sorry,” you mumble, taking a seat on your couch again. “I wasn’t feeling like it,” you say, but you know it doesn’t excuse anything. “That’s fine,” Soonyoung assures you, sitting beside you. “But a text would still be nice. To know you’re alive.” 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize again and catch the four boys exchanging a glance. “I’m feeling a lot better now,” you lie. You have barely gotten out of bed for the past week, only going down to your kitchen when your stomach was being annoying about wanting food. You weren’t sure why you were feeling like this—so messed up and incapable of anything. 

Actually, you knew why. You just didn’t want to admit it. 

You couldn’t bear the thought of Mingyu, the man you felt so close to, using you as if you were his toy. 

“We brought you sushi,” Chan holds up a bag in his hands, making you smile. At least you knew these men weren’t here just to toy with you. 

“He’s been calling me,” you mumble between your bites, making all of them look up at you. You notice Soonyoung mouthing “Who?” toward Seokmin, and your eyes widen. He hasn’t told them anything. A part of you feels thankful, but you also feel bad for leaving them out of it and not mentioning anything when they are here now, doing their best to make you feel better without even knowing what got you into this state. 

“Uhm,” you clear your throat, getting the attention back to yourself to explain it. “Wonwoo came back, and when he saw me with Mingyu, they started arguing,” you start, scrunching your eyebrows at the memory of it. “Turns out they are best friends—or were at least,” you correct yourself, unsure of what happened to them after Wonwoo dropped the bomb on him. 

“And also, Mingyu has been playing a fucking game with me from the start.” You spit the words out. But as angry as you are at him, your eyes soften when you remember him kneeling there in front of you, apologizing. You hate that, partly because you think he actually meant it. “Like…” Soonyoung starts hesitantly, but before he can finish his question, you continue. “Ever since we were in the café and bumped into Wonwoo. Mingyu was the one who sent him there to get closer to me.” 

It’s quiet after that, and the pity in their eyes makes you feel sick. You don’t want that from them. It makes you feel even worse when they look at you like that. 

“And now he is blowing up my phone. He said–” your voice breaks, and you stop to take a breath. “He said that was before he fell for me. That he likes me and wishes to take everything back.” — “Wonwoo also texted me. He apologized for ever being with Mingyu on the plan and for leading me on at first.” 

“Assholes,” Soonyoung sighs, receiving a look from Chan immediately. “What? I know damn well you guys are thinking it too!” He protests, not understanding why he’d glare at him like that for voicing his opinion. You chuckle, watching Chan’s freaked-out expression as he tries to shut him down. “It’s fine,” you shake your head. “I don’t want you guys to just sit here in silence while I talk.” Chan inhales but doesn’t say anything to that. 

“He also asked to meet up,” you add. 

“Who?” 

You roll your eyes, a chuckle leaving your lips. Does he have to make it sound like you have been seeing a handful of people at once? 

“Wonwoo,” you explain. 

“Do you think you’ll go?” Jihoon asks, finally speaking up too. He’s been trying to stay silent, listening to what you have to say without having comments that might make you feel even worse. You think about it for a bit, eventually nodding. “Yeah, probably. I…want to hear him out.” He nods to you, agreeing. 

However, Chan seems to have a different view of the situation. “Seriously? After everything, you want to see him and hear him out?” You know he doesn’t mean it like that, but it sounds like a laugh in your face. 

“Chan–” Jihoon tries to stop him before he can say something stupid, but he doesn’t seem to get the hint. “Both of them have been assholes to you, and that’s the nicest way to put it, and you still want to have anything to do with them?” He means well, you convince yourself, but can’t get over the fact of how mockery he sounds. “Come on, don’t be stup–” 

“Enough,” Seokmin interrupts, his voice strong. Your eyes wince, and you glance at him. “It’s okay, Min,” you assure him, surprised at his sudden reaction. “He can have his opinion.” 

“But he doesn’t need to be rude with it.” 

“I’m…sorry?” Chan’s eyes widen, looking at Soonyoung for some sort of help. “I just– It feels weird seeing you so out of place,” he glances back at you. “I’m not used to it, and it makes me worried. I don’t want it to get any worse, so I’m looking out for you.” Your eyes soften, and you send a smile his way. “I know, Chan,” you assure him. “But I’ll be okay. I promise.” 

And you’re confident you will because Wonwoo isn’t a bad person. You know you don’t have to worry about meeting him, which sadly isn’t something you can say about Mingyu. You know that if you were to meet him, you’d probably fall into an even worse place than you already are. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝  

As you walk through the door, the smell of baked cookies hits you immediately, and a smile curls up your lips. The cozy place makes you feel at home. Without you realizing it, the coffee shop turned into your comfort place over time. And so did the sweet lady behind the cash register, who always greets you with a smile. 

“Good morning,” she smiles warmly. “Good morning,” you greet her back, smiling just as much. “Caramel macchiato?” She wonders, and you nod. “Add extra sugar, please.” She chuckles, nodding as she makes a note of your order before passing it to her colleague. “He’s sitting over there,” she informs you, trying not to be obvious as she points toward the table of two you usually occupied when you came here with Wonwoo. “Thank you,” you whisper back. “I hope you have a nice day.” 

“Hi,” you greet the boy with glasses as you take a seat opposite him, placing your cup of coffee on the table. “Hey,” he looks up with an awkward smile. He opens his mouth to say something but closes it again right after. “What is it?” You raise your eyebrows confusedly. He shakes his head, and it’s supposed to be a sign for you to drop it, but your expression doesn’t change, so he sighs. “You look good,” he admits so quietly you almost don’t hear him. Almost. 

His comment gets stuck in your ears, the words echoing in your head. You look down at the table, hating what goes through your mind at the moment. Wonwoo is sweet, and you know the last moments you spent with him were real—probably more real than anything you ever had with Mingyu was, but you just can’t bring yourself to him anymore. Not because of the situation he got you in or because of what he did, but because no matter how much you want to protest, your heart belongs to his best friend now. And it will for a while. 

“Thank you,” you mumble, hiding yourself behind your cup as you take a sip of your iced drink. “I know you didn’t come here because you’d want to hear those words from me, but that doesn’t change the fact I mean it.” You smile, gazing into his eyes for a brief second. “I know you do, Wonwoo,” you nod slightly. “But just as I know that, you know I can’t.” The rest of the sentence hangs in the air. It’s something you tell each other with your eyes, and it’s enough. He understands. That, you are sure of. 

Wonwoo nods. “Did he…What did he tell you?” The hesitation in his voice is obvious, but you take it as a sign of nervousness since he has an idea of how badly the conversation must have gone. You take a deep breath, staring into your cup of coffee as you repeat Mingyu’s words. They are still as vivid as they were that day, way too real. 

“We haven’t spoken since,” he admits suddenly, taking in everything you told him. To his surprise, Mingyu hasn’t changed anything to his advantage to seem like the nice guy in the end. You only hum in response. “I feel bad,” he sighs. 

“About?” 

“Everything. About everything I did in the past two months.” 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“But it is,” he argues. You breathe out, not having enough energy to argue with him. Especially since you know he is right. He wasn’t innocent. It was just easier to blame Mingyu and hope that might make you hate him. Even just slightly. 

“I should have never agreed to do this. I should have talked him out of it and told him how bad of an idea that was. I wish I could go back.” You frown at that. “You can’t go back.” 

“I know.” He sounds exhausted now that you pay closer attention to it. Your eyes flick up to meet his, and you notice the dark circles under his eyes. Suddenly, his skin wasn’t as flawless as when you met him for the first time. You feel bad for him somehow. You know that should be the last thing you’re thinking of, but you can’t help it. 

“I’m aware it might not look like that now, but he isn’t a bad guy. He’s just sometimes…putting himself before others in a way he shouldn’t.” 

You sigh, feeling the exhaustion hit you as well. 

“I don’t know what is so important to him about the painting or why he thought he needed to do this in order to buy it for himself, but I’m sorry. For ever being a part of this and doing things I normally wouldn’t.” 

“What painting?” You ask confusedly, and Wonwoo’s eyes widen when he realizes you don’t know everything after all. “I’m not– I think it goes up next week,” he answers, trying to remember what Mingyu told him about it. Honestly, it wasn’t much. Wonwoo wasn’t exactly oriented when it came to art. That was more of Mingyu and Minghao’s thing. 

“Is it this one?” You quickly unlock your phone, going through the upcoming list of auctions to find what you have in mind. You show him the phone, and he nods. You scoff. Of course. “It’s part of a collection,” you mumble, turning the phone toward yourself again. “I completely forgot it was going up for sale.” 

“It all makes sense now,” you sigh, looking at the picture on your phone. It’s a part of the Shadows and Glimmers collection, the same one your Whisper of Hope belongs to. It only makes sense he wants the painting. You would have too if he hadn’t outbid you back then. 

The painting shows a calm autumn scene. There’s a water path in the middle, small rocks lining the side, along with trees covered in orange and yellow leaves. Just like Whisper of Hope, it’s supposed to signal warmth and peace in nature. As far as you’re aware, it’s supposed to be from the other side of the mountains, showing that even cold places like these have another side to them. 

“Does it make sense? Because I can’t see what’s so good about it.” — You chuckle, shaking your head. “I think it has a deeper meaning to the both of us,” you mumble as you stare into your phone. You catch Wonwoo raising an eyebrow at that, but you don’t say anything. Not when you realize what you had just said. 

It does have a deeper meaning to both of you, something Wonwoo or your friends couldn’t understand. But you understand, and you know Mingyu does too. 

You close your eyes, trying to push the thought aside and not do anything you’ll regret later, but your heart takes over at the moment, and there’s nothing you can do now that you’ve decided. 

You’re going to the auction. 

And you will fight for what’s yours. 

If your thoughts drift to the painting or the man himself at the moment is something you’d rather not pay attention to. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝  

“Sometimes, whatever is going on through your head scares me,” Jihoon comments, making you chuckle. “Why? I don’t see anything weird about this.” He raises an eyebrow at you, Seokmin copying his movement. “Alright, yeah, maybe it is a stupid idea,” you admit with a defended sigh. “And I might regret it. But I’m not going there for him.” 

“Right,” Seokmin hums, exchanging a look with Jihoon. You roll your eyes at them, fixing your dress. “I’m only going because I want the painting. He might have gotten the first one in the collection, but I’m taking this one,” you say confidently. “I’m going to have my fun, maybe find a cute enough guy to leave with, and not pay any attention to Mingyu. That’s tonight’s plan.” 

“Well, good luck with that.” The tone in Jihoon’s voice makes you doubt yourself for a second. If they don’t believe you when you say you won’t break down the moment you see the handsome, tanned man, how are you supposed to believe in yourself? 

Honestly, you can’t blame them, though. Because you don’t believe in yourself either. 

As you step into the familiar building, you feel anxiety rush through you. Your eyes keep wandering around the room without you being able to control them, searching for the man himself. 

You only get to snap out of your thoughts when you hear your name from behind yourself, turning around to see who was calling you. You sigh, every sign of hope that was previously in your eyes disappearing as your eyes land on the man behind you. “Joshua,” you greet him politely, looking around once more, this time to find an escape route. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you,” he comments, offering you the glass of wine in his hands. You decline with a slight head shake. “I was busy,” you excuse. “So busy you couldn’t call again?” 

Joshua Hong. One of the finest men you got to play with in your past. He wasn’t anyhow bad as he was, and you probably would have called him if you had met under different circumstances, but it wouldn’t have been you if you had done that to him. It was already enough that you had used him before to get some extra money for an art piece you wanted. 

“I’m sorry, but you know how it goes.” 

“Do I?” He chuckles, looking down at his wine. “I guess I know how one-night stands go, yeah,” he nods, his eyes meeting yours again. “But what if I say I don’t care about the past? That we could start again and pretend you never toyed with me?” A part of you pities him. You open your mouth to apologize, say just how sorry you are, but you realize it wouldn’t change anything. 

“We could leave tonight acting like nothing happened,” he offers. “And get to know each other again.” You know everything about what he just said was meant sexually, and it makes you feel gross. “Uhm…” You start, trying to find an excuse for yourself. 

“I don’t think she wants to explore you in any way.” You freeze when the familiar voice reaches your ears. It’s loud, deep, and strong. The sound echoes in your ears, making you look up to see him immediately. His arm wraps around your shoulder, holding you close to himself, and you feel like your heart stops for a moment. “So why don’t you get lost?” He hisses at Joshua. The shorter man glances at you, but you just send him an apologetic look, not saying anything else. You feel like even just opening your mouth might cause him to leave. 

You barely register Joshua walking away as Mingyu turns you to face him, his eyes soft when he sees your face. “Sorry,” he swallows nervously, bringing his arms back to his side. “I just–” he swallows the rest of his sentence when you take a step back. It feels like he can’t breathe. He hates being this close to you and yet being so far. What happened in front of your apartment back then might have hurt him more than it did you. 

“Thank you for that but…I will take my leave now,” you mumble, barely looking him in the eyes as you quickly turn around, running off to the bidding room as fast as you can without looking awkward. 

It’s only then that Mingyu exhales, closing his eyes in regret. There was so much he needed to tell you. And now that he knew you were here, he wasn’t sure if he could focus on the whole auction. But he has to. He has to do this no matter what. 

Mingyu takes a seat on the other side of the room from you, trying his best to keep his eyes off you. But it feels impossible. With the way your dress hugs your body and how you try to be inconspicuous when your eyes search around the room, he is sure to go crazy soon. He isn’t sure if you’re looking for the guy he pushed away from you earlier or him, but he hopes for the latter. 

The bidding starts soon after, making him snap out of his thoughts and focus on what’s happening on the podium. One painting goes after another, but Mingyu doesn’t care enough to try for any of them. He knows that if he wanted them, he would have had no problem getting them, but there is no reason for him to do so. He is here for the star of the show. 

There is a wave of fear that rushes through him when his eyes land on you again and he realizes you haven’t tried for any of the paintings so far either. This was exactly the situation he wanted to prevent. He isn’t so confident now, knowing you could go for the same painting he wants. 

With anyone else, he didn’t have to worry about a thing. Thanks to his reputation, the moment he’d raise his number, all other interested parties would give in, and it’d be like a walk in the park for him. But with you in the game, that isn’t going to work. He inhales through his nose, ignoring the stares from people around him as his grip on his number plate tightens. 

“2 millions.” He hears the familiar voice and looks your way, squeezing his eyes shut and tilting his head as he raises his number. “5,” is all he says, trying his best not to meet your eyes. If he did, he’d have to give up the whole auction. He wouldn’t be able to go against you. 

It’s a fight against the two of you the whole time. If anyone else raised their number plate and called out a number, Mingyu didn’t even notice it. All he can hear is your voice. It echoes in his ears, the soft, clear sound making his heart ache every time he has to bid higher than you again. 

“For fucks sake,” he mumbles. “I’m not letting you pay for it,” he says, squeezing his number plate even more, to a point he knows it will break if he doesn’t let go immediately. “I’ll take it for 32,” Mingyu calls out and watches you stare into your lap. Your shoulders tremble in regret, and he hates seeing you like this. All he wishes to do is run to you right away and pull you into a hug. 

But as the moderator announces he has won the painting and he sees you standing up from your place, excusing yourself as you pass the people around you to get to the nearest exit, he can’t even be happy about getting the painting. 

You’re not sure what you feel as you walk out of the building. Resent, anger, shame, or maybe you don’t feel anything at all, actually. One thing. It was the one thing you wanted to take away from him after everything, and you failed again. “Screw you, Kim Mingyu,” you mutter, taking out your phone to call yourself a taxi. You freeze when, at the same time, your screen lights up with an incoming call, and his name pops up. No. No, you can’t give in. Not now. 

It takes everything in you to turn off your phone, closing your eyes so you won’t be able to see it anymore. But he just can’t leave you alone. 

You hear your name behind yourself, his voice desperate, pleading. “Go away,” you whisper, unable to say it out loud. Because deep down, you don’t want him to leave you alone. You want to be close to him just like you were before everything. 

He doesn’t answer anything, and it makes you go insane. He messes with your head no matter what he does, no matter if he says anything or stays silent. You hate what power he has over you. 

You feel the warmth of his hand on you, and it makes you flinch. Before you can pull your hand away from him, he reaches for it again, turning you around with one easy pull so you would face him. 

His eyes are soft, apologies written all over them. His lips are slightly parted as if he were about to say something, and his wavy hair reaches under his eyes. It has grown since you last saw him. 

“Look me in the eyes, tell me you want me to leave, break my heart however much you want, and I’ll go, but please, hear me out first.” 

He takes a step forward, closing the space between you, and you feel like you can’t breathe. With him this close, you can’t avert your eyes or protect yourself from him. “You took another painting from me.” Your complaint sounds more broken than you’d want it to. His eyes soften as he exhales, squeezing your hand in his while his empty hand reaches to cup your cheek. His thumb brushes over your skin, and your breath shakes. When your eyes lock with his, you know you can’t escape him again. Not now, not ever. 

“I didn’t,” he shakes his head, his thumb moving up to your eye to stop the tears falling from your eyes. “Did this for you.” — “No,” you shake your head rapidly, trying to build a wall between you again so he wouldn’t be able to hurt you. “You don’t do anything for anyone else.” 

“I’d do anything for you,” he argues. 

“Stop lying.” 

“I mean it.” You gaze into his eyes, and you hate that you can’t find a single sign of this being another one of his games. There’s nothing but honesty in his eyes, and it breaks you even more. Your head falls on his chest, and you raise your hand, weakly hitting him. “No,” you’re desperate. Desperate to find a reason to hate him, to turn around and run from him. 

You break in his arms, tears rolling down your cheeks as he wraps his arms around you, rubbing circles on your back to calm you down. He keeps you close, not saying anything as you hit his chest over and over again. “I hate you,” you mumble, but you both know you don’t mean it. 

You look up to meet his eyes, biting the inside of your cheek. “I’ve never regretted anything in my life as I regret ever hurting you,” he whispers, his hand moving from your back to your waist. “I’ve never thought of anyone as much as I’ve thought of you. Never chased someone like this, never needed anyone as much as I need you.” 

“Mingyu,” you say his name with the last bit of strength in you, but your poor attempts at keeping him away go to waste as you feel his lips press against yours. The kiss is urgent, fragile, and conveys all the emotions Mingyu is unable to say out loud. 

“I hate you,” you cry again, trying to convince yourself more than him. “And I love you,” he responds, chasing after your lips again. You give up at that moment, allowing yourself to kiss him back. You don’t want to fight it anymore. You can’t. 

“The painting is for you,” he breathes out. “What?” Your eyes widen, but he doesn’t answer your question anymore. Instead, you find yourself wrapping your legs around his hips and tightly holding onto his shoulders as he picks you up, not caring about anyone around. “I came here just to buy it for you,” he proclaims, trying to search with his eyes for his car while his lips stay on yours. He is unable to keep his mouth away, needing you as close as possible. 

“But you–” He interrupts you with another kiss, making you yelp as he walks towards his car. “I don’t care about the painting anymore, nor the collection. I’d give it up anytime for you.” His words ring in your ears, playing on repeat until your back hits his car, and he finally places you down. The hunger in his eyes is obvious, a whine leaving his lips in protest when you slide inside his car and close the door behind yourself. He just can’t get enough. 

The car ride is blurry in your eyes. You’re not sure what was said, which road he took, or how long it took him to park in front of his house. All you can think of is his hand on your thighs, squeezing the flesh every chance he got, stealing a kiss from you every time he stopped at a red light. 

“Wa–wait,” you stop him as your back pressed on his front door, his lips on your neck. You regret it immediately when you see the puppy eyes he gives you. “We shouldn’t,” you say, but your body does something completely different as your hands wander over his stomach under his shirt. “We– I–” 

“Let me make it up to you,” he mumbles against your skin as he places another kiss on your collarbone. “Apologize for everything I did. And the things I didn’t do.” Your head hits his door, and a moan escapes your lips, your breath heavy. “Okay,” you nod in the end, unable to resist him much longer as you feel a wet patch creating between your legs. 

And that’s how you get to his bed again, your dress thrown to the floor, long forgotten along with Mingyu’s shirt. “So pretty,” he coos, his tongue tracing your inner thigh, making its way up to your needy pussy. His thumb rubs slow circles on your clit through your panties, groaning when he sees how wet the piece of clothing gets when he touches you. “I missed you. Missed you so bad,” he mumbles, pushing your panties to the side. “Kept thinking about you. All the time.” You’re unsure if his words are just needy blabs or if he means them, but you definitely aren’t in the right mind to figure that out now. 

“Min–” you swallow the rest of his name as you feel his tongue slide between your folds. You gasp when he tears your panties apart with ease, throwing them on the floor. His fingers part your folds, and he takes a minute to watch you as you try to thrust your hips up. “Patience, baby,” he coos, leaning down again to kiss your clit. His kisses slowly turn into sucking, his two fingers pushing inside to stimulate you more. “Oh, God,” you moan out, throwing your head back while your fingers find his locks, pulling on his hair. 

“That isn’t my name,” he says, pinching your clit as he looks up to see your face. Your whines fill the whole room, and it’s like pleasure to his ears. “Mingyu! Mingyu, Min,” his name leaves your lips repeatedly until he goes back to sucking on your clit and his fingers thrust into you again. 

The whines and groans that leave his lips as he presses his nose against your clit and licks your slick make your head spin. You’d let him do anything if it meant hearing him like this. If you had known he could get so pussy-drunk, you might have ignored the whole situation in the first place. 

“I’m– so close,” your moan comes out broken as he sucks harder. “Mhm,” he hums against your pussy. It doesn’t take much longer, and as Mingyu makes out with your cunt, you cum on his lips. Your breath grows heavy as you ride out your orgasm on his face, trying not to feel embarrassed as he starts blabbing again. 

You look at him, your heart beating faster as you lock eyes with him. There really is nothing but pure love behind them. You hesitate before you slowly sit up, his eyes watching you confusedly. “Come here,” you speak softly, and he doesn’t question you and does as you say. You tug on his belt, getting it off along with his pants while keeping eye contact. The change in his eyes when you do so is something you could watch forever. 

“What are you–” 

“Returning the favor since you’ve been so good,” you mumble, his mind going blank. He’s been good? The words repeat in his head, his mind wandering to fantasies he’d rather not tell you about yet. 

He helps you pull his boxers down, his already hard cock leaking with pre-cum. You look up at him one more time before you focus on his trembling cock, kneeling down in front of him and lightly squeezing him in your hand. 

Mingyu groans as you slowly move your palm up and down, your fingers quickly becoming coated in the shiny layer of his arousal. Rolling your wrist over his tip, you swallow hard as you feel his cock twitch under your hands. You squeeze harder, your movements becoming faster. “You– f-fuck. How much have you been training for this?” He breathes out, and had it been a different situation, you might think he’s calling you a slut. But you know he isn’t in his right mind at the moment. He hasn’t been since he kissed you for the first time after the auction. 

He tugs your hair behind your ear, his fingers softly brushing over your cheek. You look up at him, nodding to yourself when you see him biting his bottom lip. His hips buck up against your hand, and he lets out a strangled noise. “Slow–Slow down. Gon–Gonna cum soon.” That’s what he says, but when you let go of his cock, the disagreeing whine he lets out tells you all you need to know. 

You switch your hand with your mouth, giving his leaking tip a kitty-lick before you take as much of him as you can, his cock twitching in your mouth. He doesn’t hesitate after, his hands holding onto your face as he fucks into you, his tip hitting the back of your throat. “Shit– you’re too good, baby,” the praise leaves his lips before he can even realize what he’s saying, too lost in the moment as he watches his cock disappear in your mouth. You gag when he pushes into you with full force, but don’t pull away, ignoring the tears creating in your eyes and sucking on him harshly. 

Mingyu doesn’t bother telling you as he gets closer to his climax, releasing in your mouth without any notice. You gag again at that but make sure there isn’t a single drop of cum leaving your lips as he pulls out with a groan. “Fuck,” he breathes out, his dick twitching again when he watches you swallow. He’s never been this obsessed with a blowjob before. 

You straighten your back again, placing your hand behind his neck and pulling him closer until your lips meet. The bitter taste of his cum makes him frown for a second before your tongue meets his, and it becomes the last thing he is worried about. He pushes you back onto the bed, deepening the kiss as his hands wander over your body, squeezing your breast, his fingers brushing over your tummy, his hands harshly gripping your waist, and lastly, his fingers reaching your clit again. You moan at the touch, trying to tug on his hair again, but it’s no help. He needs to make you cum again, no matter if you’re already feeling overstimulated or not. 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝  

As the smell of freshly done eggs reaches your nose, you groan and turn around on the bed. Slowly opening your eyes, you blink a few times when you see the mess on the nightstand. Your place definitely doesn’t look like that. 

Then it hits you. A wave of realization runs through you and you sit up, looking around the room to see if he was there. You breathe out and close your eyes when you don’t see anyone, collecting your memories of last night. Seokmin is going to kill you when he finds out. 

You run your fingers through your hair as you try to figure out your next move, but all your thoughts disappear when the door opens and your eyes land on the man you have so much history with. He is shirtless, his sweatpants hung low, and he is holding a plate in his hands. Your eyes soften at the sight. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he smiles, and you melt immediately. You can’t even be mad at him. 

You know you should regret it, collect your things, run away as fast as you can and never see him again, but it’s impossible when he looks at you like this. 

“Sleeping beauty?” You raise your eyebrow at the nickname, watching him as he walks over to you and sits at the edge of his bed. “I have a feeling you’d kick me in the balls if I called you a princess,” he chuckles, offering you the food in his hands. “And you are a beauty, so why wouldn’t I call you that?” 

“Come here,” you whisper, putting the plate aside. Mingyu’s eyes follow you confusedly, but he listens, moving closer to you. His hand runs up your covered leg, holding eye contact to see your reaction. He isn’t sure what he can and cannot do at this point. You hesitate, looking into his puppy eyes before you lean closer to him, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek. “Let’s start again and better,” you mumble, and the way his eyes lit up makes your heart skip a beat. Only he could have this kind of power over you. 

“I’d love that more than anything.” 

♡⸝⸝ ♡⸝⸝  

“I don’t trust you.” 

Mingyu chuckles awkwardly, looking around the room for some help. However, all he is met with are killing stares from your friends, who haven’t grown to like him yet so much. 

You laugh as you put your hand around his waist, resting your head on his shoulder. “They are just teasing you,” you assure him, but he isn’t so sure about it as Soonyoung narrows his eyes at him, not breaking their eye contact as he holds his girlfriend beside him. “Right…” 

“Okay, who wants a drink?” Adel stands up to ease the awkward situation. Hansol—her now boyfriend—gets up with her, counting the raised hands so they could get everything. “Please, don’t kill him while we are gone,” she adds, purposely sending a glance at Seokmin and Soonyoung. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to miss it,” Hansol laughs, and she smacks his arm immediately. “Just go.” 

You shake your head at them. “Come on, guys. We talked about this,” you sigh when their stares don’t stop. It’s been a month since you decided to forgive Mingyu and left the whole thing behind you and three weeks since he officially asked you to be his girlfriend. Yet, the guys couldn’t seem to find their way to him. For some reason, they made it seem like he had hurt them more than you. 

“You guys are making it look like he killed your moms or something.” You turn your head to the side, smiling. “See? Even Wonwoo thinks it’s stupid.” 

Jeon Wonwoo, your past lover and Mingyu’s best friend. Chan said it was weird for you to still talk after everything, but when he and Mingyu made up, and he reached out to you to offer a friendship, you couldn’t just send him away. If he didn’t mind seeing you with his best friend, you didn’t have a problem with it either. 

The quiet tsk that leaves Seoonyoung’s lips makes you roll your eyes. They were holding a grudge against him for no reason. “Look, if you have such a problem with him, then we are leaving,” you proclaim, making sure they know you are a package deal. “Baby,” Mingyu stops you before you can stand and prove your point, shaking his head as he strokes your arm lightly. “It’s fine, I get them.” 

“It’s not fine,” you disagree. “Seokmin and Soonyoung need to pull their heads out of their ass and realize I couldn’t care less if they approve of you or not.” 

Your best friend gulps down as he watches you. You’re mad and not just a little annoyed with him mad like you always are. You’re pissed. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Seokmin apologizes, encouraging Soonyoung to do the same. “I admit I took this little too far.” 

“Yeah, I guess,” Soonyoung mumbles, Hanni beside him shaking her head at him. “Sorry.” 

You sigh. Mingyu wraps his hand around your shoulders to put you at ease, and you turn your head to him with a smile. He returns your smile, leaning closer to place his lips on yours. There’s a grin on your face as you kiss him, ignoring the presence of all your friends. Because when you are with him, you forget about everything and everyone else. 

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips, a secret for you and him only. You bite the inside of your cheek to constrain your own smile. Otherwise, you might look like a middle schooler who has just got together with her first crush. 

“I love you too,” you whisper back, and as if to seal the secret, you place another kiss on his lips. 

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